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We got up early today, it’s our last day in Morocco. We got all our gear together and packed for the long trip home. But there was one more thing that Eve and I have to take care of before we leave the compound. Three weeks ago when we got the Double Zero hash and the idea light in my head turned on, which was of course was all about taking a chunk of this Hash home. We wanted to get some friends high with the best Hash they've ever smoked. We made a plan how to get it home, and what could happen if something went awry. But first things first. We kept about six or seven grams for the plan. We broke it into two equal chunks and rolled them out as flat as we could with a wine bottle, keeping any bulk too a minimum, then sealing them up in a piece of plastic wrap,. We shaped and fitted the chunks into the bottom of each cup of Eve's bra. After she got it on, I ran my hands over her breasts to determine if I could feel the chunks, which I could, but only ever so slightly, and that was only because I knew they were there. If she got frisked somewhere, and she would, everyone would; it's not as if they're going to be feeling her up or fondling her, they're just going to pat her down. On just a regular pat down these chunks would never be detected; this is going be a piece of cake. With the Hash plan taken care of, all our gear packed, we said goodbye to Sale’ and Rabat and headed south to Casablanca. It's 9 am, we're on the road again. No one is saying much, everyone's reflecting I guess. We're all feeling a little sad about our group parting ways. But for Eve and I, even though we're in a moment of group sadness, there was still an upside for us; and that was about feeling happy and excited about getting back home and being with our kids again, this was a really good feeling for both of us. Since their birth, we had never been away from our kids for any more than three or four days at a time, and those time were few and far between. But being away from them for a month had taken on an uncomfortably strange feel. We knew it was time to get back home. We missed our kids and needed to be with them. This is going to be about a two hour drive. Along the way we passed through several very depressed looking communities. We came to a city named Mohammedia, about 100,000 people. The information we had stated: through a recent redevelopment process the city now has a fairly modern central core and port facility, which is all to the west of us. We're on the road which runs along the east side of the city where all the slums are. This is an extremely depressed area, filthy stinking of garbage, and very run down. The dwellings in this region were nothing but disgusting hovels, surrounded by garbage in many places. At the time we were there, nothing on the east side of the city had been redeveloped yet. That wouldn't happen for years to come. The city, east to west was quite narrow, less than a mile wide. From north to south it was several miles long. The whole length of the east side that we could see was dominated by squalor and thousands of hovels. The population density in this region seemed quite high, and nowhere did we see any evidence that would indicate any kind of life above an extreme poverty level. That seemed to be the norm for all the communities along this road. Even for people out in the bad-land areas, as well as in the mountain communities; none of them lived in the squalor we saw along this road. I've never seen anything like this before. It was disgusting. From my own perspective I found it hard to even comprehend that poverty at this level could actually exist, it just seemed too unbelievable. But the people who live here see it all from a completely different perspective. For them its not extreme poverty at all, its just life. Having lived in Canada my whole life I've never seen extreme poverty before, poor and needy or rundown, and maybe a bit slummy, yes, but poverty on this level, never. Poverty on this scale does not exist in Canada. We know it exists in varying degrees around the world because we've heard about it many times over the years, we read about it, we see it on TV; but it doesn't seem to have much of an impact on most people. And that's simply because so few have ever actually dealt with it up close and first hand. But when you find yourself living right in the middle of it, and on this level, that's when you know it really exists, that’s when it grips you; and that does something to you. Life for their people has been this way for at least a couple thousand years, maybe longer. The generations that are born here into a life of poverty grow up with the knowledge that there's nothing they can do that will ever change things, it's just the accepted norm, and they appear to have adopted a "no big deal" approach to it. Yet many of them knowing all the while, that in many parts of the world a much better way of life does exist, but it will never exist for them. They just accept what [we] see as extreme poverty as a their normal everyday way of life. For the majority there is just no other option. I absolutely hated the level of poverty we encountered as we travelled around the country. I