Moroccan police are anti-donkey

Jonathan and I got up almost two hours before sunrise and saddled up the donkeys. We led them through the desert in a thick haze of fog that we hoped would veil us after the sun rose. We had some vague directions about how to get to the animal market, but first we had to circumvent the police checkpoint. Our route probably set us back thirty minutes, and not long after we were actually walking the streets of town, the rising sun had destroyed most of the fog, and the only thing giving us any anonymity were our turbans and blue robes.
The market turned out to be much further away than we had hoped, and avoiding any main road and peeking around corners for police made it even more difficult. The closer we got, though, the more vehicles and donkey carts we saw carrying sheep toward the market, and we were able to just join the pack.
Any worries about police quickly dissipated as soon as we reached the market. Partly due to excitement, partly due to the overwhelming nature of the whole endeavor that made us realize that we could have other problems. Of course we drew plenty of attention as we pushed our way through the crowded aisles of the food side of the market, but most of it was harmless. When we got to the animal market, we staked out a place on the edge, near where other people had parked their donkey carts. We worried it wasn’t central enough, and one of us would have to walk around the crowd to rustle up some buyers. This was not the case, though. As soon as word spread that some foreigners were selling donkeys, we were surrounded by a dozen people begging to know the price. At first we were thrilled at the interest, but it eventually became obvious that nobody was very interested in paying a realistic price for donkeys to foreigners. Either they were simply curious, or figured we would sell them at rock bottom prices because we didn’t know any better.
It was fun for a while, but as the men started to fade away, the children took over. They were obnoxious as hell, and were continuously harassing the donkeys, asking for cadeauxs, or poking around our belongings in the saddlebags. During the course of the day, my headlamp, which had been in my jacket pocket in the saddlebag, and Rough and Ready’s bridle were missing.
We were hoping to get 1,500 Dirhams ($190) per donkey, but knew that we would probably have to settle for closer to 1,000 Dirhams ($125) per donkey. Interestingly there was far more interest in Rough and Ready, even though for us, Shuwya Shuwya was the far better, and more reliable donkey. By late afternoon, we knew we might have to go even lower if we wanted to get rid of them that day, which was very important due to our police situation. We had heard from somebody that the police was looking for us, but they never came.
The best offer we had was from one man who was interested in buying the cart and both donkeys for 2,500 Dirhams, but he wanted to see the cart first. We arranged to meet him on a road not far from our camp at 6:00. Before we left the market, we also took the phone numbers of a couple of other prospective buyers, in case the other offer fell through.
On our way back to town we passed through a slummy area, and we got the attention of a dozen kids, who started following us. They started with the usual bonjours and monsieurs, and quickly moved to the inevitable requests for cadeauxs. When we started to ignore them, it made them angry, so they tried testing out their only phrases in English, “fuck you!” and “bitch!” I was shocked, but knew that responding to that would not help. Just as we got out of their neighborhood they started hurling rocks at us. At this point, we were too far in front of them for us to worry. Jonathan continued on toward camp, but I had to meet the man who wanted to buy the donkeys on the road next to the slum, so I stayed just out of their rock throwing range. While I waited, the kids slowly crept closer. Some of the kids had slings, but they were not very effective. Just as some of the rocks started to land near me, a young guy walking by saw what was happening, and went and yelled at the kids. He then sent one of the kids to the nearest shop and had him buy some bread with cheese spread and milk. As I chatted with the guy, the kids slowly crept closer in a non-threatening away. When they were finally surrounding us, I pulled out one of the noisemakers from Jonathan’s birthday party and blew on it. This caused a big commotion among the kids, and they all had their hands out, demanding it. I said I would only give it away for one of their slings, because, hey, I need to protect myself, don’t I? Immediately there were about four slings being shoved towards me. I chose the orange one and the deal was done.
Jonathan came back with Said, who we had become friends with over the last few days. We wondered where the guy was, so we had Said call him so he could speak in Arabic. Apparently there had been a mix up in the time, and we had been late. The guy was no longer interested. So, with the help of Said, we called the two other donkey buyers. One wanted Rough and Ready for 750 Dirhams, the other wanted Shuwya Shuwya and the cart for 1,750.
