Ups, Downs

I didn’t believe Jonathan when he told me we had another flat tire. I was just getting out of my tent in the morning, and it was not the kind of news I like to be greeted with. It was our third flat tire in 4 days. We were at least 20 kilometers from a main road in either direction. This was our spare, so all we could do was pump it up, and hope that we could at least make a few kilometers at a time before stopping to pump it again. Before leaving, we filled all the empty jugs with the brown water. We filtered the water through sarongs, which I doubt did much for the feces that was surely in it. At least we would have plenty of water for the donkeys, and we wouldn’t have to drink the brown water for at least a day or two.

Within two hours of leaving the well, it seemed that our luck had changed. Not only was the tire holding air, but we found another well, which had clear, sweet water. We exchanged all the brown water for this water (even the donkey water, as Susan insisted) and even had a water fight. Probably bad desert etiquette, but we were dirty and we needed it. We had a few dates, and pomegranates for lunch, and continued on. This day was going smoothly and we were making relatively good speed. Late in the day we came across a family of camel herders. Jonathan yelled to Susan to cover up, so she put a sarong over her legs. The old man in charge was goofy and friendly. He brought all the women and children of the family to meet us. The women quickly showed Susan that she needed to cover herself. They found the pink scarf that Khadija had given her in Tessegnan, and quickly wrapped her up. The man showed us that one of the women had an infected cut on her hand. Nurse Susan cleaned it up and bandaged it. Then the man showed that his back hurt. I think he wanted some pills to help with this, but Susan thought he wanted a massage. He didn’t want a massage from her, and she didn’t want to give him one, so it all worked out.
An hour before sunset, we faced one of the most difficult hills of the trip so far. We surveyed it, looked at alternate routes, and decided the only way was straight up. Susan led, Shuwya Shuwya pulled the cart, which we had named the French Navigator, and Jonathan and I pushed our nuts off. It was really demanding for everyone, but we made it to the top like real pros. We kept on trucking and by sunset we found a beautiful camp spot. We all agreed that it had been our most successful and enjoyable day of donkey travel thus far.




We got on the road by 9:00 the next day, as we were hoping to connect to the main road toward Tan Tan. We estimated that we had no more than 10 or 12 km to go for that. The dirt road started to ascend, and eventually brought us to the top of a hill, where we could barely see the road off in the distance. It was many 6 or 7 km away. We were all excited and relieved, as the road meant more security, however the atmosphere would never be the same as on this remote dirt track.



When we arrived at the road, we stopped for a long lunch of sardines, dates and pomegranates. We checked the nearest mile marker and found that we were only 50 km from Tan Tan. This was a little closer than I had expected. Getting to the road also meant the possibility of riding on the cart again. We basically hadn’t even ridden on the cart in about 60 or 70 km because the terrain was too difficult.
We thought getting back on the smooth pavement would be a relief, and it was in some ways, but in others it was miserable. The asphalt must have raised the temperature ten degrees, and the fast traffic frayed my nerves. As always, we got a lot of attention from the passing drivers. The truckers would often honk and give a thumbs up in approval. I liked this, but after a while, it really got to Susan and Jonathan. What annoyed me was the drivers that would pass and make a gesture of confusion, shoulders shrugged, palm turned up. I knew we were confusing, but I didn’t know what they wanted us to explain to them.
One car full of friendly men dressed in business clothing stopped in front of us. This kind of thing always annoyed us because we didn’t want to waste our time stopping to answer every curious person’s questions. They got out of the car and stopped us. They asked the normal questions about what we were doing, where we bought the donkeys, where we were going, where we were from, how much did we pay for the donkeys, etc. They claimed to be from some sort of law enforcement or security agency, but based on their identification badges, they did something in the tourism industry. They insisted on getting plenty of pictures with us before letting us continue.
We came to the foot of a hill that looked so daunting, we needed to take a break to discuss how we would do it. It was too long, maybe 2 km, to ascend in multiple trips with small loads. It was the worst up hill of the entire donkey traveling. What was worse was that this asphalt was more slippery for the donkey’s shoed feet than the concrete road between Guelmim and Plage Blanche. We put Shuwya Shuwya in front, as she was always the stronger and more reliable donkey, especially going up hill. Susan insisted on pushing, so I took the reins to lead the cart up the hill.
We weren’t even on the steepest parts of the hill yet, and I could already feel Shuwya Shuwya’s feet slipping. It was like ice for her. I didn’t want to be leading. For me it would have been less stressful to be grunting it out behind the cart, than fretting over each of SS’s steps.
After the first km up hill, the team was getting tired, and the steepest stretch was still to come. I asked if we needed a break, as there was a tiny sliver of shoulder at this halfway point, but Jonathan and Susan preferred to keep on going. We continued onto the steepest 500 meter stretch, and slowed to a crawl. Huge semis were creeping past us from behind, zooming down the hill in the other direction. The honking and waving continued, as they didn’t realize, or care, how stressed we were. We made it to the top of the pass, but as soon as the road dipped down slightly at the top of the hill, SS really started to slip. It was a barely noticeable downgrade, but she was having a really tough time with it, so we supported the cart and moved slowly. At the top of the hill there was a police checkpoint. They let us through without searching us. We still had some daylight left, but when we saw what the descent on the other side of the pass was like, we knew we needed to save it for the next day. The police showed us where we could camp, and later an officer arrived to take our passport information.
In the morning we discussed how we would descend this down hill. We hadn’t gone down anything this long or steep before, and we knew that simply going straight down with the cart would be a disaster. We decided to take the main load of the cart down in saddlebags, and when the cart was light enough, Jonathan and I would rickshaw the cart down. Susan volunteered to take loads down with Shuwya Shuwya, which took about 30 minutes round trip.
As expected, when Susan left with SS, it made Rough go crazy. He pulled at his rope so hard, I was worried it would give him another cut on his ankle. He just got crazier and crazier. Jonathan laughed at him, very confident in the pile of rocks he had tied him to. A few more crazy lunges, though, and the rocks started to come loose, and Rough was running. We ran after him, and managed to cut him off so he didn’t get on the road. Once he realized he was trapped, he surrendered.
Susan took three loads with Shuwya Shuwya before Jonathan and I were ready to rickshaw the cart down. It took most of the day, but we managed to get everything to the bottom of the hill safely, and without too many problems. We were running low on food though, and we didn’t have much confidence in the tire that needed occasional pumping. It was decided that I would hitch a ride in to Tan Tan for the night to get provisions and fix the tire. A truck driver picked me up within ten minutes. We made it to Tan Tan in about 45 minutes, but based on the amount of hills we went over, I knew that it would not be easy on a donkey cart. There was a police checkpoint at the entrance of Tan Tan, and they made me get out of the truck, and let the driver go. They asked me the same questions as usual. They asked me about the tire. I explained about the donkey cart. I showed them pictures on my camera to help explain. They were so amused by this whole thing, but they seemed to feel the need to remain cop like, so they kept asking me other random questions, and made me sit around a while longer. I was annoyed because I was running out of daylight, and I had a lot of business to attend to. Eventually they stopped a truck driver and told him that he had to take me to a cheap hotel (as I told them I didn’t have much money) on his way in to town. He seemed annoyed by this, and wouldn’t make any conversation with me. He dropped me off at the first hotel into town, which was not cheap, nor was there any vacancy. But I was near all the tire shops, so I took advantage of that. As they were fixing the tube, they realized that the tube was actually the wrong size for the tire, which was probably why it had gone flat before.
I lugged the tire around for a couple of km before I found a hotel that looked affordable. I bartered the price down from 100 Dirhams ($12.50) to 50 Dirhams, and had my first bed in over two weeks.
I met two men in the lobby from Guinea, who told me that this donkey traveling is dangerous and that we are too vulnerable. They said if we want to see the desert, we should rent a 4x4. I said that it was far too expensive for us, and they argued that it wasn’t. It seems that even when I tell some people about my money situation, they just can’t comprehend it. Which is not shocking, as almost every other foreigner we met in Morocco was in their own car. We didn’t meet a single on-the-cheap backpacker sort of traveler our whole time in Morocco. Even when I wasn’t lugging around a spare tire, people would ask me where my car was.
After doing all my shopping, and indulging myself with street-meat sandwiches, I met a man from Mali who spoke English. His name was Handsome, or at least that is what he told me. I invited him for tea, and we had lots of good chatting about Africa and football. He was playing for the local Tan Tan football club, as it paid better than the team he was playing for in Mali. He offered to let me stay at his place for the night, but as I had already paid for my hotel room, I turned him down. I took his information, though and said I would call him when we got to Tan Tan.
The next morning I walked a couple of km toward the edge of town before I got a ride. It was with a friendly older man who seemed happy to help a donkey traveler. He dropped me off where Jonathan and Susan had made camp the night before. We got loaded up, and set out. Early on, we came a sizable hill, which was demanding, but as we had been through worse, we ascended with confidence. The way down was a different story. The asphalt was slick, the hill was steep, and the tight turns gave us little protection from the traffic. I scouted around for a different route and found it. It was on loose gravel, and some dirt road with large rocks and ruts. It was slightly less steep, and at least it would not be slippery and we wouldn’t have to deal with traffic. To keep the load light, we loaded Rough with saddlebags carrying water, and Jonathan left to take him down. Thirty minutes later he came back fuming. Halfway down, Rough had refused to continue, and Jonathan had to tie him up near the path. Jonathan is better with the donkeys than any of us, as he grew up on a farm, so this was surprising. Most of all, though, it was just a blow to Jonathan’s pride, and he admitted to it. The three of us started going down. I navigated, while Jonathan and Susan provided support. A lot of the road was so rough that agile navigation was pointless, and we just had to roll down fast and hope that we didn’t pop a tire or lose everything on the cart. I feared for the entire cart as we hit the biggest rocks and ruts. We had had so many problems so far, that any sort of breakdown wouldn’t have surprised me. We made it though, losing a few items along the way as they bounced off the cart. Jonathan and Susan retrieved them as they walked back up to get Rough. He fought again, but between the two of them, they were able to get him down. We got back on the road and made about three more kilometers before sunset.

