Delay...

Hello from the Indian Ocean! We left Cape Town last night and are off the coast of South Africa en route to Mauritius. I apologize for the delay in posting my blogs. The internet situation on the ship is not ideal for what I had in mind. Emails are free but with lots of size restrictions. Internet is not free otherwise and even if I paid for it our internet is primitive aboard the M/V Explorer. I figured out how to email my blogs, hopefully the previous one went through (it was quite lengthy). It's too bad I can't post pictures, but I plan to add them later on while in port. In the mean time please feel free to email me on my shipboard email. It's always nice to get emails from back home since it's the only way to communicate. Love you and miss you all! <3 Ionna

Here's my ship Email address: imhernandez@semesteratsea.net

Morocco

FATIMA. That is my Moroccan name and one I will take with me forever. A sense of sadness came over me as we pulled away from the Port of Casablanca. Its funny, because 3 days earlier I couldn’t wait to leave! I knew this voyage would change me as a person and that I would build character along the way, but I never thought Morocco, our first port, would be the place to break me down and build me back up. I thought India or maybe our next port Ghana, but life had other plans. We arrived in Morocco at sunrise and after a quick diplomatic briefing I headed out on a SAS tour of Casablanca and interior visit of the Hassan II Mosque. It’s breathtaking, truly a one of a kind. France has the Eiffel tower, Morocco has the Hassan II Mosque. Definitely worth visiting. After my tour I returned to the ship to change and grab my backpack before heading to Marrakech with a few friends independently. I came back to find out a friend of ours had been robbed. My heart broke for him. The emptiness in his eyes and look of despair across his face is a sight I won’t forget anytime soon. His experience reminded us to keep our guards up, and we were going to need them. After getting ripped off on our first cab ride we made it to the train station to catch the “Marrakech Express. “If you’re traveling by train in Morocco its worth paying for the 1st class tickets, which we failed to do on our first ride. This really put things into perspective. You’re not in America anymore.  It’s an “eat or be eaten” culture. People will push you around like rag dolls or jump in front of you to get what they need or want. They’re not being rude, it’s just the survival instinct. Step up and play the game their way or you will be left behind or taken advantage of. Unfortunately we all learned this the hard (and traumatizing) way later that night.  After pushing and following some fellow [British] backpackers (Hi Natasha and Steven!) my friend Lauren and I managed to get a seat in one of the compartments. We chatted with our new friends and it turns out they were staying in the same hostel in the old Medina. They gave us directions before we all went our separate ways. Lauren and I found the rest of our group and headed out of the station to catch a taxi. The taxi drivers were like Great White Sharks and our group of 7 girls were a pack of injured seals just asking to be devoured in the wide open ocean of Marrakech. It was this moment that would dictate the outcome of that evening. After getting ripped off once again, the cab driver dropped us off in front of an old clay arch which was an entrance to the old Medina. However, it was not the correct entrance we had asked to be dropped off at according to our directions. Not only that, but I see our driver wave down two guys at the entrance. “We’ve been sold out” I told our friend Monica. Sure enough as we walked into the medina the two men started following us around. You have to be really careful with fake tour guides in Morocco. They will pretend to be nice and show you around or help you find your way, but in reality all they want is your money or other things in return. If you don’t give them what they want they will get nasty with you and may rob you, physically or sexually assault you.  We told them time and time again we did not want them to “help” us. We asked a shop owner for directions. The language barrier became evident. Although Monica and Lauren spoke Arabic and I speak enough French to understand and defend myself we couldn’t communicate. The language in Morocco is not classic Arabic but a combination of Arabic, French and native Berber. Most educated people speak French which would come to my advantage later on. So here we are lost in the Medina at night. No idea where we’re going. The passage ways in the medina are like a maze of arteries leading to the pits of hell. They are dark clay alley ways, some covered like tunnels and without lights. There is garbage, cat and human urine everywhere and random doors in the clay walls. Every which way we walked men were harassing us and following us around. It was starting to become overwhelming especially now that we had been lost for almost an hour. The fake tour guides are now getting aggressive and cursing at us. We told one we did not want “help” because we had no money to pay him. He insisted we “give him sex.” If that wasn’t scary enough out of nowhere a crazy man comes around punching things and people and punched Lauren in the back with all his might. I couldn’t believe it. At this moment I began to break down. A shop owner came out and said he would help us. I didn’t believe anyone anymore at this point but for whatever reason we trusted him.  