Jamie Fehr

This was too wild an experience to not be publicly documented. My pilgrimage to Essaouira, Morocco for the Gnaoua Festival (Music Sample) began halfway through my fifth tour of Morocco in Rabat and while I had bothered to make a few plans about how things were going to happen, there was nothing very concrete. So it was no surprise to me when all my Moroccan friends who had talked about going backed out and what had existed for plans all fell through. I was on my own for accommodations and transport, normally not a daunting task for a seasoned traveller such as myself, it was just that this was a small city with a very limited number of hotels and transport options that was grows exponentially every year for this festival.

So it came time for me to decide if I still wanted to go and I decided that I make a go at it and see what could happen. I still had a possibility for accommodations, an american girl I had meet on the train Tangier offered me to stay with her some friends for the festival. I made the call and the result was inconclusive, but not being one to hesitate I went to the train station to get a ticket.

I already knew that trains were only available as far as Marrakech and after that I would have to switch to a bus. And I guess in the back of my mind I didn’t expect that there would be an available bus to Essaouira that night because I didn’t feel in the least bit shocked that my request for a first class passage to Essaouira turned into a second class passage to Marrakech.

What they hey? I thought to myself. Let’s go to Marrakech. So I boarded the train and got into a cramped un-air-conditioned cabin bound for the edge of the Sahara desert. There were some interesting Moroccans in the compartment who were very surprised to learn that I knew some arabic and made every effort to convert me to Islam. I declined as politely as I could.

As the train was pulling into Marrakech, I just couldn’t let go of the awe I was feeling. The scenery could only be described as other worldly. It was wicked hot (42 degrees Celsius or better) and the scenery reminded me most of some of the Mars photos I’ve seen. I had been to Marrakech before, but somehow this time was different.

And for the record I don’t think that Marrakech is a fun place to hang out in by ones self.

I went and found a cheap hotel without air conditioning or even a fan on noisy side street on one of the hottest nights I’d even experienced. I really didn’t think that hell could be much different. And early the next morning I went to the bus station to see if there was an available bus to Essaouira.  There wasn’t until nine that evening. I was ready to give up. I wanted to leave the heat and the uncertain state of lodgings for cleaner, cooler, quieter Southern Spain (I didn’t honestly think I’d ever utter those words in reference to Southern Spain), but an american guy and his girlfriend convinced me and some French/Moroccan to catch a grand taxi with them to the Festival.

It was on the taxi ride at the last possible moment when I got a text message from my acquaintance (really, to say anything more than acquaintance would be exaggerating) from the train that I could indeed stay with them for the two nights of the festival that remained. The only thing was that she wasn’t going to be there until the following day and someone I totally didn’t know was going to be there to let me in.

So I got to the apartment we all were going to be staying at and introduced myself to the group and realized quickly that I in every way an anomaly. Firstly, I was the only guy, secondly I was the only one that didn’t have a masters in something or other, and lastly I was the only one who didn’t know anyone else from a hole in the wall. The only common factor was that everyone was 24. Pretty random eh?

So in the end I did get to end the festival, the city, the beach, live Moroccan hip-hop music until four in the morning, fresh Moroccan khobz straight out of the oven shortly there after and just some beautiful sea-side summer weather. The only other really weird thing that happened was hearing my name called out while wading through a crowd of fellow concert goers only to find out that it was some Moroccan guy that I really didn’t remember. Yet he knew enough about me without me volunteering information that I accepted him as a friend and we hung the whole afternoon. He also tried to convert me to Islam but to no avail.

Wait. I am almost forgetting the strangest part of the trip. 

After leaving the festival I took an air conditioned bus (thank goodness, I almost never get to travel with A/C in Morocco) to Marrakech where I got to see the half of the Euro Cup game between Spain and Germany and then caught an overnight train to Tanger where I was going to catch the ferry into Spain.  

When the train arrived in Spain I had only a half to get from the station to onboard the ferry, not a lot of time, but I still managed to make friends with a hurried Moroccan man who also desperately wanted to catch the eight o’clock ferry. I boarded the boat with him and as we were looking for good seats a hawaiian man randomly starting conversing with me and I shared a little bit about where I’d been and he where he was at.

He told me he was traveling with an Egyptian man who was living in Spain and that they had been seeing his friends. I said that was nice and continued to talk with my newest Moroccan friend. But then I saw this Hawaiian guys egyptian friend and realized that I had met him before on a small and far away Mediterranean Island over a year ago. I got out of my seat and gave the man a hug. That’s just how good of friends we are.