Shuwya Shuwya

We were only 27 km from Tan Tan, and I was optimistic. Our longest day so far had been 25 km, and I knew the terrain was not going to be too bad. However, for whatever reason, we didn’t leave until 11. Later that day, just as we were finishing our lunch stop, Rough and Ready got loose once again. We watched casually as he simply pulled his stake out of the ground. He didn’t even know at first, but as soon as we started to get up and walk towards him, he realized. He ran away from us, and then paused before he made his move. Jonathan and I took positions between him and Shuwya Shuwya. Sure enough, he charged. It seemed like it would be too easy, as we were used to this by now. Our gamefaces were not on, and Rough and Ready out-maneuvered us. Suddenly he had made his way behind Shuwya Shuwya. I hesitated to get between them, as she was starting to kick. He knocked her on the ground and clamped his teeth onto her neck. Jonathan and I started wailing on Rough, and quickly managed to get him off of her. It seemed fairly routine by now, but it was the first time Susan had seen Rough and Ready get…rough. This was a startling revelation for her that these really were just animals acting on instinct. No divine spirit, no special connection, no beautiful soul. For a long time she had criticized any use of force against the donkeys, and preferred to gently coax them into doing what she wanted them to. While this never was effective, she still tried, because she believed it was the right thing to do. Now it was all shattered. It hit her that these were not our companions and fellow adventurers. Just a couple of animals that did what we told them to avoid a beating, and one that just wanted to get laid. It took her some time to get over witnessing an attempted donkey rape.
Soon after this episode, a bearded man emerged from the desert, and approached us, offering some oranges. We accepted them, and offered him some dates. He ate many, so we offered him some pomegranate, then some peanuts. He didn’t seem to speak any French, and didn’t seem very interested in communicating in Arabic. We wondered if he would leave, or at least do something to explain what he was doing here. It never came, so he helped us get our donkeys ready to go, and we left together. He seemed eager to help push up hills, and support the cart on down hills. He waved proudly to the truck drivers honking at us. He even joined us in our habit of scavenging useful scraps of material and trinkets from the side of the road. He found a bag of discarded oranges in perfect condition. He continued with us all the way until sunset, when we found a camp spot next to the only tree we had seen in days (weeks?). It seemed as if he would at least be eating dinner with us, and probably spending the night. I managed to glean a little bit of information from him. It seemed that he was walking from Guelmim to Tan Tan. I don’t know why he would walk 130 km alone, when he could have probably hitch hiked for free or just a little bit of money if he waited long enough. I don’t know where he would even get food or water, as there are almost no wells or villages between the two towns. All he seemed to be carrying were the couple of oranges he had shared with us. I asked his name by listing off Muslim names. He nodded at my second suggestion, Sayeed.
We cooked dinner and he ate less than us, but he seemed to enjoy it. He drank our tea and coffee, which most Moroccans didn’t do since we never put enough sugar in it. So it was weird, and he made us a little nervous, but he seemed like a good guy. We slept in our tents, and he slept on our tarp, with our spare blanket. I felt bad not giving him my tent to sleep in, as I know any Moroccan would have done that for me if I were their guest. I felt worse when it started raining.

Said at dinner time

Before I fell asleep, I heard a small crash from the box where we kept our silverware, plates and knives. It shocked me, and I couldn’t think of any explanation for the sound. I waited a few minutes, and then got out of my tent. Jonathan called to me because he had heard it too and asked if I saw anything. Nothing was out of place, and our new companion seemed to be sleeping peacefully. I felt guilty for sleeping with one eye open and a large knife under my pillow.
In the morning Said was still there, to my half-surprise, and he helped us wash dishes and pack the cart. We were only seven km from Tan Tan, so it was pretty obvious that he would be going all the way with us. I was unsure about what we should do about the police checkpoint at the entrance of town. They had asked me a lot of questions when I entered town hitchhiking, so I imagined it would be more complicated to come in with a donkey cart. Adding a man to our group that we knew absolutely nothing about wasn’t going to help. When we got within sight of the checkpoint, we stopped, and tried to explain to him that we needed to go through the checkpoint separately. He seemed confused at first, but eventually understood. I felt awful, because he looked disappointed. After thanking him for his help and wishing him a good journey, though, it was obvious that he was clear on why it was like this, and he didn’t blame us. I hope. We gave him a ten minute head start and never saw him again. Later, in Mauritania, I explained this incident to someone from that area of Morocco. He seemed to think that there was nothing too odd about that experience. It is just old desert etiquette. If you are traveling in the desert, and you meet other travelers, it is the protocol to just start traveling together. I was somewhat aware of this, but had learned of it in the context of the British explorer Alexander Laing being joined by a group of Tuaregs as he passed through the Sahara in is search for Timbuktu. After traveling side by side for several days, the Tuaregs made a midnight attempt on his life.
For our entrance to town, we all got on the cart for the first time in close to two weeks, and started playing music. I had Susan’s drum, and Jonathan and Susan had tin whistles and we all took turns singing. As we approached the checkpoint, we played In the Jungle, and some Moby song Jonathan had taught us, with incorrect lyrics as always, “Oh lordy, travel so hard”. The police were confused by us, and therefore asked us a lot of questions. Of course, they couldn’t contain their amusement, but they still tried to act like cops by acting very suspicious of us, asking our birthdays, then checking that information against our passports, asking lots of other erroneous questions, for some reason thinking they were going to catch us in a weird lie. One question that was probably asked by 95% of people that really annoyed me was how much we had paid. Of course it annoyed me because we had paid too much and I didn’t want to tell people the truth. But now that we were in Tan Tan, and we were considering selling the donkeys, I felt this information was now somewhat sensitive. During the questioning, good old Rough and Ready was going crazy with his hee-hawing as this town was full of donkeys. The officer was really annoyed by this, and normally I would be embarrassed by our inability to control the donkey, but I enjoyed it at this point.

