Melting Hills

by Kelsey Jackson (Canada)

A leap into the unknown Morocco

A knock on the window from a local potter may have saved our lives. Our driver was 38 years old and had never seen hail in his entire life. He only spoke Arabic and French, but luckily one of our friends spoke French as well and could translate. He picked us up in Marrakech, and we hired him to drive four of us Canadians into the Sahara Dessert through the High Atlas Mountains. The mountains were reddish gold, the road was twisting upwards. Vendors climbed the edge of the road and were perched precariously on the edges of cliffs, anticipating a sale. We stopped at beautiful rug shops, the lovely earth tones and vibrant reds, we sipped tea and exchanged smiles with the locals. We arrived in the Sahara and spent three nights camping under the stars and riding camels over dunes into enthusiastic sun rays. On the return to Marrakech, a Storm was headed towards us. Rain came down, followed by hail. Growing up in the rainforest of Vancouver island, I wasn’t really intimidated. I could smell a mild fear and discomfort in our driver, but I didn’t flinch. We continued to drive over bridges, the surges of river water coming up to bully the timid structures that threatened to give away. The hail pelted the windshield and our driver pulled over. He couldn’t see. At that moment, a local potter who had a small business at the base of the hill where we were parked knocked on our window. We were all startled and we looked over as he pointed up, and then started to panic and pointed for us to drive. I looked up at what looked like melting chocolate ice cream pouring down the mountain. A mudslide. At that moment the Jeep lunges forward as the gas pedal is punched, and we drive forward over a bridge. I looked back and saw the kind artisan run away as his beautiful work was engulfed by the mud. We drove, we were quiet. When I get scared I am quiet, and I found out the three travel partners I had were the same way. We drove, and as the storm passed behind us the warmth of sun through the cloud pierced the window and everyone squinted. It was a short storm traveling in the direction we just came from. Was the potter ok? We drove up into the mountain passes and we came across a traffic jam. A tour bus full of Swedish people was pulled over, the sun was beaming, and I could hear Dr. Dre playing from inside the bus. The rain had caused a small landslide and a huge boulder was sitting in the middle of the road. A large group of local Moroccan men were working together to move the boulder. We were stuck for several hours. When the boulder finally rolled out of the way, an eruption of cheers echoed through the sky. We drove back to town. Did we almost die? I just couldn’t wait to get back to the market. I couldn’t wait to email my mom and dad. The quick thinking kindness of a stranger who lost his livelihood on the melting hill, did he save my life? We arrived back in Marrakech. We went to the market. Snakes charmed into the sky, empty opium poppies in jars, fire sticks, food cooking, spices, aromas, dancing, and travelers. I barely knew the three other friends I met before that trip. I had met them one of them in England and the other two in Morocco when I arrived. We bonded. We shared something that every traveler shares, a sense of adventure. This trip was many years ago, and we have not stayed in touch other than through social media, but we don’t need to. We shared a beautiful experience, witnessed the kindness of the Moroccan people together, and luckily we got to continue our travels. After that I went on to Essaouira on a solo trip. I stayed where Jimi Hendrix stayed, and saw the Castle made of sand. Now I have a son named Hendrix. That’s a whole other story I’ll share with you if I win ;)