A view of a High Atlas Mountain, Imlil, Morocco

I certainly had no intention of meeting and falling in love with a man on my first trip to Morocco.  Visiting the country was just  supposed to be a nice extension to my trip to Paris last May.  Little did I know that a Berber man from the High Atlas Mountains would walk into my life, grab my heart and refuse to let go.  I have written about Mohamed in previous blog entries but felt it was important to temper my words because I didn’t know what our future held.  That has since changed…

I bought a plane ticket to Casablanca back in September.  I told myself that if our relationship didn’t turn out as I hoped, I would just have a nice visit to a beautiful country and come home.

Mohamed was at the Casablanca airport to meet me just as he promised.  It turns out that he had to move heaven and earth to get there because several people failed to keep their promise to drive him from Asni to Casablanca.  (He doesn’t have much experience driving on the interstate so wanted to hire a driver.  He had rented a car for the week so that we could both drive it and it would allow us to travel around easily.)  He finally found a driver to get him to the airport (with 20 minutes to spare) and then to drive us back to Asni.  I appreciated having Aziz drive us home because I didn’t want to have to navigate a Moroccan highway fresh off the plane and suffering from jetlag.

Mohamed greeted me with open arms as I stumbled outside of customs.  He had on a brand new pinstripe suit, very uncomfortable looking dress shoes and  a million-watt smile.  (I, on the other hand, was completely disheveled having sat in the back of the plane for way too many hours.)

The Sheep Herder and her sharp-dressed assistant

The drive back to Asni was uneventful–it takes almost 3 1/2 hours to go from the Casablanca airport to Marrakech and Aziz the driver wanted to stop twice for a smoke and a coffee.  It was during one of these stops that I discovered nuss-nuss, a wonderful combination of hot milk, coffee and lots of sugar.

When we finally arrived back in Asni, the hotel “patron” had dinner waiting for us both.  The first course was typical  Berber–multiple small dishes of vegetables, olives and a chutney-like concoction plus fresh bread.  Following this, the owner brought out a very hot tagine (with its cover on) filled with potatoes, peas, carrots and chicken that had a topping of olive tapenade and other spices unlike anything I have ever tasted.  Along with this, we drank steaming hot mint tea that was sweetened with plenty of sugar.  For dessert, we ate locally grown clementines.  Little did I know that this meal would be the beginning of a week spent eating some of the most wonderful food I have ever had.

We spent our days wandering the countryside, shopping in the Medina and Sook of Marrakech, exploring an ancient Mosque and so many other wonderful things.  I learned how to drive in Morocco, both in the city (where nobody pays attention to international driving laws) and through mountain passes.  I learned that Moroccan people are generous to a fault and that if you are invited to someone’s house, expect to eat.  I also learned that it is ok to eat with your hands and to pick-up hitchhikers!  Meet Karim, a trail guide for tourists who want to explore the Atlas Mountains:

Karim, a mountain trail guide for brave tourists

I had the opportunity to meet many of Mohamed’s friends as well as most of his extended family.  Mohamed’s parents, sisters, nieces and nephew

They all welcomed me into their homes and made me feel as if we had been friends for years.  Mohamed’s family hugged and kissed (“Hammish, hammish”) me, begged for pictures and hand-holding, fussed over my every need, pestered me to keep eating (“Isch, isch…”), taught me how to thank God in Arabic (“Alham de lilah” (a poor attempt at spelling)) and to ask for God’s willingness–”incha ALLAH”.

Mohamed’s aunt in Marrakech

At one point, Mohamed announced that he wanted to have me fit for a djellaba.  A djellaba is a “coat” worn over clothing when going out into public.  It is easy to recognize because it always has a hood.  (Just think of it as a Moroccan hoodie…)  It is worn by both men and women.  He and his aunt took me to a tailor in Marrakech to choose a fabric and to be fitted.   I eagerly await my peri-winkle blue djellaba.

Measurements for a djellaba

My last day with Mohamed was very difficult.  I knew I would be returning to the states without him and that it would be several months before I would see him again.  Since my flight out of Casablanca left very early, we decided to take the late train from Marrakech to Casablanca and just stay up all night before going to the airport.  Mohamed called yet another friend (he is very popular!) who picked us up at the train station and drove us around.  At one point, we stopped at a bar to pass some time. (I was reminded of the scene from the first Star Wars movie where several characters are smoking a hooka.)  We finally ended up at the Mohamed V Airport where Mohamed kept me company until it was time for me to board my flight back to Paris.  I can’t remember a more difficult experience–to leave Mohamed, his wonderful family and his beautiful country.  I cried throughout the 9 hour flight back to Detroit.

Fast forward to late January–I keep asking myself how I get into these situations.  Why couldn’t I fall in love with someone who lives down the street or even in another state?  I still haven’t found an answer but I do know that I wouldn’t trade my Moroccan experiences or my Berber Sheep Herder’s assistant for the world.