tried very hard to just let my feeling about it roll off by back, but there were times I struggled really hard to not let myself become emotionally attached to it I never did talk to any of the others about how I was feeling about all this poverty we've seen, maybe I should have. I may not have been the only one that felt the way I did; but I guess I'll never know. But one thing is for sure, I never want to see poverty on this level ever again. As we moved on down the road Eve kept bending her head forward checking for a hash smell from her bra, nothing yet, everything is okay. Well, we're not that far from Casablanca now. We've come full circle and we're looking for road signs, we don't want to miss a turn. We must be getting closer, the road is in better shape and there's a lot more traffic. It won't be long now. We're now only a few miles from the city and looking to find the airport. The only problem is there are two, and we didn't know which one we needed. The airport ID on the ticket is a number, not a name. We asked a few people where to find it, all they did was jerk us around. Last time we were in Casablanca they jerked us around; they're just a bunch of fucking assholes. We found signs that directed us to the Nouasseur Airport, which as it turned out was the one we needed; nice break. It's 12 o'clock. We went to find our departure gate and checked our luggage in. Our flight wasn't leaving until 3 o'clock, so we've got time to kill. We all went for lunch at the airport restaurant and chatted for awhile. By 1:30 the rest of the gang was ready to head out. I think their game plan, if I remember correctly, was to drive south to Marrakesh and lay over for the night, then head further south to Agadir and Aglou, or maybe even as far south as Tan Tan; back to the sun and sand and an abundance of Hashish. We all hugged and shook hands, there were probably a few a tears, it was a very emotional moment for all of us. 'Bye guys, love you, see you back in Canada'. .............................................. Eve and I went up to the observation deck to watch the planes come and go. There's lots of traffic at this airport. Eve kept checking for a hash smell, there was nothing, we're still okay. We walked around the terminal for awhile just to kill some time. It will soon be time to catch our flight. Well here we go again, another Royal Air Maroc "fucking piece of shit plane" that's going to attempt to get us safely to Tangier, then Madrid. We lifted off and headed north along the coast, it was a really cool sight man. We could see all the towns and small communities along the coast we had driven through just a couple of hours ago. . Somewhere near Rabat we headed slightly northeast toward Tangier. They told us we would be there for about an hour and would be allowed to get off the plane. When we landed everyone disembarked and went into the terminal. We weren't off the plane for anymore than ten minutes when they they told us we had to get right back on, we had to leave right now. They were trying to be as polite as possible about getting us back on the plane, but they weren't pissing around either, they meant business. They literally rushed us onto the plane and within a couple of minutes we were back in the air. The whole deal was way too bizarre to be any kind of normal procedure. Obviously something was going on, but we weren't privy to that information. Prior to, and during our time in Morocco there had been some political issues brewing between the Spanish and Moroccan governments that we had never been aware of. Issues regarding a dispute over the sovereignty of Spanish Sahara, the country on Morocco's southern border. It would later be renamed Western Sahara; but only after a few confrontations between Morocco, Spain and a third party country, Mauritania. During the last few days that we were in Sale' and Rabat, we noticed a few times some low flying unmarked fighter type aircraft flying in a north easterly direction. We didn't see it as anything unusual, we just considered it a military exercise. Of course looking back now, given the political differences that existed between the two governments, and the fact that we were going to Spain from Morocco surely must have had everything to do with our quick exit out of the airport, and the country. So now it's onward and upward, we're over the Mediterranean Sea on our way to the European continent. We're now over Gibraltar closing in on Spain. We were soon able to see Madrid a short distance away, and in a few minutes we'll be on the ground. We'll finally be off this "piece of shit plane". However, it wasn't near as bad as the first "piece of shit plane", and there was no Moroccan guy smoking those dirty stinking "Black Tobac" cigarettes either. Home is not that far away now, and we're getting excited and very pumped. Next stop, Canada. Page #19 Page links 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 |
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typical Mohammedia east side neighbourhood
so much filth, yet this is not a landfill, they
live here 
and in here, as well
Casablanca, straight ahead
road to the airport
leaving Casablanca
Madrid
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