Grand entrance into Tan Tan

When they finally let us go, we continued to play music as we rolled into town. We felt like minor celebrities with how much attention we attracted. Everyone was taking pictures of us on their cell phone cameras. It made me wonder, though. If I saw a Moroccan dressed as a cowboy, riding a horse somewhere in the southwest, would I stop to take his picture? Probably not.

Rough and Ready gives the Gum Show

Off-road with a sprained ankle

On our tenth day of Donkey travel we once again got another late start. I couldn’t explain why, but I am sure that leaving a beautiful desert beach had something to do with it. As we got ready, a couple of Moroccan men camping not far from us invited us for tea. It was my turn to get left behind, so Jonathan and Susan went while I packed.
When they returned, the older of the two men, came with a bag of oranges, stew and some bread. We ate greedily, and this pleased the man. After he left, he returned again, carrying a large shade tent made from grain sacks with him. He gave it to us unceremoniously and left. We never set it up to provide shade, but we used it for the rest of our donkey travel as a mat to cook and relax on. It was a huge gift.
Just as we were packed up Jonathan and I decided to take one last jump into the river that flows into the ocean. We agreed on cannon-balling, and we went at it at full speed. Jonathan slowed down before jumping in, but I kept going. I jumped, curled into a ball, and just before hitting the water realized I had jumped in the wrong spot, and the water was about two feet deep. As I hit, I felt a snap in my ankle. I was terrified, as my imagination went wild with the severity of the injury. I moved slowly, and was relieved to see that there was no bone sticking out of my foot, or even anything grossly misshapen. I didn’t blame Jonathan for his concern to be eclipsed by laughter. I sat in the water for a few minutes, scared to move my foot. After all we had been through, I did not want to stop donkey traveling now. And I absolutely did not want to have to go to back to Guelmim to see a doctor. Susan came and took a look. She has nursing experience, so I was relieved for that. She said that it was probably just a bad sprain, and she wrapped it with an ace bandage. But now we had to deal with getting back up the steep road from the beach. The cart was ready to go, but I could barely walk. Luckily there were a couple of young Moroccan men who quickly joined in to help push the cart up the hill. Another guy came and offered to help me up the hill. I didn’t really need it, as I was hopping on my left foot just fine, but he walked with me anyway. He said that there was a party for doctors from Guelmim at the top of the hill. I assumed that I didn’t understand, but when we got to the top, there was a large tent set up, with dozens of people milling about in nice suits, enjoying music and food. And yes, it was full of doctors. “Allahu Akbar,” I said.
An older man who spoke little French arrived, blowing cigarette smoke in my face as I tried to explain what had happened to me. He told me to sit down, and he then took off my bandage and tossed it aside. He started giving my foot a rough massage, with a lot of violent wrenching, using my reactions as indications of pain, rather than asking me where it hurt. Occasionally he would spit on my foot and rub it in. he gave it a final slap, and told me I would be fine. His only other advice was to get rid of that bandage. I asked why, and he didn’t care to explain, but instead just said it was no good and I shouldn’t wear it. He tossed it away and left.
When Susan and Jonathan arrived, we got the donkeys ready to go, and asked around about where the road actually continued. We had been under the impression, based on the map we had bought, that there was a decent road, maybe even paved, that connected the beach to Tan Tan. Now that we were here, we were getting very different explanations about how the road continued, none of which was very encouraging. Some said there was no road, some said there were many roads, but it was necessary to know which ones to take, some said we would have to cross a river, maybe several, too much sand, too many hills, etc. We had also heard that the route was only used by herders and smugglers. The general consensus, though, was that it would be no easy task with a donkey cart. It was a sudden shock, but we really didn’t have much choice. One of the young men who had warned us not to go this way stopped an approaching produce truck, grabbed a pumpkinish thing and brought it to us. I assumed this was a late Halloween gift, which I was very grateful for.
As a final scouting report, Jonathan ran over to the school that he had gotten water at. They explained that it would be a rough dirt road, sometimes several roads, for 45 or 50 kilometers before it meets up with the main highway to Tan Tan. We would also have to cross a river. They could not give us any information on whether there would be any wells along the way, but other people believed that there were.
We got on the road at about 3:00 and right off the bat, the road was hilly and covered with large rocks and loose gravel. Even though I was hopping on one foot, riding on the cart was out of the question, and I even had to push as much as I could on the uphill sections. The river turned out to not be a problem, as the road just went right over it. It was one of the only lucky breaks the terrain gave us during the whole trip.

As we moved into this more remote area, we could see nomads taking peeks, or long stares, at us from nearby cliffs, and surrounding hills. One thing I learned during this trip was that regardless of how alone you feel in the desert, there is always somebody else there, and quite often they are watching you.

We probably only moved 3 km that day, after which we set up camp before trying to ascend a steep hill lined with pastures of stone walls. The wind was strong that evening, which gave us a break from the mosquitoes, but also caused dirt and sand to get in every crevasse of everything.