We start following him down the maze of tunnels. My heart was in my throat. With every step we took the shadier the situation became. Right then and there I had the most horrific feeling I had ever felt before. The feeling I knew for sure I was going to get murdered, rapped, and or sold into sex slavery. It wasn’t a fear, it was a for sure thing. At this point I was broken down to nothing. I could see the fear on everyone else’s face as well. “This is it” I thought as we approached what seemed to be a dead end. Headlines ran across my mind…”6 US Students, 1 Hong Kong student disappear in Marrakech.” I just closed my eyes and prayed. The alley was not a dead end just a sharp turn and about 50 feet in front of us there was an old giant wooden door that read: EQUITY POINT HOSTELS, Riad Amizir. THANK GOD!!! We arrived, alive and kicking but definitely all shooken up. Needless to say I did not want to leave the 4 walls of our hostel and if I did it would only be to go back to the ship and get the fuck out of Morocco! Inside it was comforting to see that our friends from the train Natasha and Steven had made it safely as well. They invited Lauren and I to join them for dinner once we got situated. It took some convincing but I agreed. As I walked in past the lobby I was pleasantly surprised to find the most beautifully preserved riad was our home for the weekend. It was a majestic 4 story mansion with an open center court with a pool in the middle. The dark night sky was above painted with a million twinkling stars. My mood automatically changed. It was the first time I had smiled in a few hours. Maybe this place wasn’t so bad after all. Moroccans are big on modesty and this place helped me understand that. Plain on the outside, spectacular on the inside. After freshening up Lauren and I braved it out with Natasha and Steven to find the souks and eventually the world famous Djemaa el Fna square. Along the way we found a different side of the medina. It was well lit and thriving with people. There were endless shops in every direction you looked. On our way to find somewhere to eat we stopped and had some pastries. They were piled by the hundreds in a sea of greens and browns and beige. They were all some variation of honey and almonds or pistachios or dates and all delicious! We eventually found our way out to Djemaa el Fna. This square is a UNESCO protected world heritage site. From the moment we exited the medina we could here the native drum beating and chanting from performers and story tellers. The air was filled with smoke from all the grills from food vendors selling typical Moroccan food. The music and general feeling of the area made me feel as I had traveled back in time. I was expecting to turn around and run into Jesus or something. It was bizarre! We eventually found a restaurant where we stuffed our little faces with Tajine and cous cous and of course I accompanied my meal with delicious mint tea! We explored the area some more before heading back to the hostel. We made sure to memorize our way back only to find our passage way had been blocked off by a giant wooden door and matching lock. We were lost in the medina in total darkness…again…GREAT. But this time it was different. Maybe it was because we were accompanied by a man and because we all were exuding confidence or because life wanted to teach me a lesson but we were met by helpful citizens wanting to get us home safely. We ended up being escorted by an elder man who carried a staff. NO ONE messed with this man. He walked liked he owned the place and in no time we were back at our hostel.  This is where I was built back up and stronger than ever.  I learned that no matter what you must always walk with your head up, shoulders back and with a purpose. Even if you have no fucking clue where or what you’re doing, JUST DO IT. No one will question you. There are bad people out there but there are just as many good people to make up for the rotten ones. Don’t let the rotten ones ruin or scare you out of good memories. The next day I looked at Marrakech, Morocco, and life in general in a new light. I developed “Superman Syndrome.” I felt like I overcame the scariest thing in my life and I wasn’t afraid to stand up and defend myself. I wasn’t and still am not afraid to do anything. I walked around Marrakech and Morocco for the next few days like I owned the place.  By noon the second day I was arguing with cab drivers in French for trying to rip us off, setting up camel rides in Palm Aire and bargaining for leather purses in the souks. That afternoon we were making friends with locals, being invited to have mint tea and earning myself the name Fatima from our new friend Mr. Abdul. By that night Lauren and I walked the Medina alone at night to catch a cab to meet our shipmates and new friends from the hostel at PASHA (The largest night club in N. Africa) and not ONE person said anything to us or tried to approach us. Confidence, assertiveness, and the “I will kill you if you even try to fuck with me” look crosses all language barriers. When traveling independently it is a must. With that being said, do not miss out on meeting amazing local people. This same confidence and energy that repels the bad seeds will propel you to make conversations and build relationships with the good people. From the 22 year old Berber young man leading our camel ride who loves Real Madrid, 50 Cent, Cristiano Ronaldo, and David Guetta, to the 18 year old girl leaving Maroc to study in France who we talked to in the souks of Marrakech, to Abdul the loving, wealthy, Berber man who invited Lauren, Eva, and I for mint tea at his gallery, the people of Morocco left a loving memory in my heart and mind. Abdul, who we met in Marrakech took us in like family, he offered us stories, advice, breathtaking views from the rooftop of his 4 story gallery, traditional mint tea and warned us where not to go. He even gave us gifts before we left.  He blessed me with the name Fatima which is still a running joke between us here on the ship. Fatima is my feisty Moroccan alter-ego. But to me Fatima means more than that. I left the old scared little girl I was before Semester at Sea somewhere in the that dead end looking pathway of the medina in Marrakech, today I am Fatima…a strong assertive woman who will argue with cab drivers for a fair price, that woman who walks with a purpose, not looking behind, but stretching her arms forward welcoming new places, people, and experiences. Thank you Morocco for your beautiful beaches, your vibrant people, delicious pastries, tasty mint tea and for making me a new me.  Shukran Maroc!