It is a punishing 8 o’clock in the morning as I board the bus for our excursions. I am practically mid-sleep, hoping that by pinching myself I can still wake up in my twin bed. Admittedly, it is difficult to carry that same tune while driving through the spectacular Moroccan countryside. As the grassy hills oscillate and we traverse the green waves, I am reminded of what drew me to study here. My headphones soundtrack the landscape with Yusef Lateef’s “Love Theme From Spartacus,” a gorgeous jazz track inspired by his fondness for Middle Eastern music. The song is a fitting one as we arrive at Volubilis, an ancient city dating back to Morocco’s time under the Roman Empire.
One of the many things I love about Morocco is its rich history. The country has been through many different stages in its 1,200 years of existence and you can see evidence of this almost anywhere you go. The excavation of Volubilis reveals a way of life that blended Roman opulence with indigenous Amazigh influence. There are houses with remnants of vivid mosaic art (pictured below), an art form in which Morocco continues to be unmatched.
Floor tile art from the remains of a wealthy house in Volubilis
I am trailing behind my tour group when I notice some locals, about five men who look my age, staring in my direction. Being an American tourist, this was no surprise to me and I therefore thought nothing much of it at first. But as my group happened to walk in their direction, they started giggling and eventually came up to me.
“Picture?” one of them asked. I gestured the classic “camera” motion in response, thinking maybe they wanted me to be their group photographer. They pointed at me to clarify, “No, no, you!” Oh, now I see. These nice people are offering to take my photo in front of these breathtaking ancient ruins! I nod in agreeance, as the locals gather to either side of me and pose for the picture. They waved for my friend Lance to join us, who politely declined. And as the camera clicked, so did my brain.
I joked with Lance, “Their rare Black guy sighting must have been exciting for them!” He laughed, knowing full well what I meant. and said, “Yeah, that’s why I noped out of that real quick.” But as time passed, the joke wore off and my laughter turned into embarrassment. How could I have been so naïve to be photographed like a zoo animal? I was a tourist who became a tourist attraction. I felt even more ashamed that my friend, who is one of the only other Black Americans in our group, had to witness me unwittingly debase myself.
Trying not to let this experience sour my day, we set forth later to Fes. Unsurprisingly, it is a gorgeous city thanks to its diverse architecture, which houses the bustling day-to-day lives of the locals. Many Moroccan cities contain a “medina,” referring to the oldest section of the city. Medinas typically comprise intricately designed winding roads, weaving together tightly packed neighborhoods with vivacious markets. Succinctly put, a medina is the heart of any Moroccan city, and Fes’ (pictured below) was my favorite.
Our group visiting a silk shop inside the Fes Medina
But soon, my enjoyment would once again be curbed as I walked past two locals running a meat stand. Out of nowhere, one of them proclaims into the ether, “What’s up my n****!” I could probably write a standalone article methodically dissecting the moment this phrase hit my ears. I did not have to look at this man to know that he was not Black, and I was wrestling to figure out if he was trying to provoke or charm me into buying some cow tongue. I quickly lost interest in reasoning, as I knew deep down that his intentions did not matter.
What puzzles me the most about these experiences, is that there is a sizable Black population in Morocco. The men who photographed me were part of a larger tour group that included Black Moroccans! Though ostensibly outnumbered, one would be hard-pressed to turn a corner and not see at least one Black person living their best melanated life. The Black Moroccans and I share the same skin, but our seemingly unremarkable differences heavily affect the way we are treated.
I am a Black American. This means that I am a person who was born and raised in the United States while being a product of the sub-Saharan African diaspora. Because of cultural differences, the way I present myself will naturally be distinct from the way a Black African presents themselves. If we return to the meat market incident, my Black American appearance triggered him to shout the first thing he knew about Black culture in America. This is why the Black Africans who were selling their products just across the street would most likely never have the experience that I had.
In no way do I aim to frame Morocco as a racist country, because my positive experiences greatly outweigh the negative ones. Almost all of the locals I have interacted with have graced me with a special love that you will seldom find in the United States. Our unique backgrounds grant each of us a unique perspective, and sharing those perspectives allows us to understand each other more. I share my story with you as I learn from the stories of Moroccans every day, and I will have the privilege of returning to America with those stories forever.
To my fellow Black travelers, do not let these anecdotes deter you from exploring. But rather, let them encourage you to venture into the unknown and exchange your story with others. Isn’t that what it’s all about?