A Brush with a Migrant, Moulay Idriss, Morocco

Zagan the motorhome has spent a night at a guarded parking area in central Fes (see below), before nipping across to the peace and safety of rural Camping Zerhoun Bellevue (N34.0147, W5.561628), a few km from Moulay Idriss in Morocco. It costs 95 Dh a night to stay for the two of us and electricity, about €9. Phil has taken a shower and reported back it was the best in Morocco, so far, so we’re all in for getting a good clean in the next day or so!

The sun’s just set at Camping Zerhoun Bellevue

Picking up from the last post, we were still in Camping Diamant Vert on the edge of Fes, spending the day doing bits and bobs on our vans and generally taking it easy. Both vans got a wash, taking the lead from the taxi drivers using the service point to clean their vehicles. Since we know water’s in short supply in the south and east of the country, we made the most of the endless supply. I replaced a broken lightbulb in Zagan, requiring the aid of a tin of pear halves (see below) and a task so awkward I let out a veritable Allah Akbar, while dancing a jig, when I managed to complete the loathsome task. The bust inner tube on my bike’s been swapped, and we were ready to leave Fes. Or were we?

Changing a headlight on a Hymer, a mere 90 minutes this time

David and Fran, in an adjacent motorhome, had spent a few days in a ‘guarded parking’ area (literally a car park where someone guards your car, sometimes day and night) next to the blue gate, Bab Bou Jeloud (N34.060933 W4.985881 – 50 Dh a night) in the centre of Fes. It sounded both easy to get to and in a cracking place for another look at the fascinating medina. After a bit of umming and arring we decided to head into the city. Phil and Jules nipped to the big Marjane supermarket first (discovering they no longer sell alcohol), while we drove straight there. Although we’d popped the GoPro on the windscreen, the drive was uneventful, but we’ll upload the video when we get WiFi.

Guarded parking near the Blue Gate in Central Fes

The Blue Gate, Fes, Armed Soldiers Just out of Shot

Between the four of us we made a number of forays into the medina. Sometimes alone, sometimes in a couple or as a foursome. The experiences were different to those we had using guides, but on the whole were pretty hassle-free. Us Westerners are easy to spot in there, we’re visible from a mile off, and the shopkeepers (those who care to bother) know the right words to use to hook us. “Hello?” “Where you from?” “Look inside?”, all small phrases which we feel rude ignoring, and they know it. Ignore ’em you can though, and it really doesn’t bother me walking straight past someone addressing me here in Morocco.

This chap made us some delicious chicken and turkey flatbreads for €1

The souks were busy!

Animal parts at the butchers, some of which I just couldn’t identify

The tourist authorities have installed signs which sort of help you get around the medina

Back at the vans the square in front of us was livening up, with a hundred or so schoolchildren clapping and singing, story tellers gathering circles of fascinated folks, some sort of one-man gambling stalls, a strength test machine, popcorn poppers and a small collection of other assorted interesting things to spy on. At the top end of the square, through a gate in the wall and across the busy road was a very beautiful garden, complete with a whistle-toting fun-police man, instructing wayward feet to get off the grass.

This nipper was having a great time but sadly only had one roller blade

Try your strength! No-one did.

Sunset over Fes

Nope, no idea what was going on here

That evening Phil and Jules repeated an earlier 10km walk we’d done in the medina, getting a different perspective on it as light fell. At one point they got lost and after a useful point from one fella, a second chap got involved. Once he’d shown them a couple of turns back onto one of the larger alleyways, he switched to sales mode, trying to sell a purse. When this failed he asked for a coffee to be bought for him, then became more verbally aggressive, demanding money, using the “it’s nothing to you, you have money” approach. Finally he turned racist and accused them of being Jews before giving up.