When the first donkey buyer arrived, we made a quick transaction to sell Rough. We said our goodbyes, but it happened too quickly, especially as the idea of sentimentality for your donkeys didn’t seem very common in the culture. We knew the more stressful donkey was gone, but also the more fun one. Rough and Ready was always a constant headache, but also provided far more entertainment. His midnight hee-hawing, his constant chasing of Shuwya Shuwya, and most of all the gumshow, will never be forgotten. The gum show, which could come at any moment, look like this:



It was our weak spot, and Rough and Ready knew it. Any time after we forced him off of Shuwya Shuwya after an attack, and we were cursing and hitting him, he would immediately flash the gum show. Of course this would win us back over immediately.
After Rough was gone, we dealt with the second donkey buyer, and apparently there had been a mix up in the price, and the deal didn’t go through. So we were left to try and figure out how to sell the cart and Shuwya Shuwya the next day. Said stuck around that night with his friend Said, and we made dinner and tea together. They told us that the animal market should continue the next day, although the normal weekly market wouldn’t be there.
In the morning, we decided to head out early again toward the market as we had the day before, but this time we would bring the cart. We felt some confidence with our police situation since we hadn’t been bothered the day before. Unfortunately, though, the market location changed, and it was right next to a police station. After we arrived, of course we were surrounded by kids who went through their normal routine, and by the time they started to throw rocks, a police officer arrived and shooed them away. He spoke to us in English and asked us the expected questions of where we were from and what we were doing. Five minutes after he left, another office arrived, asking the same questions, but in French. He asked for our passports, which we gave. He gave them back and left. Soon after, I went to buy some fresh squeezed orange juice that I had seen someone making. As I started to drink it, another officer approached me with the same routine. After taking my passport, he told me to come with him.
We arrived outside the police station, and I was directed to speak with a man sitting in a white SUV. He was dressed in slacks and a white button up shirt. Again, he asked where I was from, what I was doing in Morocco and at the market, and for my passport. I told him that we were trying to sell our donkeys here and he told me that this was a problem. I didn’t take him seriously. Before explaining the problem, he said we had to leave town. I begged for him to let us sell the donkey and cart before leaving. He said it was impossible, and that we had to go back to Guelmim. So I asked if we could just go on to Tan Tan Plage. He told us it was also impossible, as they don’t have a donkey market. By this time, Jonathan arrived, but refused to admit to speaking or understanding any French, a tactic that can be fairly useful when being faced with ridiculous or illegal police practices. I asked him what we had done wrong, and he said many things. What things? Well, first of all, he told us, trying to sell a donkey at a sheep market, secondly, camping outside of town, plus, many other things, which he refused to elaborate on. They were both ridiculous charges, especially the camping, as we were in a nomadic culture that generally is open to people camping on communal temporarily. The man told us that our two options were to leave to Guelmim (150 km back the way we came) immediately, or to face the charges in court. We really wanted to call their bluff, but we thought we could at least sneak out of town toward Tan Tan Plage, only 30 km away. We told them we weren’t nearly prepared to make a journey that long with only one village in between, and potentially only one well. We had very little food, no water and half the donkey power. We also were not packed at all. They said they would give us one hour to do all our provisioning, water filling and packing.
As we slowly packed up our things at the market, I exchanged phone numbers with a couple of the men that had shown interest in the donkeys. The police yelled at the men as we did this, though I still was going to try to escape this town without a donkey cart setup.
We left the market with a police escort and plenty of people watching, none of which were about to come to our defense. We led the donkeycart away as slowly as possible, and spoke with anybody that was curious about us. A police truck was following us, about 30 yards behind us. Anytime that somebody tried to talk to us, an officer would get out and yell at them, or pull them aside after speaking to us, and give them a talking to. This whole charade of a police escort for a donkey cart was so comical that it really lightened our mood. We mosied through town, greeting everybody we could, wondering if they noticed the police truck behind us. Our only worry was that the police would come all the way to our camp with us, and really make us pack up right then. As we expected, though, they stopped at the edge of town, and the edge of jurisdiction. A police officer at the checkpoint, who apparently hadn’t been updated about what we were supposed to do, told us that we had to go to Tan Tan Plage. I didn’t matter, though. It was now gendarmerie territory, and in a way we were safe.
We called Said and he came quickly. He confirmed what we were almost sure of, that everything the police told us was a bluff, and for whatever reason, the powers that be had decided that we were not welcome in town. He said we shouldn’t worry that they will do anything to us. We still wanted to leave, though, and the sooner the better. We called up two of the potential donkey buyers, one of which was the same guy that had bought Rough and Ready. He said he would come to look at the cart. So instead of packing everything and heading to the next town, we unpacked the cart, and got everything ready to sell.
