Out Of Africa and then Back Into Africa......Again

Ssalamū 'lekum, dear family and friends, yes we are back in our beloved Morocco, with the call to prayer giving a gentle rhythm to our days and the honking of car horns providing the music of  the Moroccan villages and towns. Our love of this delightful country and her enchanting people is as strong as ever, but more of that later.

The reason we have not been sending you blogs is that, since October, we have really just been lolling around  Southern Spain and enjoying the sun, the sea and the complete absence of rain, so nothing to report really… however, this has changed and we now have breaking news things to report, so blogging we are. 

Just for a moment I want to take you back to when last we left Morocco. We left you a bit up in the air with our ‘Out of Africa’ post and the promise of more to come… which didn’t.

So… we left Morocco from Tangiers in a bit of a hurry, as we realised that our Green Card Van Insurance had actually run out, and taking into account my penchant for getting pulled up by the Moroccan rozers, we decided to high tail it for the ferry very quick smart. We had stayed overnight in Tangiers and got to the ferry terminal about 10 in the morning, to find out the time ferries left that day. 

We were greeted by a very excited Kaftan Flip Flop, who apparently handles Departures as well as Arrivals. Kaftan Flip Flop said there was a ferry leaving very soon, but he could get us through in time to catch it. He whisked me off to Passport Control where they duly stamped our passports, and then onto vehicle excise where they checked we were taking the same vehicle out that we brought in. With all this done in very chip chop time and after handing over the appropriate tip to Kaftan Flip Flop, we headed off with plenty of time for the ferry…‘That’s us on our way then Fang’ says I… not so in Morocco.

Next stop Customs… so we pull up behind several Moroccan transit vans loaded with gear, who are all getting a right going over, much to our amusement.

 One of the chaps was going round with a little hammer tapping the tyres (apparently they hide drugs in the tyres), while three other chaps were standing by with sub- machine guns, all I must say in very smart uniforms.

One luckless driver was literately having his van taken apart bit by bit. We were stuck in this queue for some time before our turn came for what we expected to be the normal once over  British Motor Homes usually get when clearing customs… not so in Morocco.

 We had a visit from Tarik the Tyre Tapper who came along and gave our wheels the treatment, satisfied we were clean, Tarik the Tyre Tapper sauntered off to find a more interesting victim… ‘That’s us on our way then Fang’ says I…..not so in Morocco.

Next, we have a tap on the door… It’s a Customs Officer with his dog… I don’t mean he’s just brought his pet dog to work… I mean he’s with his sniffer dog. Very politely Saboor the Sniffer Dog Handler asks if it’s OK to bring his dog into the van. Now I don’t know how many different answers Saboor normally gets to that question in a day, but I wouldn’t have thought… ‘No, sod off Saboor’ was one of them, so I said ‘Please come in, we like dogs’.

Saboor duly came in with said sniffer who had a jolly good snifter round, for some reason gave the gas fire a couple of taps with his paw on the way past, and Saboor says ‘thank you’ and off  he goes……’That’s us on our way then Fang’ says I……not so in Morocco.

The next minute, Saboor the Sniffer Dog Handler is back tapping on our door. This time he is accompanied by, not only his sniffer dog, but two Customs Officers touting sub machine guns, and a third with a revolver strapped to his belt and wearing a very smart cap set at a jaunty angle. (I don’t mean the revolver was wearing a cap, I mean it was on his head).

‘Oh my God’ says Fang. ‘Now calm down’ says I ‘this is just routine’ and I open the door. Rachide the Revolver with his jaunty cap, who now appeared to be in charge asks, again, very politely ‘is it OK to come in’? ‘Oh yes’ says I ‘please do’ and in troops Saboor the Sniffer Dog Handler with his sniffer dog, Rachide the Revolver with his jaunty cap and one of the sub machine gun touting chaps… the other sub machine gun touting chap stayed on guard outside. 

Now the Trundle Bus is not the biggest motor home on the road, but it is very comfortable for Fang and I and the odd guest, however, with me, three customs officers, one dog, one sub machine gun and a revolver, it was becoming somewhat uncomfortable. I glanced to the front to spot Fang on her, now traditional journey when faced with Moroccan officialdom, slipping into the foot well. I also noticed our ferry setting off for Spain!

So Saboor the Sniffer Dog Handler goes around the van again with his sniffer dog, while the rest of us are doing a Moroccan Strictly Come Dancing shuffle in the back of the van trying to avoid accidently setting off either sub machine guns or revolvers. This ruddy dog then makes a big deal of pawing the gas fire and doing a squeaking noise, which at first I thought was Fang in the foot well.

After whispered discussions in Moroccan, and a lot of pointing at the fire, Saboor takes his wretched sniffer out, which leaves just Rachide the Revolver with his jaunty cap and the sub machine gun touting chap, that is, until the other sub machine gun touting chap standing guard outside comes into the van. So we now have a small army in the van and the squeaking is definitely Fang!

Rachide the Revolver with his jaunty cap then tells me in his broken English that the dog has sniffed something in the gas fire and would I please take it out! ‘Oh no’ says I in my broken English (when someone is talking to you in broken English it’s only polite to continue you’re side of the conversation in a like vein don’t you think?), ‘the fire doesn’t come out, but look here, if I open this cupboard and lift a trapdoor you can see behind the fire’.

‘Pardon’ says Rachide the Revolver with the jaunty cap, obviously not understanding a word of my polite broken English. So I go to open the cupboard which makes the machine gun touting chaps shuffle around looking for defensive positions and a clear shot at me!

‘No, no look’ says I, opening the trap door to reveal the back of the fire. Rachide has a good look, turns to his chums, has a discussion in Moroccan and then turns to me and says’ The dog he smell’, which I thought was a little unfair considering the sniffer wasn’t here to defend himself. He then continued trying to find the word he wanted. In the end he made the universal sign with his hand of pretending to hold a pistol and said ‘You have guns?’ 

Well… Fang raises her head, gives out a major squeak, slips back into her foetal position in the foot well mumbling incoherently and then, for some inexplicable reason, starts to hiccup!

‘Oh no’ says I, trying to behave as though lying in the foot well mumbling and hiccupping is a very ordinary English thing, ‘look there is just my snorkel and flippers in here with a few other sundry items of no consequence’ (I have decided that this was no time to muck around with broken English, and that some straight talking was needed). Rachide the Revolver with the jaunty cap looked at me in complete bewilderment, then turned to his sub machine touting chaps and had yet another discussion in Moroccan. He then turns back to me, says ‘Merci beaucoup Monsieur, Madam’, doffs his jaunty cap and wanders out with his mini army!

 He then saunters to the front of the van and waves us through. We have cleared Moroccan Border Control and are now on a completely empty dock looking at the back end of our ferry bobbing its way to Spain and facing a 4 hour wait for the next one!

‘If you say, ‘That’s us on our way then Fang’ says Fang ‘I am going to toss you off this dock’. I LOVE this country!

Next blog is on its way in the next couple of days so stay by your computers, tablets and phones. There is big breaking news things coming your way!