We woke to heavy wind and a light drizzle, only halfway excited about the upcoming hill. As soon as we got everything packed, Jonathan noticed a major problem that had been lingering in the back of my mind for days. A flat tire. I had noticed one of our tires looking a little mushy, but figured that there wasn’t much we could do. Because so much of our preparation had been done hastily, we were never able to find a spare wheel, though it was always on our shopping list. We didn’t even have the tools to take the wheel off the axle. I walked up the hill and found the house that belonged to the pastures. I walked toward it nervously, wondering exactly how I could explain our situation. Even if whoever was there could speak French, would I know how to say “our donkey cart has a flat tire, do you have a pump, or the tools to remove it?” I saw a truck in front of the house, a good sign. There was an elderly woman just standing next to the truck. I had been hoping that there was a man there, but I saw nobody else. So I approached her discreetly, avoiding eye contact, and said, “salaam alaykum.” I started to try to explain our situation, using lots of hand gestures. When I looked up, I saw that she was gesturing to her right, toward the truck. I looked, and saw an arm hanging out of the truck window. It shocked me at first, realizing that I had been close to someone the whole time. It was a man of maybe 35 or 40 years. I looked serious as I explained our situation. Nothing about three foreigners with a donkey cart seemed surprising or interesting to him, probably because he had known of us before we had even arrived. He probably was expecting us to run into these problems if we tried going on this rode. He reached over to his glove box and pulled out a couple of wrenches and sent me on my way. One was too big, the other too small, so I went back, and he found one in between. This one was the right size, but the wrench and the bolts on the tire were too worn for it to work. Jonathan walked the 3 km back to the beach and found some Spanish overlanders, who lent him a crescent wrench and WD-40. They didn’t want to let him leave with it, and they said he had to be back in 30 minutes. Well that was impossible, but he took it anyway, and we got the tire off.
It was Jonathan’s turn to return to Guelmim, so he left and Susan and I with the task of researching our water situation, and keeping our levels topped up. The Spanish overlanders were gone, so we got free WD-40 and a free crescent wrench.
I was disappointed to be stuck, but knew that it was good timing, as I should probably rest my sprained ankle. Susan left on a water mission with Rough and Ready. Our total supply of 120 liters was probably only down 20 or 30, but we still wanted to be sure we always had as much as possible. As soon as Susan was out of sight, Shuwya Shuwya escaped. Luckily for me, when she escapes, she barely seems to realize it unless you run to her. So I limped over to her, as she made her way toward the giant grain sack, and re-tied her. Not a minute later, I turned around and saw Rough and Ready galloping toward us. As soon as he saw me between them, he seemed to surrender. I limped toward him, and he slowly retreated back down the road. Susan was nowhere in sight, but I was able get a hold of him without too much trouble. Eventually I saw her, several hundred yards away. By the time she reached us she was cursing Rough worse than any of us had. She even gave him a few whacks on the face. As often as Rough got loose, it was really fortunate that we had Shuwya Shuwya to act as a magnet for him, so we knew as long as she was under control, we would never lose him.
Susan made a second attempt to find water, and was able to get twenty liters from some nomad women, in exchange for one of our funnels.
Unsurprisingly, Jonathan didn’t make it back that day. But that night, right after we were done with dinner, we could see some headlights, maybe a kilometer away in the direction of the beach. We hadn’t seen any vehicles on the road since we had started on it. It looked like there might even be two vehicles, and that they were approaching very slowly. I thought it could be Jonathan, but not if there were two vehicles. Susan got up and started to walk toward the vehicles. I didn’t know why. I assumed these were some sort of smugglers, and wanted to be as discreet as possible. After five minutes, I called out to Susan, but she had walked out of earshot. Another five minutes, and I got up and started yelling for her to come back. Still nothing. All I could see was the now unmoving headlights in the distance. I could then hear raised voices speaking Arabic, but still nothing from Susan. I got nervous, but after a few more minutes she emerged from the darkness. She said it was some sort of tractor and a truck, and they weren’t sure which road to take, so she showed them the way. When they passed by our camp the large van in front stopped. I spoke with the driver, and he explained that they were coming to do some roadwork. Now? Yes. Here? Absolutely. A huge bulldozer passed next, and the driver stopped to ask how steep the hill in front of him was. After this incident, I couldn’t comprehend how weird this trip could get at times.
The wind continued to blow the next day, and we were camping in an area with more loose dirt than anywhere else. It was getting caked on everything. Susan went on another water mission. While she was gone, I watched an old man descend a hill in front of me. When he arrived at the bottom, next to one of the stone walls, I watched him observe the situation where the wall was damaged. The day before, I had watched as nearly a dozen sheep ran through. He got my attention and waved me over. He wanted me to help me fix the wall. At the part where it was broken, it was just a mess of broken netting, a few ropes, some wire, and stones. I didn’t know what could be done as a quick fix, but he instructed me with where he wanted me to put certain ropes and stones. He was too weak to do it on his own. It was a shoddy job at best. It was downright comical, actually, and I doubted that it would keep any sheep in that wanted to leave.
Susan returned from her water mission, and now we were completely topped off. She had met some men with trucks hauling sheep. As we were in the weeks approaching Eid, the Muslim holiday in which everyone slaughters sheep, every vehicle seemed to be hauling at least a few of the animals. The men welcomed her to their lunch and they argued over whom she would sit next to.
We waited for Jonathan until nearly 2:00. He finally arrived in a huge land rover. He brought two tires, a pump and a few yoghurts for us. He told us about his previous day. He had waited for hours for a vehicle to depart from the beach, and when one finally did, they picked him up. It was a Moroccan man and his wife. When they got to Guelmim, the man took Jonathan all over town in search for the right size of wheel. It was a three-bolt rim, which is common for donkey carts and some cars here, but apparently we had the old edition, which was smaller, and they were nearly impossible to get a hold of. They finally found one at a tire shop, but the man refused to sell it, for whatever reason. They were able to find one eventually, but the price was steep. The man brought Jonathan to his house that night, and fed him well, and even helped him arrange transport back to the beach. There is one land rover that goes to the beach every day to bring supplies, and if there is room, it also takes people.
So we now had two wheels for the cart, a spare, and a pump, just in case. This in addition to a full water supply and we felt in good shape to finally get back on our way.
We only moved about 5 kilometers before we arrived at a dry riverbed filled with soft sand, and lots of vegetation. Jonathan was tempted by the sand and wanted to camp there. I knew it would be bad for mosquitoes, but they didn’t seem to care. The “I told you so” is worth the mosquito bites for me, so I didn’t argue much. Sure enough, as soon as the sun set, they came in droves so heavy that we had to do our cooking and eating away from the river bed.
Our 13th day of donkey travel was another one filled with problems. Within the first three kilometers of departure, the saddlebags fell off of Shuwya Shuwya, and as we argued about the best way to tie them back on, we realized that our brand new tire had gone flat. This road was really rough, and within 11 kilometers, had already given us two flat tires. We still had at least 35 kilometers to go before getting to a main road. At some point during the changing of the tire, or cart pushing, or saddlebag tying, Susan revived an old injury on her wrist, making it difficult for her to help push the cart, or control the donkeys. We now had two injured travelers and a cart prone to flat tires.
And the road just kept getting worse. Huge ruts, and dropoffs that took very careful navigation. And the worst of them weren’t usually on level ground. We got to one section that had wide ruts on a slight downhill, a small cliff on the right side, huge rocks that would stop the cart cold, followed by a small uphill of the same terrain. I stopped the cart, surveyed the terrain, and figured out the route I would try to take to avoid ruts, and keep Shuwya Shuwya moving. I was nervous. Jonathan and Susan would be behind the cart, pushing especially hard if we got caught in any ruts, and doing the same on the uphill. From the start it was a disaster. Shuwya Shuwya wouldn’t cooperate with me and she was trying to avoid walking in the ruts, putting the tires directly in them. We quickly stalled in the most difficult spot, and I ran to the back to push, and Susan took the reins. I am not sure now exactly how it happened, but as we were pushing as hard as we could, there was a panic, some screams, and the cart fell. Shuwya Shuwya had collapsed, with the full weight of the cart on her back. Jonathan and I ran forward and started to untie her. Some of the ropes didn’t come off easily, so I grabbed my knife, and Jonathan cut them off. Shuwya Shuwya was motionless, and had a blank look in her eyes. Total resignation. Jonathan was frantic, almost in tears it seemed. I was probably mirroring Shuwya Shuwya’s face. I was in shock and didn’t know what we had gotten ourselves into. It took a couple minutes to get the weight of the cart off of her, but even still, one of the straps lay under her, making it impossible for us to move the cart. Susan and I held the cart up, as Jonathan tried to move her, and check for injuries. It didn’t look like she had broken a leg, but we couldn’t be sure. After a few tense minutes, she seemed to have a sudden twitch, a brief moment of realizing what was going on around her. She looked around slowly, moved a little bit, and all of a sudden just hobbled back up onto her feet and started walking with only a slight limp. We were all too adrenaline-rushed and panic-stricken to jump in excitement, but just felt huge sighs of relief. As we tied her up and unloaded the cart, two goat herders appeared next to us. They didn’t speak French, but we were able to explain what had just happened and that we were trying to get to Tan Tan. They were friendly and seemed amused by us. They helped us carry our items through the rough section, and to rickshaw the cart to safety. They showed us that they had binoculars and that they had seen us from far away. We asked them about a well, and they said there was one in five kilometers. That would be our goal for the day.