It wasn’t until almost dark that the man who had bought Rough and Ready finally showed up, though this time he came with a woman. She had her game face on, and was far from friendly. It was her that was interested in Shuwya Shuwya. She walked directly to her and grabbed her mouth, opened in harshly and checked the gums. She looked disappointed. She looked her over a little more and seemed annoyed that she had bothered to walk all the way over to look at such a worthless donkey. Of course we knew this was all a show, but it was true that by the look of her, Shuwya Shuwya was an old mare, past her prime.
They would not take her for anything more than 1000 Dirhams including the cart. It was a steal for the cart alone, and we knew it. But we were desperate, and they knew it. The deal was done and after nearly a month, we were donkey free. We knew it would be a relief to have them out of our hands, as it really was like being with children, especially in town. But empty nest syndrome set in that night, and we got nostalgic from the hee-hawing we could hear in the distance, imagining it was Rough and Ready greeting Shuwya Shuwya as she came home.

Shuwya Shuwya is bought

In the morning we burned our trash, packed our bags fuller than any of us ever had before, and collected the remaining supplies before leaving our Tan Tan camp. During the process, our camp, as it often was by now, was invaded by some of the kids from the nearby neighborhood. They were generally peaceful, but had a real problem of touching and playing with everything they could get their hands on. Jonathan yelled at one of them as he realized he was looking through one of the pockets on his backpack. Jonathan’s headlamp was never seen again. They also tried to steal a memory card of mine. It was another nice goodbye from the town of Tan Tan.
The plan was for Jonathan and I to go to the market and sell all of our leftover supplies, and then leave town for Tan Tan Plage. In the mean time, Susan would be traveling north to Rabat to get visas for the three of us to enter Mauritania. We had all bought them before the donkey trip, but they were expired by now.
So Jonathan and I carried our backpacks, lots of leftover food, four water jugs, a tire, tools and quite a few other random things. We tried to get a taxi to the market, as it was a couple of km away. Unfortunately Tan Tan is the most difficult town to get a taxi in that I have ever been in. We walked and tried to get a taxi for nearly an hour, but with our loads, we were barely moving. Before we could get a taxi, a large truck that served as public transit to Tan Tan Plage drove up to us. We decided we might as well try our luck selling stuff there, as it seemed that we would never make it to the market.
Meanwhile, Susan was trying to make it out of Tan Tan by hitchhiking. We had told her it wasn’t necessary to hitchhike, and that we would split the cost of transportation and accommodation evenly, but she insisted on saving the money. She got picked up by a French man, who said he would take her as far as the checkpoint. When she got there, though, they would not permit her to cross the checkpoint. They said she could not leave Tan Tan by hitchhiking and they forced the French man to take her back to town and drop her near a bus station. We weren’t sure how much of this was just worry for a girl hitchhiking, or had something to do with the trouble we had caused in town.
Jonathan and I got a text about this as we were in the truck, and so we told her just to meet us in Tan Tan Plage. We got there about 30 minutes before sunset, and the town had a unique calmness to it, that was obviously not normal here. It was the night before Eid Al-Adha, one of the most important Muslim holidays, and you could feel it in the air. The few people in the central square of town paid close attention to us as we arrived laden with jerry cans, plenty of luggage, and a tire. We casually laid out a few grain sacks as a mat, and set out all of our items for sale. Somehow a small crowd materialized within minutes. We were not hoping to make much money, just lighten our loads. Surprisingly we didn’t do too bad, and sold most things at half of what we had paid for them or more. The best sale was a toy violin that I had gotten for Jonathan’s birthday. We sold it for 10 Dirhams, when I had bought it for 15 Dirhams. Susan arrived as we were selling the last of our things. In total, we made 118 Dirhams, or about 15 dollars. Not much, but in context of traveling, $5 each was about a day of living cheap.
After it was dark enough, made our way to the beach, and found an area that was out of the way and covered with little bush-covered hills, that gave us a little bit of privacy. It was time to get on to a new style of travel.

Urban donkeys

As excited as we were to get into a town after three weeks of donkey traveling in the bush, it was not without problems. We expected Tan Tan to be very pro-donkey, after all, they even had signs on the streets warning drivers of the abundance of donkey carts in town. But when we parked on a side street, and tried to go into a restaurant for lunch, we were told we couldn’t park our cart there. This was pretty shocking, as it seemed that everyone else was parking their carts wherever they wanted.
