Beauty Found Where Told Not to Go

by Sofia Jayne (Australia)

I didn't expect to find Morocco

I’d been on the road for nearly six-months, and when that six-month mark would come around my journey would come to an end. By then I’d become accustomed to and grown fond of the bag on my back. I’d begun my journey with it full to the brim, feeling it necessary to lug around the junk I deemed important. Yet, I had come to see the true value in things, stripping myself of such burdening items and learning to be happy with little. A guitar had however come to join me on the road. I picked it up in Wales and begun teaching myself to play and sing as I went. As I passed through hostel to hostel across borders, many hands of different origins strummed tunes on my guitar to the ears of new friends, and so, I spent the duration of my journey seeking music and those it beckons. I received various advice and warnings when telling people I planned to go to Morocco. As a solo-travelling and freshly eighteen-year old female, many were against or wary of such an idea. However, the very fact that I should be turned away from experiencing a place I had long dreamed of due to my gender, age and the fact that no man would be accompanying me only made the urge stronger. In the guidance of two beautiful and strong solo-female travellers I had met at the hostel, Marrakech opened its doors to me. As we walked, we were called to or approached by nearly every man we passed. Some remarks made me ill, but others made me laugh; “Ay! Which spicegirl are you?” We had to weave through the many people and merchants to make our way along in the Medina. Fruit, vegetables and hacked fish were displayed on the ground or in stalls to sell. So too were richly sweet pastries, an abundance of tagines and couscous, and many colourful fabrics and clothing. Music was played to cobras by snake charmers and monkeys wearing nappies were dragged about on chains for money, earned by photos with tourists. At night, when I visited the Medina, this place erupted into a loud carnival of delicious food and people dancing in drumming circles. After exploring the culture of Marrakech and the expected sites I’d read about, a few days later I followed a new-found friend from the same city as me to something entirely unexpected. Two Melbournian solo-travelling females now united, we packed ourselves on a swelteringly hot miniature bus along with other foreigners who had too come for the love of music. The contrasting image of a traditional man walking his camels next to a sand covered wall coated with vibrant, psychedelic graffiti welcomed us outside the bus window. We left our belongings in the tents made from Moroccan rugs of which we were to sleep in. For the next three days we walked the roads paved through the plethora of desert dunes under the blazing sun. These roads lead us to the stages that played techno out to us, as by day we dozed in the desert pool and by night we danced barefoot on rugs with millions upon millions of stars gleaming down upon us. In this place of the unexpected I befriended people from all around the world who too had a love for music and for boogieing to the rhythm. I spoke to many of the locals who attended, at which I was surprised to see so many since such an event seemed to contradict the traditionalism displayed in Marrakech. I bonded with one woman in-particular who spoke to me with great passion and strength about the struggles and oppression she and other women experienced in Morocco. Of course, oppression exists in different forms in every country but here it was unmasked. Her very presence at this unexpected event was against the traditional values often preached. To that we cheersed the beers in our hands and danced into the night, as two women of different worlds and different lives but together as new friends empowered by the fact that we were there against the advice of others in a place we did not expect to find.