When we reached the well at sunset, we didn’t even care that the water was brown. We deserved something to celebrate. At some point in the night, I woke up to Jonathan yelling, “Joey, Joey, Rough and Ready’s loose.” I jumped out of my tent just in time to see Rough jumping onto Shuwya Shuwya. She was giving him double back kicks, which were only a mild deterrent to his randiness. By the time we got a hold of his neck rope, he had pinned her down and had his teeth clamped firmly in her neck. It took a lot of punching and kicking, but we got him off before anything happened. The next morning we found two bloody wounds in Shuwya’s neck from Rough’s teeth. As if she hadn’t been through enough that day.

Donkeys

Despite our late start, we left Tessegnan with a new optimism and giddiness at finally feeling free to travel with our donkeys.

We had our first experience on hills, something that would become one of the many banes of our donkey-riding existence. They were small hills, but we realized quickly that we all couldn’t ride on the cart when going up a hill, and especially not while going down hill.

At one point, on a downhill, Susan and I realized that the male donkey, whom we had named Rough and Ready, was having a lot of trouble with the asphalt and the weight. As these were donkeys from the country, they had metal shoes on their feet, which caused them to constantly slip on the downhills. We tried to support the cart, but then found that the lift on the cart, caused the donkey’s harness to come loose and slip forward. We stopped the cart and tried to figure out what to do. The weight was almost on Rough and Ready’s neck, and his feet were slipping. Jonathan had wandered a hundred yards in front of us, and we yelled for his help. When he got there, he tried to undo the whole setup, but when we tried to lift the cart off, it didn’t go. We lifted harder, then Jonathan realized that we had forgotten the belly strap. It was putting a significant dent in Rough and Ready’s stomach, and we quickly put the cart down again. We calmed down, and figured it out. If we all supported the cart at the right angle, and zigzag down the hill, we would make it. This was a simple problem that we figured out easily, but the puzzles of donkey travel would only get more difficult after this.

After making only five kilometers, we traveled a few hundred yards off the road and found a great spot, hidden between two hills, and next to the only tree in the area. For some reason this was the night that we first had to deal with bugs. We saw the ticks first. Then I killed a spider, which caused a big argument between Susan and I. And finally, after putting out the fire, the mosquitoes came. We never expected them in the desert, but here we were. It would be our last night sleeping without tents for a while.

We tried our best to get an early start, but still only got on the road at ten. We had to deal with more hills than the day before, and we were had to walk quite a bit. Rough and Ready and Shuwya Shuwya, Arabic for slowly slowly, split the 20 kilometers that we traveled that day.

We came to the tiny village of Rastarf at sunset, and filled our water jugs at the well. Our total water storage consisted of about 100 liters in large jugs, plus about ten liters in plastic water bottles. The donkeys each drank up to ten liters per day, depending on how hard they worked and how hot it was. We each used about seven liters per day between cooking and drinking. Although it fluctuated, water was our heaviest item, followed by the 100 kilograms of donkey food.

We were lucky to manage to get on the road the next day by 9:00, as we needed all the daylight we could get. Early in the day, a vehicle stopped in front of our cart, and two men in suits got out. They started asking us questions about where we were going, and where we were coming from, and eventually asked for our passports. We then asked for their identification, which showed that one of them was some sort of law enforcement official who had some sort of responsibility to Plage Blanche, where we were going. They had a serious demeanor, but it seemed that they didn’t want to cause any problem for us.

We passed some items on the side of the road that seemed discarded. A couple gallons of cooking oil, a plastic bag and a cardboard box. We were running low on cooking oil, so we had a quick discussion about whether we should take some. It looked like something that had just fallen out of the RV of one of the European tourists that had passed us. I thought it seemed obvious to take it, but Susan didn’t want to. Susan and I went to check it out, and when she found her favorite candies in the box, her mind changed, and she wanted to take it. But when I started to realize that this might have been left here intentionally for someone else to pick up, I thought it might not be a good idea. As we started to walk back to the cart, and old nomad man emerged from the desert onto the side of the road. I exchanged greetings with him, but he seemed unfriendly. He started pointing and yelling in Arabic, and I had no idea what he was talking about. He grabbed my hand and walked me back to the items on the road. He angrily started pointing at them, and pointing at the road. The best that I could guess was that somebody had left them for someone else, and that he was not going to let anyone mess with that. We hadn’t taken anything, and we tried to explain this, but he just continued to yell at us as we walked away. It was a confusing interaction, but I couldn’t really feel bad since I had done nothing wrong.

About ten kilometers from Plage Blanche, we came to our steepest, longest uphill yet. Jonathan and I had to get behind the cart and push, while Susan led Shuwya Shuwya. Of course, this was followed by our steepest downhill yet. We immediately saw that Shuwya Shuwya could not descend it safely. We decided that the best way was to have Jonathan and I take the cart down like a rickshaw. We staked Rough and Ready down, then Susan led Shuwya down the hill with full saddlebags. Jonathan and I rickshawed the cart down without too much difficulty, other than strong burns in the triceps. The cars passing on the tight turns also added stress, especially the SUV with French tourists that stopped to ask directions. When we got down, Susan went back up the hill to retrieve Rough and Ready. She was taking an exceptionally long time, so I decided go check on her. Halfway up the hill, I could hear her yelling, for what I didn’t know, but could only assume that the donkey had escaped from her. Sure enough, as I turned the next corner, there was Rough and Ready, coming to a halt as he saw me. I just walked slowly towards him, and realizing he had nowhere to go, he turned around, and started running back towards Susan. She caught him after a brief chase, and started to hit him and curse him loudly. This was a great sight, as she had always been against any sort of use of the whip against the donkeys.

Soon after, one of my flip-flops broke, and I had to finish the day half-barefoot. At sunset we were only 4 km from the beach, and we decided to push on through in the dark. The “village” seemed to consist of a police post, a school, and a few new buildings that didn’t have an obvious purpose. As the road turned to sand, we found a person, and asked him where the beach was. The man showed me where the road continued, and descended sharply for a few hundred meters toward the beach. It looked too steep for us, and impossible to do in the dark. We asked the man where we could get water, and he said at the police post, which he happened to work for. I walked over there with him, and found his supply limited, and he could only give us a few liters. He then said that we should come for tea, so I went back to where Jonathan and Susan were setting up camp. Only Jonathan came with me, as we had made a rule that we never leave the donkey cart alone. The police officer, and his fellow officer seemed disappointed that Susan couldn’t come. We explained that she had to start cooking dinner for us, so they invited us to eat with them. We said that she had already started cutting the vegetables, and we didn’t want them to go to waste. The first officer kept asking for her to come, so I agreed to go back and continue dinner, and she could come for the next round of tea.