So I spent the morning with those two and they gave me a ride from the port in Tarifa to Malaga. I was really grateful for that, but it really is a small world.

Now finding myself in the midst of my fifth tour (that’s right, five) of the popular North African country I really feel like there should be something in the archives of this site sharing with the masses a little of what I’ve learned about life in this sometimes difficult but always interesting, incredibly diverse country.

Getting “Rugged”

Some people have demonstrated to me a serious aversion for this place on the grounds of personal safety and while I’m not saying that their fears are entirely unfounded the worst thing the average tourist will encounter is a rugging.

Definitions of this common occurrence can vary but to me it usually refers to getting deceived into entering an “artisans cooperative” or “art exhibition” where people will try and sell you carpets you may or may not want. For the record this is pretty much unavoidable. You will get “rugged” in Morocco.

So my advice for when this does happen to you, drink the tea they give you, listen to what the proprietor has to say and enjoy the ceremony. When they start talking about price don’t let them fool you into paying more then you would want. I find that when I really want out sticking to really insulting low price is a great way to ejected from the premise without having spent any money I didn’t want to.

What’s most important is that you treat this as a lesson on how to deal with these people. They will be pushy and you need to know to ignore or be rude to them when you have to. Also you should know that if anyone rendered you even a small service they will want a tip, which you do owe them (just don’t let them embellish you).

Train vs. Bus vs. Grand Taxi vs. Grand Taxi vs. Petit Taxi vs. Bus

Another important thing to learn about Morocco is how to get around. I do not include air travel in this list because I have never flown in Morocco.

Train: In my opinion this is the best way to get between cities, but not by far. The train network isn’t nearly as extensive as the bus network nor is it quicker in many cases. However, when you ride first class train, you don’t pay a quarter of what you would for the same ride in Europe and you get all the amenities: The freedom to get up and use the toilet, snack carts during the trip and cabins with A/C (usually). Locals will usually try to convince that you shouldn’t take the train and I don’t know why this is, but if there is a train that departs at a convenient time for you take it. You won’t be disappointed. Remember: Buy first class tickets, they’re not that much more expensive and you get an assigned seat.

Bus: What Morocco does have is a cheap, extensive bus network that will get you from nearly anywhere to nearly anywhere. I recommend the CTM buses for the reasons that they do check your bags to make sure that people only walk away with the bags that are theirs (rather than thieving the baggage holds) and the A/C on their buses usually works. Bus is by no means quick or comfortable way to travel but they do stop every two hours so you can refresh yourself with some Moroccan BBQ and mint tea and for the Record this is usually how I travel.

Grand Taxi: Occasionally you may find yourself in some small Moroccan hick-town with bus service and it’s at this point where you’ll be looking into getting a Grand Taxi to get you to your destination. There are however two distinct ways in which these taxis work which is why they make the list twice. There are Grand Taxis that follow fixed routes for a fixed price and then there are Grand Taxis that you charter for specifically your purposes. The latter being the more expensive and the former being more or less exactly like a small bus. Something to remember is that when you’re chartering a Grand Taxi is that you need to arrange a price beforehand and Grand Taxis in general will take six passengers or more.

Petit Taxi: These you will find in nearly every Moroccan city and each city has it’s own color for it’s fleet of Petit Taxis. They’re great in that they’re cheap but they are very limited in how far they will take you; they won’t drive beyond their city limits, which in some occasions can be very cumbersome as some cities really have started blending into each other.

Bus: As a tourist it is very unlikely that you would ever take one of these city transit buses as their stops are generally unmarked, their routes hard to decipher and the financial savings marginal, but if you ever wanted to wind up in some unknown end of a foreign city you could hop on. Chances are where ever you get off you’re just a cheap petit taxi ride away from where ever it was that you came.

There is more that could be written about, but as I am not very prone to finishing what I’ve started in regards to writing, I stop here, leaving you with some (hopefully) useful information for your next trip to Morocco.

Being a missionary is neither easy nor comfortable and requires a tremendous amount of emotional stamina. A lot of people have shared with me their envy of the adventures that I’ve been on not realizing the crushing loneliness of forging a new life in a foreign country.

