After supper in the Tiznit Hotel

In the afternoon of the first day of the 'Reunion des Amis d'Iligh' the group was taken to meet Tiznit's famous resident architect Salima Nagji. I went back to the Tiznit Hotel to take a rest in my room. Although the hotel is situated on the corner of the busiest roundabout in Tiznit I didn't hear the traffic in my room at all. The rooms of the Friends of Iligh were all situated around the landscaped and shaded court with at its centre the swimming pool. A typical three star hotel the Tiznit had an alcohol license and a bar where the local drunks and as far as I could see prostitutes gathered. Right across from the window plus balcony of my room an old gent sat during the day in the shade of a date palm. I soon discovered that he had a great view of what went on in the rooms. I slept till evening and joined the group for supper in the hotel's dining room. Of the experts who met Aisha in Leyde in October only one was in Tiznit: Herman Obdeijn. He was accompanied by his wife Louise (Wies). Poor Harry Stroomer who had wanted to come had had a minor stroke on the day before coming here. Fortunately it wasn't crippling and the prospects for recovery were good. It brought home the fact that it was 5 to 12. Harry's right hand man Mohammed Saadouni was with us. And a good thing it was. During the day there had been a lot of local luminaries that had tagged on to the group, but back at the hotel the group had thinned out considerably. Aisha, Annie and Bert were still staying at Fatima's. After supper the 5 strong delegation of the NIMAR had also gone to the rooms. Left were from left to right Paul Dahan of the Jewish Museum in Brussels, he was accompanied by his Belgian wife and 4 year old son, Herman Obdeijn, retired diplomat and Morocco specialist, Wies Obdeijn, retired medical doctor, Mohammed Saadouni and Abdallah Al Moutassir the history professor with whom Aisha was doing her phd. Paul Dahan, who cherishes his Moroccan passport, was a lively fellow who got a discussion going and who held some outspoken views that he didn't suppress. Around him it was never dull.

Introduction to Tiznit

After the friends of iligh were officially welcomed by the governor we were shown around town. We saw the Mellah, the old Jewish artisan souk, now lovingly restored by Tiznit's architect Salima Nagji. Tiznit is an old oase with and ancient well and an historic mosque of which the minaret is unfortunately very tastelessly renovated. In the late nineteenth century it was walled and became a garrison town. Not in the last place because of the threatening power of Iligh. The French extended the barracks. By that time the power of Iligh was waning and the French used the garrison to suppress the Tazerwalt region. Tiznit also has a resident Sufi saint to whose brand new sanctuary and shrine we were taken. Our guide was Mohamed Ouhamou, the cultural officer of the city. His French wasn't great but the people who spoke Moroccan Arabic or Tashelhyt translated. For some unclear reason he attached himself to me. I suspected he thought I was going to desecrate the Sufi sanctuary, but I was only on the look out for a sketching opportunity. When you are with a group that is sort of aimlessly milling about it is very difficult to find a good moment. Anyway next we went to lunch. We drove a little way out of town in the direction of Guelmim till we came to a Afriquia petrol station. At the back was a great big resting area with an excellent traditional Moroccan family restaurant. I absolutely love those places, but when you are a non-Moroccan tourist, you rarely find them. No doubt we were taken there because of the female element in our group. As on cue the men gathered around one table and the women around the other. It was only remarked upon with the dessert and our guide gamely choose to switch to the women's table. Then I made this sketch of M Ouhamou.

The Friends of Iligh and the Governor of Tiznit

Once in Tiznit I became aware of the enormous achievement that Aisha and Bert had brought about for the comfort of the Friends of Iligh. They had persuaded the Directorate of the Province of Tiznit to rent the Tiznit Hotel for our group for three nights including breakfast and supper. Not only that but the Directorate also provided transport and lunch. They had taken care of the design and printed posters and a folder with relevant information. Of course the Aboudmiaas were once a powerful family in the region and their history is closely tied to that of the Province, but still... Bert is a total stranger without any connections whatsoever. She is not sponsored or endorsed by a government, university or organization. I'm totally impressed! After checking in and dropping off the luggage in the hotel, we were taken to the palace of the Governor to be formally introduced. That happened in one of those great reception rooms that you see all over the Islamic world: seats along the walls, little tables close to the seats and a great big empty space in the middle. The Governor who was accompanied by the mayor of the town and a secretary general was affable and vaguely interested. I didn't get the impression that he exactly knew what he was in for. But his interest became peaked when he realized who was in attendance. In the meantime servants were offering a variety of drinks and sweets. I'm usually all for it, but now I felt that it was more for the intent than the partaking so I did take a bit but left it on the plate. After the introduction Aisha gave a short presentation. The Governor then mumbled some politenesses and that was it.