We were parked at the bottom end of this square in Fes. A rather incredible place to stay the night in your motorhome

All of this stuff is thought provoking. All of it makes you ponder the harsh realities. In 2015 a report found that 85% of Moroccans have less than €1000 worth of assets once you’d taken away what they owed. Our motorhome alone is worth twenty times that amount. But there are also rich Moroccans. We saw a guy today pulled up for speeding in his Porche. The inequality exists in this country whether we’re here or not. The only question is: when faced with someone who demands money from you, how do you respond? The answer will depend hugely on the situation, but my own internal guide on this is simple: as a rule I don’t give money unless I’ve been rendered a service or product I wanted. This guide, which I accept is morally questionable, was put to the test today.

A minaret in the Fes medina

A side entrance to the medina, behind which lies a residential area, which we got lost in and had to be pointed back out by the locals

Stunning architecture in Fes

The Fes water clock. As far as I know, no-one knows how it would have worked, if it ever did

We all made trips into the medina this morning after being shaken awake by the dawn call to prayer. Phil spotted that a beggar, who appeared to have no legs, was in fact standing in a hole. Ju bought pastries and bread before entering into a few haggles over goat-skin satchels, but was unable to agree a price. I bought two handfuls of dates for €1, and we came away with a carrier bag of fruit and veg for €4. One of the veg salesman, by the way, showed his true colours to me. His stuff came to 20Dh and I picked a folded 20Dh note from my pocket, gave it to him, and started to walk away. He stopped me, and unfolded the note to show it was a 50Dh. He could have easily stolen from the dumb tourist, but chose not to, as has been our experience for almost every single last Moroccan we’ve met.

Buying veg in the Fes medina. You just get a washing up bowl and fill it with the stuff you want. He weighs it and then quotes the price, which will probably be low

The test came when driving through Meknes on the way here. It was daft-busy, with cars and people pouring down the road like rain. I was stressed, working the mirrors, trying to defocus so I could spot all the hazards and also trying to keep moving with the traffic. After a while of this we found ourselves at the front of a queue of traffic, stopped by a red light, alongside a group of sub-Saharan men. Although it never seems to be mentioned in the press, the migrant issues Europe is having start before the continent’s borders. Morocco has a fair few migrants flowing into it, jobless, and despite attempts to storm the fence at Ceuta (the Spanish enclave to the north of the country), these guys are trapped here. They stand out like we do; their faces darker than the locals, as ours are lighter. They also stand out for their behaviour, aggressively begging at traffic lights and roundabouts. We saw two guys break out into a face-touching-face shouted exchange with each other as Moroccans watched, somewhat bewildered. Africans begging from Africans.

Driving through Meknes

As we were stopped at the lights one guy knocked on the window and begged. I politely said no. He knocked harder on the window and begged. I again politely declined, looking at the countdown on the traffic lights. He knocked harder, enough to make me wonder at what point he’d break the glass. I again said no, but was getting afraid and annoyed with him, looking him in the eyes and asking him to stop. He stared back at me, baring teeth a little and started to bang the side of the van with his fist, again and again, harder and harder. Having earlier read that you can stop local children from throwing stones at your van by taking a photo of them, Ju picked up the camera and pointed it at him, and the situation flipped. He ducked and dived, weirdly smiling now, still hammering on the van. I started to mouth ‘police’ at him, when it clicked he didn’t want his mugshot being shown to the Moroccan police. More smiles, more ducking, more banging, and the lights changed.

Earlier in the drive we followed this van, which had 3 cows in the back

We drove off in silence, pondering what just happened. This is our first ‘active’ encounter with a migrant from the south, and it was unpleasant. Maybe we should have just given him something, but if we did who’d get it, him or some trafficking boss? We chatted about it once we’d calmed down, but there is no clear answer. We agreed if it happened again we’d lean on the horn and attract as much attention as we could. My feeling remains I should only give for a service rendered. This guy appeared to have next to nothing, but my own father had next to nothing at his age, and worked his fingers, back and lungs so hard they’re all creaking these days. My Dad begged from no man. But then my Dad could find work, no matter how menial, low paid or physically demanding, the work was there. Is there work here in Morocco? Could these guys do something useful rather than threaten daft camper vanners for a living? I dunno. Again, no easy answers.

Cheers, Jay