It’s uncomfortable and difficult in that your life is not your own. You give up any personal desire you might have for a cause that is incredibly all enveloping. I am not saying it’s not worth it but it is a huge commitment. It’s uncomfortable constantly relying on others for your daily sustenance and it’s uncomfortable being in a constant state of transition. I don’t always get to know where I am going next, and most certainly not where I am going to stay.

But most difficult thing for me has to do with relationships. It’s not easy to decided to leave friends and family behind for an undetermined period of time. And I think it might be even more acute in my case in that I most decidedly do not have a significant other with whom to share experiences. I consider myself to be a very personable person but it really does get wearisome to go through the getting-to-know you phase umpteen times a week. Making new friends isn’t difficult for me but not ever getting to have old friends around is.

I think what best sums up what I want to say is the old proverb “be careful what you wish for.” life for me is  not all sunshine and roses.

Growing up you probably heard your parents saying you should eat your vegetables because there are some starving orphan kids from Africa who would probably die to have them. Well, these last few days a group of eight North African orphans and there caretakers have been staying in the house with me and this morning I stole some of their cereal and milk for breakfast.

I guess I am a terrible person, but I just couldn’t help it. It seemed to be the epitome of irony and for the record these orphans weren’t starving. I just had to store this.

I gotz tagged in some blog meme thing, almost a year ago and I would feel bad about not completing the requirements set for me sooner, but Kirsten has also not bothered to even touch the topic. So there.

The Meme Rules

I’m supposed to post rulz, but I just don’t feel like it. Refer to aforementioned instigating post if you want to know the rulz.

Eight things you (maybe) didn’t know about me.

1. I drink tabasco sauce. But as clarification, I use it as a sore throat remedy. I put on some hot water and add a liberal amount of Tabasco to the glass burn off any hint of a cold.
2.  Come this may I will have celebrated my last three birthdays on three different continents.
3. My friends refer to tether cables as “Jamie Cables” as a result of an incident during a youth group camp out many years. Let me just say that the teether cable won.
4. I move a lot. This isn’t a secret but I think if one did the math it would show that I have averaged less than five months per dwelling since I graduated high school six years ago.
5. I went to college twice (NAIT and PRBI). I pride myself in the fact that once was not enough even though it does come off like repeating a grade in Elementary school.
6. I used to be an incredibly fussy eater, now I’m just a fussy eater. Strangely enough though, weird foreign cuisine like squid cooked in it’s own ink or boiled brains doesn’t bother nearly as much as something mundane like a tomato.
7. I don’ publicly disclosed absolutely every fact of my life on the Internet. I have a number of stories that I haven’t posted for the specific reason that my mom and Grandma don’t worry about my safety during my adventures.
8. I can’t really say I believe in finishing what someone else started. Which is why I am ending the meme right now.

I try to never start writing, feeling guilty about not have written something for a while, but now after having been nearly a month in North Africa surely there must be something to report? People have been asking. Yet the truth is that I don’t have that much exciting news. I have stayed between the same city and sister city since I got here nearly a month ago (tomorrow will be one month precisely).

But to be perfectly honest I do have a few mundane details I can share.

1. I have started class, but the classmate shuffle doesn’t seem to end. I really think that next week I am going to pony up the cash necessary for private lessons because other people just seem to drag me down.
2. I am living in a huge house with pretty much just me and a barely literate North African man, who also just happens to be in town because his daughter is in the hospital. The conversation we share is far from deep.
3. I have ventured out into the city on photographic excursions, of which, the above photo is a result.

My biggest frustration with my new surroundings have very little to do with a language barrier. The fact is that I utilize the cheap public transit to get around but there is no such thing as a bus route map! So two weekends ago I just got on a couple of buses to see where they went and it’s been confirmed to me by several people that that is the only way to know where a certain bus number will go. But that’s not all, just because a bus followed a certain route to get somewhere doesn’t mean that it will follow even remotely the same route back. For example I can take the number 8 bus downtown but I need to take the number 2 bus back. Oh, and just because the bus is labelled with the number you want doesn’t mean it’s the right bus, some buses go on entirely different sub-routes. Getting around has really been a challenge and for a lot of it I have depended on my own two feet.

In conclusion, getting around is difficult, language learning is happening (I can even utter a few error-free sentences), and I do have a bit of schedule/routine in my new place. It is hard to motivate myself to integrate myself into the local society considering I will only be here a brief stint but the effort I have made has been totally worth it. And the new Wordpress 2.5, which is the system that powers this site, is totally awesome.

