So there I was, lying in a mud hut on a dirty “love rug” in the mountains of Morocco, being offered tagine by a lady who I was convinced was a slave, with a drunken man called Mohammed advancing on me, thinking “how the hell did I get here?”.

It was the week after I had hitchhiked through France and Spain with a friend who didn’t really want to be there with me; I had already signed us up by the time he found out he was to accompany me abroad, so he had little choice. Having already made it this far in random people’s cars, escaping possible abduction and murder, we decided that once in Morocco, we would embrace the culture and take every opportunity that we were offered. That was before we met Mohammed. A friendly, flamboyant man, who we met in our hotel, he said he wanted to show us his carpet factory and the sights and sounds of his local area. We obliged, drinking tea and feigning interest, whilst looking over at least three hundred carpets that all looked the same. He was flirty and quite the player, he told us of how he had “had” an Australian girl who was in the week before and how she was left begging for more, and he occasionally gave me the odd wink. We just took him to be very friendly (as most of the men we had encountered were), and be the possessor of a vivid imagination for tall stories, so continued to spend the day with him, even though we had a train to catch early the next morning. It didn’t go down too well when I suggested we head off after he had offered us dinner, so we walked hesitantly to his house where we met his wife/slave/daughter?! Acquiring alcohol is very difficult in Morocco, so I was impressed when he managed to find two bottles of red wine just for me, and two tiny cans of beer for my friend. His trick of getting me drunk looked set to work.

As the hours past we all got merrier. I was conscious that we had no idea where our hotel was and it was dark, alongside the fact that Mohammed really wanted me to be his wife; he even offered to pay off my parents for me to stay with him, not awkward for my friend at all… I politely requested that we were shown home, but he had other ideas. For after dinner entertainment he cracked out some bongo drums, which he whacked and sang drunkenly along to for a while and then insisted I had a go, wailing and all. My performing monkey skills were apparently not enough for Mohammed and he demanded that I put on some traditional Moroccan clothes; a dress, a hat, the full works.

Up until this point, we had done pretty well out of the situation. He said he would send me the drums and I could keep the dress, plus I had a wealthy man that was willing to wed me, as well as delicious food and drink. It was when my friend went to the loo that the realisation kicked in; it was just me, an inebriated and horny Mohammed and a Moroccan newspaper left in the room (which I had to use seconds later, to block myself from an oncoming ‘face rape’). I studied that paper intensely to avoid eye contact and batted his hand away, and as soon as Greg returned we ran from Mohammed’s lair up a path, in which direction, we had no idea. But the drunkard host was in tow, shouting about how awful English girls were, me still dressed in his clothes and somewhere in the middle of Morocco with not a clue where our hotel was. We carried on running and finally made it into our hotel, to more drumming and singing, but thankfully other tourists dancing, and a reassuringly familiar setting. We thought we outran him, but minutes later he staggered in and started dancing, still shouting about tourists. To my relief he seemed to find another poor victim, so I left them to it! It was one of the most surreal but hilarious situations I have ever encountered and when I next return to Morocco perhaps I could go back for dessert, just for a story that I may have missed the first time round.

Rosalynn Kino

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7 Comments

  1. P
    February 21, 2012 at 18:40 — Reply

    I think you are deluded about this. Firstly, Alcohol is not hard to get hold of in Morocco for Moroccans, they can buy it at the local supermarket quite openly. Secondly, i think you had too much loopy juice when you wrote this. Thirdly i think you are partial to fantasies and should see a doctor. Lastly, it is your type of tourist that Morocco and other countries are very keen to boot out.

  2. Said
    February 21, 2012 at 22:19 — Reply

    I think this type of mishap should be reported to the authorities. There was an attempt of rape…Please post the name of the guy and the location of his business. Your embassy should report him to the Moroccan authorities. These types of situations should never happen to tourists who visit the country. Thank you for bringing this issue up.

  3. February 22, 2012 at 13:55 — Reply

    I agree with Said. You should report this to the police. Just because you escaped does not mean the next person will.

  4. Distressed reader
    February 22, 2012 at 20:55 — Reply

    This was not a very pleasant read- what was the point of this article, you poor thing?

  5. February 23, 2012 at 18:28 — Reply

    I’m really disappointed that this portrays a negative image of both hitchhiking and Morocco. You seem to have experienced the hitch completely different to me when I did it just last April – I had a fantastic time! 🙂

    Abduction and murder really are the oldest misconceptions going when hitchhiking. When I first did it, I found that actually, the people who pick you up are just as concerned about doing so as you are about getting a lift with them. You wouldn’t drive round just looking for hitchhikers to abduct and murder, because you’d struggle to come across them (the England->Morocco route during April excluded!) Similarly, they’re normally just happy for the company – lorry drivers in particular.

    ‘Wife/slave/daughter’ – did you ask? I found alcohol just as easy to come by, but that could just be me.

    Your dinner evening sounds like fantastic fun – traditional cuisine, clothing, and music, in a Moroccon home with Moroccon locals! I’m a little confused as to what made you stay for so long and comply with such requests if he’s expressed such a strong interest in you being his wife? I’d have made most attempts to leave, but maybe I’m a bit over-cautious?

  6. Lisa
    February 25, 2012 at 17:36 — Reply

    Cracking article Ros. Where can I get my hands on some loopy juice?

  7. Sam R
    February 29, 2012 at 08:23 — Reply

    @P: I am the brother of the “Greg” mentioned in this piece, and he told me an exceedingly similar story just after he finished the hitch to Morocco. Haven’t you got better things to cry about than this piece which you have trolled just because it seems outlandish? I don’t know what bubble you live in, but sometimes outrageous things do happen in life.

    @Lisa. I don’t know you, but when you discover a source of loopy juice post it up here as that sounds like what I want to be on.

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