A boerseun from Casablanca

 

Greetings from Casablanca, are the words that head up Kingsley Holgate’s latest expedition despatch from Morocco.

 

Casablanca – what a romantic name, scribbles Kingsley, though nothing like its sin city image in the classical Hollywood movie that appropriated its name, Casablanca is an exciting metropolis. Its streets are choked with traffic and noise with an unofficial population estimate of over 5 million people making it one of the largest cities on the African coast. Despite the modern high rise buildings and billboards it is also a city with extensive poor areas called “bidonvilles” (shanty towns) many of which are hidden behind high walls, known to the locals as walls of shame. We park the three Landies on the pavement outside the old Casablanca Hotel and that’s where we get the good news, one of our humanitarian sponsors, British Airways, is going to fly us home for a short break. We can’t believe our luck. Early next morning we leave the Land Rovers with Land Rover Morocco for servicing and Charl Möller, the acting South African ambassador from Rabat, whisks us through the diplomatic gate at the airport and hey presto next moment we’re having bacon and eggs at Heathrow and then on a plane home. What a treat – we haven’t seen families or friends for months, not to mention boerewors and braai, hot showers and a soft bed - all without having to put up a tent or light a fire – bloody luxury.

 

At home we listen in amazement to fellow South Africans complaining about high prices, the electricity crisis and how tough things are in South Africa. “Hey guys, when you’ve travelled from Cape Town to Casablanca through 21 African countries, you’ll appreciate what a paradise we live in and just how lucky most of us are. Our biggest challenge is to sort out the crime. We’ve got a great country.” And so it’s difficult for the expedition team to pull themselves away and head back to Casablanca – British Airways we can’t thank you enough, you’ve given us enough heart to continue with this challenging humanitarian adventure.

 

To meet us at the airport is the newly appointed South African ambassador to Morocco, Mr. Seleka. With him are Charl Möller and our new Moroccan expedition interpreter and expedition member – can you believe it, he’s a young 20 year old boerseun from Pretoria who speaks excellent Moroccan Arabic. Smiling, round faced Christiaan Bornman greets us with a big grin and an Arab handshake to the chest. “Howzit you okes, welcome back to Casablanca.” Christiaan, with his family, has been in Morocco for seven years doing valuable humanitarian community work with the Berber people in the High Atlas Mountains. He was home schooled and in the taxi tells us that he learnt derija, the local Arabic dialect, on the streets of the medieval walled city of Fez. With him is a big tub of tuisgebakte boerebeskuit and in our bags, now safely through customs, some biltong, the odd bottle of Captain and a giant bag of spectacles which is part of our Grindrod supported Right to Sight campaign in which poor sighted people in remote areas receive ready readers.

 

We struggle to get the Landies out of Land Rover Morocco’s crowded car park. It’s full of Supercharged Range Rover Sports’ and the latest in big high speed BMWs. “Can’t cope, business is booming,” says the manager. “A lot of it is dirty money from the drug lords in the North and they need fast get-away cars. You must be careful in the North, people will try to sell you hashish and the police jump at the chance to imprison naïve foreigners.” Christiaan our interpreter tells us that it’s a big problem here and that the Rif Mountains in the North of Morocco are internationally associated with the massive cultivation of hashish. Although theoretically illegal in Morocco, the Spanish enclaves of Ceuta and Melilla, have not criminalised “kif” and trade is brisk and expanding, it’s a hidden export industry with an estimated value of more than 500 million USD and an European street value of ten times higher.

 

Back in the Landies we cruise Casablanca’s playground, the beachfront Corniche of Ain Diab, famous for its restaurants and nightclubs at the western limit of which is a small rocky outcrop called Sidi Abderahmen, a picturesque cluster of white tombs and little rabbit warren houses accessed by pilgrims at low tide. We take off our shoes and wade across. It’s a place of the occult where people speak in whispers and burn incense and herbs to cure illness and sickness. A lady arrives wearing a smart coat and dark glasses. She seems harassed, money changes hands and a moustached man smoking a long-stemmed hashish pipe sacrifices a black fowl with a single swipe of a sharp knife. Still flapping its wings the fowl is thrown over the edge of the rocks and without looking back she walks down the steps and is pulled through the shallows to the mainland in a big tractor tube. Next in line is a beautiful girl dressed in the very best of designer clothes. I wonder what she’s come for. Christiaan, the boerseun from Pretoria, is a wealth of information. Young girls who are having difficulty in falling pregnant come here, he says. They stand naked in the Atlantic and let seven waves crash against their bodies. A lady with kind eyes and beautiful smooth brown skin paints henna designs onto Annelie’s hand and around Mashozi’s ankle. The wind blows cold from Europe.

 

Following the Corniche we pass the old 1920’s lighthouse on the point surrounded by shacks, all with satellite TV dishes. Further on is the Hassan II Mosque, the largest single building we’ve come across on the outside edge of Africa, the gift of a grateful nation to its previous sovereign on the occasion of his 60th birthday in 1989.

 

The magnificent building, complete with library, museum, steam baths and conference facilities was designed by French architect Michael Pinseau and financed by voluntary subscriptions. Built on the sea bed with water on three sides, it complies with a Koranic saying “Allah has his throne on the water.” Thousands of craftsmen used Moroccan materials – cedar wood from the Middle Atlas and marble from Agadir and Tafraoute. The cost of more than US$750 million was met by various means. Special officials collected contributions from every home in the land, and some employers deducted a percentage from their workers’ wages. The late king’s highest officials are said to have fallen over themselves to be generous. The prayer hall, with an electricity operated sunroof over the central court, has space for 20,000 worshipers while another 80,000 can pray on the surrounding esplanade. The marble minaret is 25 metres square and 175 metres high, making it the tallest religious building in the world beating the Great Pyramid of Cheops by 30 metres and St Peter’s by 40 metres. It took 35,000 workers 50 million man-hours to complete. Visible for hundreds of kilometres out to sea, this is the largest mosque outside Medina and Mecca. A 32km visible laser beam points, like a giant finger, from the top of the minaret towards Mecca. Into the expedition journal I scribble: 750 million USD, that’s a load of money for a country that has so much poverty, but then again it’s brought a lot of pride to the nation. I guess it’s like the World Cup coming to South Africa and all the money that needs to be spent.