الوتموبيل - Automobile
كلينيك - Clinic
مسترفين - Mstsharfin, meaning “Pleasure to meet you”.
محمد - Mohammed
شويا - Swiya, meaning “A little”
واخا - Waha, meaning “OK” or “agreed”
بزّاف - Bezzaf, meaning “A lot”
جمي - my name, as best as I can figure

The first four days of class have been fun and I looking forward to some more learning.

A year ago good friday I was in Cordoba, Spain checking out the Mezquita. It might as well have been lifetime ago. A lot has happened since then and I am really grateful for this online record that I have from which I can remember the twists and turns that life has given me.

Normally, I would try and deliver some sort of status update on Friday, but today and this week have had a very different tone for me and warrant a different more journal like entry into my public thought space.

In the last weeks I have been reading through the Gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke (I haven’t made it up to John yet) and just today I again watched The Passion of the Christ and I’ve just been struck by the love and compassion of Jesus. Jesus indiscriminately performed miraculous healings, he ate and hung out with his societies lower caste, and above all bore incredible pain as an innocent man on our behalf. I find it impossible not to be moved by the Gospel account of his life.

But he didn’t just die on the cross, he resurrected himself. And it’s that detail that commands me to action. Christians are to be the salt and the light but even more so Mark 16:17-20 says that miraculous sings and wonders should accompany believers. As a matter of fact, as far as I can tell from my reading of the Bible, it should be unquestionably clear when someone is a Christian.

Yet it’s so hard. I struggle taking even small steps of faith and am easily distracted by the lure of affluence. How can I eat so much more than I really need to on a regular basis when there are so many hungary people? How can I justify the purchase of new clothes when it wouldn’t take me minutes to locate someone dressed in tatters? I really feel compelled to be more personally involved in the lives of those in a state of physical need.

Anyway, it’s nearly past the hour at which I no longer permit myself to proof read and publish and I want to conclude saying that in accordance with God’s imperative given to the Israelites on countless occasions I really feel compelled to begin a (personal) Spirit Revelation Journal/Faith Portfolio of sorts. Providing me a firm historical reference of how I’ve seen God active in this world.

Nepotism noun

The practice among those with power or influence of favoring relatives or friends, esp. by giving them jobs.

I knew of the existence of this word pretty much describing how things work in my hometown but I forgot exactly what it was. So last night when I was talking with some spanish people about exactly this concept, my memory was triggered. They call it El Echufe or being plugged-in, as in an like an electrical outlet.

Today I realized that it was Friday and that normally on Friday’s back when I had some sort of schedule or routine (well over a year ago) I would write some sort of week in review. In part it was so that people I care about could know what I was up to but mostly it was so that I could know that I was indeed doing things.

So it is with great pleasure that I inform you that I am officially now back at my old job in sunny Southern Spain. Yes, things are back to “normal” even though I don’t really believe that normal exists, and routine has returned.

My last status update took place at the end of January and at that point in time I still didn’t feel like I had been guaranteed an exit from the bitter cold that was gripping the region of Northern Alberta. I had plans (sell car, finish paper work, get passport) but the only detail that did come to fruition was the return of my passport. My car still hasn’t been sold (I don’t think), I still haven’t finished all my paperwork, my flights were a porqueria and I don’t have a visa to actually be in the country yet (God bless diligent Spanish customs).

Which brings us to right now, I am active in number of different things here at work and in the community: I am involved in improving our arabic outreach site, our work website, our spanish youth discipleship site (which needs to be finished this month, we’re praying that that happens), a work bible study, a church bible study, and a weekly Campus Crusade gathering. Suffice it to say that I sometimes feel I am without time to breathe. Yet, like my character seems to dictate, one step at a time, and everything seems to be coming together.

Also worth noting is that in the last four weeks I’ve participated in two ALL night events, one was a video game party and the other was Star War from five in the afternoon until nine the next morning. And with Easter just around the corner I won’t be surprised to find another on the agenda.

So with the concept of routine in mind I don’t feel that any that I’ve developed so far is going to last. It appears as though I am going to be moving to Morocco for a yet to be determined time later this month to learn the Arabic language. Details are slow in coming despite my imminent departure (Deja Vu anyone?) so it’s on that note that I conclude this update.

I do in the future hope to be more regular in posting things, but with time being such a difficult fish to catch and routine on the chopping block I wouldn’t hold my breath.