After we managed to eat a disappointing meal (our camp food had gotten pretty good by now), we found a garbage-strewn field for me to park the cart in, while Jonathan and Susan went to the market to buy some things and run some errands. While I waited, a fellow donkey driver passed. His donkey caught scent of our donkeys, and Rough and he started hee-hawing to each other, which give the man’s donkey a turbo boost. The man waved to me as a thank you. Unsurprisingly, several police vehicles (actually, police, gendarmerie and military) stopped to have a chat with me. None of them had a problem with us, and I asked where we could camp. They said we could camp in this field, but it would be safer for us to go to the edge of town and camp in the bush.
While I waited, Shuwya Shuwya got her head stuck in a tree. The tree she was tied to split into two trunks about four feet up, and she dropped her head into the gap and got stuck. She panicked, and when I saw what was going on, I just laughed. I grabbed her firmly around the neck, pushed her head forward and lifted her free.
By the time Jonathan and Susan got back, I was feeling weak, and on the verge of being sick. We walked out of town, and, under the cover of dark, turned off the road and found a spot 200 meters from the road, hidden behind a large mound of dirt. A light drizzle turned to heavy rain, and I developed a fever. I set up my tent in a panic, which led to a very wet tent, backpack, and clothes. I got in my tent immediately and tried to get dry. I felt awful and couldn’t sleep. The night seemed to drag out for days.
The next day I barely moved, except to let the diarrhea pour every 20 or 30 minutes. Our camp was quickly surrounded by a minefield created by my sickness. Jonathan and Susan spent a lot of these two days to run more errands in town. They took Shuwya Shuwya with saddlebags so they could bring water back. While they were eating lunch, a police officer told them to keep the donkeys off the main roads, as it was illegal. They argued that other donkey drivers have their carts all over the main roads, and there are even signs showing that they are allowed. He didn’t accept their argument, and just told them again to stay off the main roads.
We discussed selling our donkeys and wrapping up our trip in Tan Tan. It was a far cry from our original destination, Dakhla, another 1200 km south, which we now estimated could take up to six months. Even going on to the next sizeable town, Tarfaya, would take at least another week, and was even smaller than Tan Tan. We didn’t want to get trapped in a town too small to sell our donkeys in. Most people told us the best way to sell the donkeys in Tan Tan would be to just go to the market area and have a for sale sign. Luckily, though, Jonathan and Susan heard that on Sunday there would be an animal market that we could go to. It was Thursday, though, so we had some time to wait.
Friday was Jonathan’s birthday, and I was starting to feel better from my sickness. Susan and I went to town on a water run with Shuwya Shuwya. We had the worst timing possible. First, we passed by a hotelerie school just as classes were getting out. This meant lots of attention toward Susan from the young, well-dressed men. Some of them spoke with me in English and French, and while they were not rude, I just was not in the mood to address everyone’s curiosities right now. One guy, Said, who spoke very good English, got into a discussion with me. He was having difficulty understanding why we would choose to travel with donkeys, the poor man’s vehicle, when most foreign tourists brought their own vehicles. We are not Moroccan, so why would we try to act like it? His tone was mildly critical, but he seemed to genuinely want to understand what we were all about.

Our camp outside of Tan Tan

We got to the military post, where Susan had gotten water before. Unfortunately, though, it seemed that somebody important was present, and they said we would have to come back in two hours if we wanted to fill our jugs. We asked around for where to fill our jugs, and we were directed to a mosque. Some young boys helped us out and filled up the jugs in the area where the men were performing ablutions. We loaded the 4 jugs, totaling 100 liters into the saddlebags, and Susan started to tie it up. She is very handy with knots, and is far better than I am at rigging the saddlebags. Unfortunately, though, the boys and young men hanging around couldn’t comprehend that she could possibly do this task correctly. They forced their way in, took the ropes, and fought over how best to tie it up. I was annoyed, but Susan was angry. It was even worse when the whole mess started to fall off after moving 20 meters. So she started it over on her own, and we had to force people away. It was really shocking to see them act so rude, by my standards, but it seemed normal to them. I repeatedly explained that she knows what she is doing, and has tied these up many times. When we finally got the people to listen, a taxi pulled over, and an adult man got out and scattered the cloud of children that had formed around us. He then tried to take the ropes from Susan to finish tying it up. We argued, but he insisted.