All of a sudden, as I was working on the dinner, I saw Rough and Ready running toward Shuwya Shuwya. He had gotten loose, and now was looking for some action. Shuwya Shuwya panicked, knocked over her food bucket, and struggled to get free from her rope. I jumped up and managed to get a hold of Rough and Ready, with the help of Shuwya Shuwya’s sweet double back kicks. As I re-tied Rough, I heard a small crash. Shuwya Shuwya, having knocked over her food bucket, was now tearing at the 100 kg. grain sack, which was supporting the front of the cart. After she chewed a small hole in it, it tipped over, causing the cart to also fall forward, and allowing many things on the cart to slide forward and fall off. I didn’t make much progress on the dinner before Jonathan and Susan got back.

When they did get back, they were discussing an incident that happened during the tea. Apparently, the first officer took Susan outside to show her the ocean or the lighthouse or something, Susan wasn’t sure but went anyway. At some point he tried to hold her hand and even went in for a kiss. Susan wasn’t too bothered by it and just blew it off, but when she told Jonathan, he was furious. He wasn’t angry out of jealousy, but more because in this man’s culture, this kind of behavior was extremely out of line. Against Susan’s wishes, Jonathan went back to the police post to have a word with him. Of course, the man denied doing anything, and said that he had only grabbed her hand because she was getting too close to a cliff. Jonathan made it clear that he was angry, and came back. Ten minutes later, they came to our camp, with the first officer trying to apologize, and explain himself. I was more forgiving than Jonathan, and told him things were fine, and that they just needed to leave us alone now. They left, but came back soon after with several blankets, which we gladly accepted. The mosquitoes were brutal during dinner, and I quickly jumped into my tent after it was over.

We had a slow morning, as we weren’t really sure what we would do. The road to the beach was steep, and the ground was very loose. As we made our coffee, A young woman, whose age could have been anywhere from 15 to 30, and a small girl, who could have been a sister or a daughter, came, and in French more broken than mine asked if we would like to buy some bread from them. We said we would, but not until tomorrow. She invited us to tea at her home. This time, Jonathan stayed back as he had some things he wanted to fix on the cart. We also went with an empty 30-liter jug, hoping they had some water, or at least could point us toward the well.

They had a large tent that was made from scrap fabric and t-shirts stitched together. It maintained a cool temperature, despite the outside heat. I wasn’t sure how permanent this home was. In addition to the tent, there was a small mud brick compound. It seemed just plopped down in this field alone, but later I realized that other tents were also scattered around this area, but so spread out I could barely see them.

The girl was very quiet, but not shy. When she did communicate, she had forcefulness in her words. As she prepared the tea, she asked again about the bread. Even though she was charging more than double what it would cost in a town, we knew we could not get any bread in town here, so we agreed to order one for the next day. The girl’s mother came in with a large platter of runny eggs and bread for us. I had originally thought we had been invited to tea as a way to sell us bread. It seemed now that they were being genuinely nice, but would still like to sell us bread if they could. We managed to have some rough communication through the second round of tea. The mother was very friendly and curious about us, but she didn’t speak any French. We must have smelled bad, because one of the first things she did was bring a huge plastic bottle of perfume. She poured some in my hands, then motioned Susan to lean closer to her. She turned the bottle’s nozzle toward Susan and just squeezed it all over her chest, face and hair. Susan tried to resist the dousing, but there was not much she could do. Susan was annoyed, but I thought the whole thing was hilarious. I mean, I might not normally like to smell like cologne, but I also don’t normally like to smell as if I have been without a shower for a week.

After the girl showed us around the rest of the compound, she had her brothers fill up our water jug, and we were on our way. When we got back, Jonathan told us that he had scored a bottle of cooking oil from some French tourists that had passed by in their van. He also decided that we should try to take the cart down to the beach. In the past few days, Shuwya Shuwya had become increasingly reliable and strong, so we hooked her up to the cart. We took Rough and Ready down first, with saddlebags filled with water jugs, so we could reduce the weight on the cart. Susan and I supported the cart as Jonathan led it down, and navigated it around ruts and potholes. It was not easy, and Shuwya Shuwya slipped quite a bit. At the very bottom was the steepest part, followed immediately by a flat stretch of soft sand. As we reached the bottom, we used the downhill momentum into the sand, and ran quickly to the back of the cart to push it through. There were a few European RV tourists nearby watching us push our cart across the beach with mild curiosity. We couldn’t make it too far, but we found a decent spot to set up our camp. At some point as we were setting up, Rough and Ready got loose, and went for Shuwya Shuwya again. Both donkeys were free, and I managed to get a hold of Rough’s neck rope as he chased her. His momentum was enough that he dragged me along with him, allowing me to basically do some barefoot sand-skiing before I got him under control. This led to the idea of donkey-skiing. This consisted of pegging Shuwya Shuwya down and then attaching a rope to Rough and Ready 50 meters away, then hanging onto the rope as Rough ran towards Shuwya Shuwya. In theory this would have been great, but it seemed that pulling nearly 200 lbs. really killed his libido, and he could only make a slow trot towards her.

That night a man named Ali, who had told us he was Italian, but later explained that he was a Moroccan living in Italy and was just on vacation, brought some fish that he had caught. He spoke good English (which he said he had learned in Italy (?)) and we cooked the fish over the fire.

We decided to stay on the beach a little longer since it was such a nice spot. However, this would mean that we definitely needed more supplies, as we were still a long way from the next village, and donkey traveling was moving much slower than expected. I volunteered to go back to Guelmim for provisions. I hitched a ride at noon from the first car that passed. It was depressing to cover the distance we had covered in a week in an hour and a half by car.

Our starch supply was in good shape, so I mostly filled up on fresh fruits and vegetables. I also was able to refuel on the foods that were working well for us, like tins of sardines and dates, and neglected to get the foods that had been a bad idea, like eggs. I also got a new 30 liter water jug, as we knew the next leg of the trip would be very unreliable for water.

When I was done, I took a shared taxi back to Tessegnan, where I knew that if I couldn’t hitch a ride back to the beach that day, I would at least have a place to stay. While I waited for a ride, an opportunistic man who had heard of our love for donkeys, insisted on taking me to his home to see his donkeys. He wanted to sell one, and really didn’t want to accept my “no” for an answer. I needed to get back on the road with my thumb out. It didn’t take long for one of my old Tessegnan friends to find me, and they insisted that I pass the night there. Hassan brought me back to his place, which was fine by me. I was exhausted, and feeling really weak. He prepared some tea for us, and we ate some bread with oil. He had to leave for a couple hours, and said I could stay there, and that some of the other boys would be coming eventually. I fell asleep almost immediately, and woke a couple hours later to Abdulrahman and his friend arriving to make some tea and smoke some hookah. I made some delirious conversation, and had some tea and hookah between bursts of sleep.

At 6 in the morning, they woke me up, and we left together. I don’t know where they had to be so early, but I went right out to the road. They also mentioned that they would take their motorbike to the beach, as they heard they could get construction work on a hotel being built there.

Before I could catch a ride back to the beach, I got a text from Jonathan that said, “donkey night from hell. Bring 5 more kilos of pasta and 5 more kilos of rice.”

