Is it over? It can't be. I feel like I've been traveling for months, but really it's only been a few weeks and that was it for Morocco and Ghana. After staying up til 1am with Tiffany and Mauhsin, my body felt wrecked when I got up at 4am to have a quick breakfast of mint tea and hard rolls with butter. Then it was back on that damn bus for the last leg of our trip...the ride to the airport in Casablanca. "I want to go home," was the common refrain. "This was great, but I can't wait to get home." The thing is I felt the same way...except I wasn't going home. I said my goodbyes and collected contact information. We all grabbed our baggage and formed a caravan of overloaded carts, doing our best to help one another through the first round of security. As I looked around at these people I'd become so attached and accustomed to, I realized that shortly they would disappear and I would once again be on my way.
It happened sooner that I thought. Air Moroc has it's own separate terminal and to get to Madrid I needed to find Iberia Air...which as it turned out was in a different building. So there were a few rushed last hugs and handclasps. I made my way back outside in time to see the dreaded bus driving away, so I would need to walk to Terminal 2. A helpful gentleman pointed me in the right direction and I set off walking. Then he called out to me in Arabic...I really need to learn Arabic. It would have really come in handy. He took over pushing my cart and I tried to think if I had any cash to tip with. After a five minute walk, we were nowhere near anything resembling a terminal. I began to wonder exactly how far this terminal was...then dude flagged down a bus and loaded me onto to it, after helping himself to a hefty tip of $50 dirhams (about $7 USD, and half of what I had left in my wallet). The driver was polite. We played the what languages do you speak game and I lost again. I used to think knowing Spanish and Japanese was actually useful, but I did stumble through a little French which he seemed to appreciate. Terminal 2 was a 10 minute bus ride from where we were...which makes me grateful I didn't have to walk the whole way.
It was still too early to check in, so I parked myself at a cafe and had a Hawaii (my new favorite soda...it's coconut, kiwi, and orange flavored) until it was closer to time. I did what you normally do...waited in line, prepared my documents, and when I got to the front of the line, the lady started typing in the computer, then pronounced the four words no traveler ever wants to hear: "Your ticket is canceled."
"What?!"
"Yes. Your ticket has been canceled."
"Wait do you mean the flight is canceled?"
"No. Your ticket is no good."
"But I paid for it. I didn't cancel anything. There must be some mistake."
She just looked at me and kind of rolled her eyes. "Madame it says you are canceled. You'll have to go over there and talk to the people in the business office. Maybe you can buy a new one."
I am not buying another ticket, I yelled internally, but externally I took a deep breath and dragged my stuff across the lobby to the Iberia counter where there was no one working. My mind was racing. I'm alone in Morocco. My travel agent is in Terminal 1 boarding a plane back to the States...so there is no way I can contact her to fix this. Jaouad is probably halfway back to Fes and maybe Hamid might be hanging around in Casablanca, but do I even have his cell phone number? Fuck. Okay. Don't panic. Panicking is bad. But I could feel my mind spiraling. I shouldn't have bought that stupid coat...that was plane fare. Hmm. How far is Casablanca from Tangiers? If I can catch a bus there I can take a Ferry to Tarifa and just bus from there to Cadiz...catch Bea on my way out...but then would I have to do that back in order to catch my flight to NYC out of Casablanca. Oh no, I have to get on this plane. Bea is going to be waiting for me in the airport. I have to get on this plane and I'm not paying 1 cent extra to do it. I'm tired, I'm alone, I'm freaked out...then I had a WWRMD moment (What Would Rev Micheal Do). He would pray.
What is the point of having faith if you don't use it. So I took a deep breath and turned within remembering the silence and peace of the desert at sunrise. I probably looked like a crazy person muttering to myself in English, but I didn't care. I spoke the truth of what was going to happen. Spirit guide me into right action. Fill me with calm and knowing that no matter what happens, everything is going to work out just fine.
Then I continued to wait, my eyes latching onto anyone with airport personnel badges...hoping one of them would come to the counter. Meanwhile a Muslim lady, covered from head to toe joined my waiting line. She was traveling with another lady who looked like she might be her mother. Behind them came two Spaniards who asked me how long I'd been waiting. I was so glad to be able to put my Spanish to use. We chatted for a bit, then they went to go see if they could find someone to help them. Then the Muslim lady and her mom left as well and I stayed there another 5 minutes, thinking okay God...let's get this show on the road. Then the Muslim lady returned. Though we had acknowledged each other, neither of us had spoken, so I was surprised when she turned to me and in perfect English asked me if anyone had helped me. I shook my head and repeated what the lady at the counter had told me.
"Here's what you're going to do," she instructed me. And I knew right away that this was my divine intervention showing up. "You're going to go back to the counter. Look for the blond lady with the glasses. Only talk to her. The others aren't going to help you. And only speak in English. They'll understand you. You're an American right? That's power here. Go to her and don't show that you know any other languages. Only English okay."
Alright. I thanked her profusely and did exactly as she told me to. I was polite and acted confused. I spoke only English and I don't know what that lady with the glasses did, but within 5 minutes I had a boarding pass and an assurance that when I tried to use my return ticket in a month there would be no issues. I went back and thanked Karima (the Muslim lady). Turns out she has been living in Arkansas for the last 2 years and studying English at a University there. She was only back to visit and to spend Ramadan with her family. We exchanged contact information and she introduced me to her mother who didn't speak English, but was so proud of her daughter for knowing another language and for helping a foreigner in need. We said our goodbyes and I went though security feeling grateful and blessed. Then I got waved over to a little blue curtained cubicle where a security lady stuck her hand in my crotch.
"Seriously what the fuck!" I exclaimed.
To which she gave me a dirty look and said in English "Do you speak French?"
"Do you speak Spanish?" I shot back.
"Do you speak Arabic?"
"No. Do you speak Japanese?"
"No."
"Then stop talking to me," I snapped. My fuzzy moment of relief totally violated. I felt dirty and very American in the worst possible way. Would Karima have had the luxury to talk back? We really are a privileged nation. Rather than dwell on the injustice of all the other people who would be mistreated at the Casablanca airport, I returned my attention to the fact that shortly I would be on a plane to Madrid and true to my prayer I hadn't spent 1 cent extra to make it happen.
Since that prayer had gone so well, I prayed some more. I spent too much money God...I need some abundance and some free accommodations. I put it in your hands to work it out.
I arrived in Madrid, exchanged my money (oh the Euro is kicking my ass already), grabbed my luggage then made my way through customs to find Bea and her new boyfriend Raul waiting for me on the other side. I almost cried I was so relieved.
Bea and I met 11 years ago in Cadiz, where we both lived with this crazy lady named Carmen. I was there through the UW to study Spanish and Spanish culture. She was this skinny, Spanish girl from Puerto de Santa Maria studying Medicine at the University of Cadiz. Now she is this gorgeous slender lady Doctor with a fabulous shoe collection and a gorgeous 3 bedroom apartment in the heart of Madrid only a short walk away from La Plaza del Sol.
I am home! I have my own room, excellent wifi and an invitation to stay in Puerto de Santa Maria...the town next to Cadiz...for a week with Bea's family. Everything is working out just beautifully.
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