On the way back, a school got out just as we were passing, and we had to deal with even more children, yelling at us and asking for cadeauxs (gifts). After the water mission, Susan hitchhiked to Tan Tan Plage, a beach town 30 km away, to buy some beer. It was impossible to find in Tan Tan, but there was a Korean restaurant in Tan Tan Plage that sold alcohol at ridiculously inflated prices.
Meanwhile, I went to the market to buy supplies for Jonathan’s party. Good friends and serious blog followers might know the stories of the last time I was with Jonathan on his birthday on the border of Bhutan. Considering this, I couldn’t disappoint him by not sticking to tradition. This meant that I had to seek out and buy party hats. It was not as easy as in India, but after a few hours of searching in the market area, I found not only party hats, but also noisemakers (the kind you blow into and it unfurls into a magical sparkly blue tube) and Disney masks. I also bought him a gift of a toy violin, a large amount of camel meat, and lots of fruits and vegetables for a birthday tajine.
Susan doesn’t like party hats, but we made her wear one against her will. We also put them on Shuwya Shuwya and Rough and Ready, who fully enjoyed them. They even seemed to like the noisemakers. We made a tajine that, to this day is far and away the best tajine that we, or probably all of Morocco has ever tasted. And we didn’t even stray too far from Moroccan tradition. The meat was camel and the vegetables were all normal. The only liberties we took were too add some of the mitmita (Ethiopian spice blend) that I carried for heat, and added some golden raisins, which I imagine some people must do anyway. And of course there were plenty of whole garlic cloves and large orange slices. Susan also got a bottle of whisky, which was a nice addition. The meal was so heavy, though, that Jonathan got too tired to continue too far into the whiskey and he went to bed early. Susan and I went on midnight donkey rides into the desert. Shuwya Shuwya, hesitant at first to wander, was a great companion, and it was a perfect and tranquil end to a good birthday night.
On Saturday, we had everything in order, and we just had to wait for the market on Sunday. Jonathan and I had each had a day alone at the camp so it was Susan’s turn. Jonathan and I decided to do something that we should have done much more often and that was to take the donkeys out on an adventure. I rode Shuwya Shuwya in front, to keep Rough on a good pace and to keep him from straying. We rode them for a couple of km aimlessly into the desert. Eventually we came to what looked like a mix of a ghost town and ruins. It was a small settlement of maybe 10 or 15 homes or buildings, but there was no sign that anyone had been living there recently. They were mostly made from mud bricks, which there was little of, if any, in this part of Morocco. It was quite eerie. We also found something else that we didn’t think existed in this part of Morocco: trees. There was a small area of palm trees and large bushes. We went into it, found a clearing, and indulged in the shade. We tied up Rough, but not Shuwya Shuwya, as she had been so calm that there was no threat of her running off if we kept an eye on her. This was a mistake, though, because when Rough and Ready got loose, she was able to run away. We chased them out of the trees, and eventually Rough caught her, and pinned her down. Jonathan and I tried to push him off, but he already had is mouth clamped around her neck. So we started punching, but to no avail. I tried a nice eye gouge, which helped along with Jonathan’s kicking. When we finally separated them, I realized my hand hurt really badly. We realized that Jonathan, in the panic had been punching my hand that was on Rough’s neck.
Our plan for that night was to move our donkey cart into town and stay with Mohamed, a friend that Jonathan and Susan had made when I was sick. He said he had room for the cart and the donkeys and places for us to sleep, so we finally took him up on the offer. When we got to the police checkpoint at the edge of town, they said we could not pass. They said it was illegal to bring the cart into town. This was obviously a ridiculous thing to say, and we went around and around telling them there was no way it was illegal for us to have donkeys in town. But the bottom line was that they would not let us through, they said we had to go to Tan Tan Plage, 30 km away. We said we had to be at the animal market the next morning to sell the donkeys, and they said there was no animal market, but there was a big one in Tan Tan Plage. For some reason the police had decided that our presence in town had become a problem, and they were trying to pass us off to the next town. Mohamed met us at the checkpoint, and spoke with the police, but was unable to persuade them. So we went back to camp.
We needed water, so Jonathan and Mohamed took Shuwya Shuwya through the bush into town to circumvent the police. When Jonathan returned, we formulated our plan for the next day.