My dream was to never return to Guelmim, but I knew that that would never really happen. So I took a taxi back, and went to the first shop I could find to get provisions again. I also picked up some chocolate and yoghurt for Jonathan and Susan as I could only imagine what had happened the night before. They would need some treats.

Back to Tessegnan, and my thumb was finally out by noon thirty. It took about an hour, but I finally got a ride. This man was middle-aged, and a bit scruffy in a beatup car. A more average Moroccan man than the typical, well educated and wealthy people that usually pick us up. Within minutes of driving away, he casually mentioned that he was from Al-Qaeda. I just laughed and said there is little if any Al-Qaeda presence in Morocco. “Maybe in the north and in the cities,” he said, “but out here, in the desert, there are many of us”. I still didn’t take him seriously and just continued to chat with him like normal. He said he had seen me before, traveling with the donkeys. This made me more amused than worried. He then said he had had to drive past us with his mother, and be exposed to the girl who was dressed so immodestly. It was true that Susan had been dressed completely inappropriately for Morocco, especially in these rural areas. But since a car would pass us every twenty minutes or so, she didn’t feel the need to cover up. I hadn’t pushed the issue too hard, even though her attire embarrassed me. Jonathan had warned her too, but she just blew him off, saying that she just wanted to feel free in the desert. Now it was my problem and it made me furious. I apologized profusely to the man, and tried to explain that she didn’t understand the culture, and that we would make her cover up in the future. After a harsh scolding, he dropped me off, saying he had to turn on the next road, but would be back in a couple hours to take me further. I was glad to be out of his car, even if it was obvious that he was trying to scare me with his Al-Qaeda talk. The next vehicle that passed picked me up and took me all the way to the beach.

The Tessegnan boys were already hanging out with Jonathan and Susan when I got there. They were preparing coals for the hookah, preparing tea, and cooking lunch. Jonathan and Susan had done some work on the cart, and had found some heavy fishnet to put around it, creating walls to stabilize the load, and to hang trinkets on.

I got the story about the donkey night from hell. Apparently there were multiple escapes during the night, leaving Jonathan and Susan with very little sleep. At one point, both of them got loose and were caught gallivanting a few hundred meters away. They had also gotten into the dry food bag, and torn apart all of our bags of rice, pasta, corn and flour. Shuwya Shuwya also got a bad cut on her ankle from the rope that she had pulled herself free from.

I spent the afternoon jumping in and out of the river that flowed into the ocean. Jonathan went on a water-finding mission. We had confirmed that there was no well within 10 kilometers of us, and that everyone here gets their water trucked in from Guelmim. So it was basically a water-begging mission. Jonathan took Rough and Ready, who needs exercise during the day or else he will surely cause trouble at night. A few hours later he came back with 60 liters. He got 30 from the school, and 30 from a French family at their vacation home a few kilometers from the village. They also gave him some canned food, and a bottle of wine. Jonathan said they stay so far out of the way because they like their privacy, except of course from sweet donkey travelers.

We made a tajine for dinner with the Tessegnan boys, and they left soon after. I think that was Halloween.

We woke up in the desert field, filled with uncertainty, and facing several challenges. My laptop had been stolen, and we had to meet with the police in town. This meant our first time taking our donkeys and cart further than the outskirts of town. We didn’t know exactly how far the station was, how long it would take, and how our country-raised donkeys would handle 9 o’clock traffic.

It turned out that our donkeys were slow, had a little bit of difficulty staying out of the middle of the road, but overall, better than expected. However, when it became clear that we wouldn’t make it in time, I ran ahead on my own to meet with the police.

The night before the police had told me to arrive at this station at 10:00 AM sharp. I assumed this meant that they would be expecting me, but when I got there, I had to start all over, explaining the whole story in French and some English, as this particular officer, dressed in business casual, could speak a smattering of English. I was getting a good amount of practice in my past tense French. The officer’s first concern was whether it occurred in his jurisdiction, or in the gendarmerie’s. Before it was decided, another officer came in, informing me that my friends had arrived with the donkeys, but that we couldn’t park our cart in front of the police station. I went back outside to sort things out, and when I came back, there was another man in the office. The sight of him caught me tongue-tied, and I was beyond confusion. It was Salaam, the greasy man who had arranged our donkey purchase, and made a handsome, yet sneaky, commission in the process. I never thought it would be possible, but the sight of him did not trigger anger within me as much as it did relief. Had he heard about what happened to me, and come to support me? Maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy after all. However, after reading his face, I realized that he was just as confused as I was, and even looked a bit panicked. It turned out that he was a translator for the police, and he was there to help me explain my story to the officer, who I had noticed had a French-Arabic dictionary on his desk.

I played my cards close to my chest, not knowing to what extent the police knew my relationship with Salaam. I didn’t let on that I already knew him, because I knew that if the police found out that Salaam had ripped me off in a donkey transaction, it could cause trouble for him, and the last thing I wanted was to lose my translator. When I began to explain the story again, I tested the waters, casually mentioning, in French so the officer would understand, “the laptop was a Macbook, you saw it Salaam.” This made the officer’s ears perk up with confusion, and Salaam looked jolted. They had a quick exchange in Arabic, and whatever silly thing I had said was quickly glossed over. That Salaam is a clever cat, and I am still curious what he told the officer about why I had said that he had seen my laptop.

After all the details were covered and translated, the officer, Salaam, a tall and bulky man in civilian’s clothes and I left and got into a small unmarked red car. I wasn’t quite sure what we were doing, but we headed straight for the house where the theft had taken place. Nothing about us, clothes or otherwise, indicated law enforcement. I wasn’t sure if this was intentional or not.

My heart pounded as we arrived at the house. I was worried that somebody would recognize me, but the only person around was a small boy I didn’t recognize hanging outside the door. We parked ten meters from the door, and the officer and the large man got out, telling me to stay put. What happened next was my first taste of the type of justice that happens in the majority of the world. It was not extreme, but it was enough to make me squirm, and feel wrong about what I was doing.

When the door opened, a few middle-aged women emerged. Then I saw the strong man yank a young boy, maybe 14, out of the doorway. I didn’t recognize him. He looked scared. The officer and the strong man were yelling at him. When he hesitated, it got rough. The strong man pushed him, and he tried to get away. He grabbed him and hit him. The women screamed. The boy cried. I didn’t need to understand Arabic to know exactly what was being said. More yelling, more hitting, more screams from the women and the boy was in handcuffs. As the boy was dragged toward the car, two of the women dropped to the ground and wailed, shrieking at the cops for the boy to be returned. It was the same scene I had seen in on news footage from the aftermath of violence in the Middle East. It made me wince. I didn’t think this boy was involved with the theft, and was never even positive if somebody in that dormitory had even done it. The boy was thrown in the car next to me, and I yelled to the cop, asking if this kind of violence is necessary. They ignored me, and walked toward the house again. Even Salaam looked a little disturbed. The boy was sobbing and telling me that he didn’t do anything wrong. I believed him, and apologized over and over, mirroring his panic. I don’t think many people ever find themselves in a police car next to the suspects of a crime against them. The police came back to the car, and I was surprised to see them with Swecki, the 18 year old who had originally invited us in. I suspected him, if anyone, and was also surprised to see him coming calmly, and out of handcuffs. He looked different, though I knew it was just my perception. A man that was hospitable one day looks much different than the same man after he has taken advantage of your trust. I was confused though. Why was he coming? Was he a suspect? Why did he come without handcuffs? Did he have information on the culprit? Why wouldn’t he look at me?