Back in Tiznit

Aisha's friend Abdellatif Jhilal picked me up from the Tildi Hotel at exactly 10 o'clock. He drove me in an upmarket gleaming black Volkswagen sedan in around two hours to Tiznit. The Tildi is situated in a narrow quiet street that runs down hill to the beach. Just before the beach it is cut short by the main traffic artery that runs north-south parallel to the coast. This wide street took us first to Inzegane past the huge Marijane supermarket, the bus station and the Grand Taxi station. Next it crosses the Sous River that gives the region its name. March should be the time of the year that abundant water is passing under the bridge. It wasn't bad actually. Morocco also had had a miserable and cold month just like in Ireland. Next we drove through Ait Melloul. In this town is the turn off for the N1 to Tiznit and beyond. The other route goes to the airport. It was the route I had come that morning. By that time I knew that Abdellatif was courtious, somewhere in his forties, unmarried and from Taza. He taught theoretical mathematics at Agadir university and had been taken once by Aisha to Iligh to meet her family. After having established his antecedents without giving mine away we could proceed over the N1. First through the string of villages from one roundabout to another and than on to the new fast road. We passed the turn off to Sidi Rabat on the right and hit an empty stretch. Abdellatif had the address where we would meet the others and stay: the Tiznit Hotel. I knew where it was: on the major roundabout. Who would have thought that Tiznit would become such an important part of my Moroccan experiences? At the end of my stay I would finally get the chance to make a sketch of this roundabout from another hotel: the Idou Hotel. On the sketch you look from the west side of the five exit roundabout towards the east. The road to the east is towards Tafroute and is the traditional way to get to Iligh. From left to right is the N1 north to Agadir and south to Guelmim and beyond. That is the new or alternative way to Iligh. The two roads towards the west of which only one is visible go into the town.

Back in Agadir

Back in Agadir, but not for long. For the whole journey from my home in Polranny to the room in the Tildi 14 hours later I had been fueled by adrenalin. As soon as the night porter closed the door of my hotel room behind him I fell on the bed in a deep sleep. Once I'm 'on my way' I tend to relax. I have no problem to leave worries about the next day behind once I'm in the state of traveling. However before I'm on the move I'm totally, insanely nervous and sick with apprehension. I contracted this in my youth. Before I started on another hitchhiking adventure I was ill for a week, but the desire for adventure and the urge to get away always won from the sickening panic. It was delightful to wake up knowing I was in Morocco once again. I thought I would be picked up by Aisha's friend around 2 o'clock. That meant I would miss the beginning of the 'Reunion'. But I didn't care. Now I was in Agadir I didn't worry anymore about if and how to get to Tiznit or Iligh. I felt confident again. However before I went down for breakfast I got a message that Abdellatif Jhilal would be at the hotel at 10 o'clock. During breakfast I had just enough time to make a sketch of the view from the terras of the iconic hill and the fortifications that gave Agadir its name. The complementary fruit basket the hotel staff had so kindly put in my room was hurriedly stuffed into my shoulder bag. At least some of it.

Irish-Moroccan or Moroccan-Irish?

The flight from Dublin to Agadir with Air Arabia was supposed to leave at 10.35 PM. Checking in started three hours before departure. I had arrived at 17.30hours in Dublin with a lot of luggage as I would fly from Agadir to Amsterdam and was going to spend at least 2 months there. That meant I had to cart a lot of medical stuff around. Sightseeing in Dublin was no option. Instead I dragged my heels, looked around a lot and made three detailed sketches to pass the time. The crowd that was going to Agadir was an interesting lot. I never knew there were Moroccans in Ireland. Moroccans certainly hadn't been hired away from the villages to do the dirty work like in the Netherlands. Traditionally people left from Ireland to find work someplace else. Who were those Moroccans on the flight with me? Turned out most were Moroccan men married to Irish women and their families. Around me I heard Moroccans speak English with strong Irish accents. This was cute. It was a few days after Saint Patrick's Day and a week before Easter. Were the mixed families going back to Morocco after visiting Irish family for Saint Paddy's or were they going to Morocco to visit Moroccan family for Easter hols? For most of the flight I slept. Funny: every time I go through passport controle coming into Morocco a Moroccan in front of me is getting into a fight of words with an official. Of course I can't understand what they are saying, but it is always very emotional: the return of the immigrant to the mother country. Never easy.

How to get to Tiznit?

Things were arranged for my trip from Achill to the Tildi Hotel in Agadir. But I still didn't know where the 'Reunion des Amis d'Iligh' was held and where I was going to stay: Iligh or Tiznit? Of course I didn't know the state Bert and Aisha were in trying to get the Tiznit directorate to pay the bill for the event and once they had conceded, the difficulties they had getting them to confirm it officially. I didn't know than that there wasn't a place yet where the guests would stay and where the event would be held. And this was two days before the guests were supposed to arrive in Tiznit. Whenever I had contact with her Bert had funny stories to tell and didn't seem to take anything seriously. Especially not my worries. She seemed almost callous. When she send me a mail that she, Annie and Aisha were staying in Tiznit in the apartment of Fatima and that I should come there, I flipped. Oh yeah, and I should take a 'petit' taxi from the Tildi to the 'grand' taxi station at 'Abat' and from there I should find a group taxi to Tiznit and the prices were this and that but those were for Moroccans. I decided not to go at all. Fuck the expenses for the train ticket, the flight and the Hotel. What did money mean anyway if the alternative was that I had to schlep with a heavy suitcase and a heavy shoulder bag through busy Agadir. Once in Tiznit where did I have to take a 'petit' taxi to? I saw myself telling the driver: take me to Fatima. She lives somewhere inside the city walls. Which Fatima, he would ask. The Fatima who is such a fantastic cook, I would answer. I decided to write to Aisha and Annie and explain my predicament. They quickly found a solution: a friend of Aisha who lived in Agadir and was coming to the event anyway, would pick me up at the Tildi. So far so good. By the time I arrived at Dublin airport the place had gotten very quiet. The otherwise busy departure hall where travellers check in was deserted. It seemed that my flight was the last one out.