The seven of us crammed into the five-seater, and drove back to the station. I thought that after all my crammed bus and taxi rides while traveling in the developing world that I had experienced the worst of uncomfortable transit, but this was on a different level.

At the station, Swecki and the boy were taken to separate rooms, while Salaam and I sat in the waiting area. He started to lecture me about trusting people. He told me that it is not a good idea to just stay in people’s homes if you don’t know them. He told me that many people try to take advantage of foreigners. I didn’t know if I wanted to slug him, or just laugh at the absurdity and irony of what he was telling me.

Ten or twenty minutes later, Swecki was escorted out of the room. As he passed Salaam, he winked at him and said something in Arabic with a grin on his face. After the strong man and the officer left the station with him, I asked Salaam what he had said. He looked mildly shaken as he told me he had said, “I’m going to kill you.”

Another twenty minutes passed, and they returned. Swecki was in front, and as he passed me, he shot me the same wink and smirk as he had given Salaam, sans vocal threat. It was understood though.

I quickly forgot about the look, though, as I saw the officer follow him with my laptop’s charger in his hand. Hope. Then, the strong man followed, carrying the giant blue Ziploc bag that the computer had been in. My hope was still there, but still uncertain. They told me to follow them into the office. The strong man closed the door, then silently pulled my laptop out from under his shirt without so much as a smile. I wanted to jump and hug them for their wonderful police work, but they just wanted me to sign some papers. The officer then explained to me that we had to leave town immediately, because he didn’t think we would be safe here. We still had some things to buy in town, but he said it was not a good idea to stay, and that we should set out in the direction of Tan Tan, due south, immediately. I knew so little of what had actually happened, or even where Swecki was, and I didn’t want to mess around.

On the way out, Salaam confirmed what the officer said, and told me that we need to leave as soon as possible toward Tan Tan, even though our original plan was to go east toward the beach first. He also didn’t miss one final opportunity to get some more money out of me. He asked for the ten dirham to take a taxi home (taxis during the day only cost six dirham, plus he lives within walking distance of the station) because the police don’t pay for his transportation. I blew him off went to find where Jonathan and Susan had taken the cart. On the way, I met a Moroccan cyclist that had just ridden from his home in Marrakech to Guelmim, the town he was raised in. He was taking a photo of the sign at the entrance to town as he completed his journey. We got to talking after I asked him if he had seen any white people with a donkey cart. He was surprised when I told him about the theft, as Guelmim apparently has a sterling reputation. However, he said that it was a bad idea to stay in the dormitory, even though most instances of Moroccan hospitality are genuine.

When I found Susan and Jonathan, I explained to them that we needed to leave town, and they agreed, but not for my reasons. They had suffered the wrath of Moroccan children en masse. As the hundreds of children made their way to school and encountered two white people on a donkey cart, they got a little out of control with their harassment, and rocks were thrown and thefts were attempted. They made it out unscathed, but we were all finished with Guelmim at this point.

We were not completely prepared for our voyage, but we set out in the early afternoon anyway. As soon as Guelmim was out of sight, we felt relieved, and excited about finally getting on the road. Although I didn’t think that I should worry too much about what kind of danger we were in, I was slightly nervous at our miserable pace. By dusk we were only a 20 or 30 minute bicycle ride out of town. We were in the village of Tessegnan, which might be home to about 300 people. It would turn out to be one of our most stress free days of donkey travel during the entire trip.

We were disappointed to find the town’s single shop stocked with very little, and nothing in the way of produce. We knew that we would have to send somebody back to Guelmim the next day. We bought what we could, and headed out of town, looking for a place to camp. It was dark by the time we found our spot, about 200 yards off the road, and behind a dirt mound in the brush. I don’t think Susan or Jonathan thought too much about our security, but I was a little nervous about how well-hidden we were.

Unsurprisingly, we were not hidden at all. When three white people arrive in a village of 300, a close eye will be kept on them, even if they think they are being discreet. Not long into our dinner, we saw a motorbike approaching, it zoomed past us, and went farther into the bush. It seemed obvious that, even if they didn’t stop to say hello, they were coming by to get a peek at us. When they drove by again, they did stop. It was three boys in their early twenties. I was nervous for many reasons, but they seemed friendly and curious, so I stayed cordial. I know that words travel fast in places like this, so I felt almost certain that they had heard of us, and might know everything about the laptop incident. It made me nervous, but they ended up leaving after exchanging pleasantries. After an hour, they returned to invite us to stay in one of their houses. This was impractical, as our camp was set up already. We talked about donkey care, and they gave us lots of great information about proper diet and feeding procedures. They said the grain we bought the donkeys was great, but it is also good to give variety, like hay. They returned another hour later, just as we were getting to bed, with a big sack full of hay. I didn’t know why they were being so nice to us, but it was comforting to get back to the hospitable Morocco that seemed to have been shattered during the previous week.

Tessegnan by night

The next day, Susan and I took a minibus into Guelmim to finish buy supplies for the journey. I didn’t want to go back, but Jonathan needed to stay back to do some work on the cart, and Susan didn’t speak any French. I wanted to make the trip in town as quick as possible, as I still wasn’t sure how serious our situation was. Probably not dangerous, but I still didn’t want the police to find out that we were back, as they would probably not be too excited about it.

We got our shopping done without incident, but it was obvious that we were known in town, as many people recognized us as the people with donkeys.

That night back in Tessegnan, the boys with the motorbike came back, and brought a hookah. Eventually a few other local guys of their age group came, and we all made a tajine together for dinner. What made us trust them was that they agreed to put lots of garlic in the tajine, and put slices of orange in it, two good ideas that Swecki had sneered at when we made the suggestion. We felt bad that even though we could have stayed in the homes of any of the boys, we chose to stay in the desert. This did not make them want to help us less, and after dinner, they brought mats and blankets for us.

We were so comfortable that night, that we woke up late, and knew that we would not make the long distance that day that we were hoping to. Two of the boys, Hassan and Abdulrahman, came back and after breakfast, invited us to tea. So after we were packed up, which took a couple of hours, we rolled into Hassan’s home and were invited in by his older brother and sister, Khadija. Susan helped Khadija in the kitchen, while the men hung out and talked. Hassan brought his grandfather at some point to greet us. He looked confused, and Hassan explained that he was sick, and couldn’t remember things. Alzheimers. After that, Khadija came in, saying that she was bringing her mother. A hunched over women in a pink cloth entered with downcast eyes. She looked very pale, from what I could see of her face. When she looked up, I was confused for a moment, then realized it was Susan, and Khadija had dressed her in proper attire for the region. I was happy for Susan to be given this gift of traditional clothing, as Jonathan and I had bought some local garb for the trip. However, she later expressed how trapped she felt in this clothing, and didn’t want to wear it.

Hassan

Khadija

Khadija and Susan

We had a modest lunch, then had a long tea session. Then the best hospitality of all, a shower! None of us had been able to shower in nearly a week, and we knew it would be the last one for a while. Jonathan and I almost killed an entire bottle of shampoo. My hair had gotten too dry to wash easily, and Jonathan’s was trying to go back to dreadlocks.

Abdulrahman

When we left, Hassan and Abdulrahman rode on the cart with us for about a kilometer, then jumped off and gave us a raucous goodbye.

It felt good to feel back on track with good people and a well-prepared donkey cart.