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Falling Through Morocco

Part One - Kif in the Rif

By Marko BozicPublished 4 years ago 12 min read
4
Chefchaouen on Film

Just for the record I never intended on hitching through Morocco.

I met my so called travel mentor, Jose, at a hostel in Chefcheoune, the blue city of Morocco. Jose is a 44 year old ex veteran for the United States Army Sky Diving team. Up to the time I had met him, he had been travelling for 4 years, occasionally he would visit home for 2 months at a time and soon would get right back on the road. Over a few joints of pure moroccan hash he went into further detail about his extraordinary travel stories. As we continued smoking into the night I was in completely infatuated by Jose’s adventures, from hitchhiking through Central America, spending time with local indigenous families in Mexico and injuring himself severely whilst attempting to climb mount Everest. Each story was infinitely better than any other story I had heard before. All I could think was “fuck… I want to be in this guy's stories”.

I had no fixed plans for Morocco, all I knew was that wanted to see the Sahara and Marrakesh - I had 10 days before flying to London.

Late into the night I mentioned to Jose that I was heading south towards Fes tomorrow morning and Jose had no set plans and was willing to join. More so, I was willing to join Jose.

We set off early the next day to the bus station to find a cheap ride into Fes. All buses were full and we had no rides for the day. It was the middle of fucking June, blistering hot & Jose looks over to me & asks me if I’m willing to hitchhike to Fes - f u c k yes I wanted to hitchhike, I didn’t even hesitate.

Now I know what you're thinking, hitchhiking in Morocco? Why would you do such a silly thing?

Look, if you were in my position and you had met this interesting gentleman & you had heard all the wild stories he had shared, believe me you would have done the same thing - I hope at least. Now you’re also thinking what if the stories were made up? Personally, I trust my intuition and my assessment of people - so it only felt natural to follow my gut.

Jose

We walked out of the bus station, stuck our thumbs out and within 10 minutes a car had stopped. Jose quickly conversed with the young driver with a few strong hand signals - most of our conversations in Morocco looked like a game of sharades.

We wanted to head towards Fes which was directly south and the driver was heading east. Jose looks back at me and mentions that he heard some of the best hash in the world is produced from this region of Morocco. I didn’t even think twice. I jumped in the car and off we went. The driver had asked us for a few dirhams that would have been equivalent of less than about 50 cents - peanuts.

We noticed on our drive that he would pick up a few fellow local hitchhikers and drop them off on his way. I think there was an unspoken uber thing going on, where hitchhiking was a totally regular thing as taxi’s and buses aren't, so frequent as you start to leave the big cities, people would hitchhike from village to village throwing in some spare change.

We travelled a good 2 hours until we arrived at the driver's destination, Bab Berrad the town was called. We jumped out of the car, grabbed our bags and wandered for a moment.

This was easily the most remote, furthest from home, not knowing where the fuck I am, that I have ever been in in my life. It looked like a scene from Argo. You had one road going in and one road going out. The streets were swarmed with people walking their donkeys and rusted mercs kicking up dust.

Not one westerner or tourist in site - matter a fact I don’t think they ever get tourists coming out this way - it was a pass-a-by town. We received many stares as we looked on for some sort of accommodation.

Bad Berrad on film

We hadn’t eaten in a minute and the sun was pounding; we head over to a supermarket and scout some delicious local Moroccan snacks. The shopkeeper, startled and intrigued by our presence, attempts to speak English. Following our standard conversation about where we are from what we’re doing in a small town like Bab Berrad, he instantly embraced us and was very thrilled that that we would even come past his small town. He was a lovely gentleman, briefed us on the city and where we might be able to find a motel. He insisted that we leave our bags behind the counter with him and to go out and explore - so we did.

On our way out he introduces us to a few of his friends who were all fascinated with our arrival, as I mentioned before I don’t think any backpackers come through this small town at all so we really felt like welcomed aliens. As Jose & I walked the streets discovering new areas, we got lost in the hills & stumbled across some very special crops, crops that Jose & I very much enjoy to smoke. In our venture towards these crops, we met some local "farmers" who let us wander in their beautiful green fields. We thought we had made it, the Mecca for ganja - heaven - we took a big ol’ wiff of the surrounding nature and let the present moment kick in - we made it. I couldn’t believe how many of these ganja farms they had surrounding. It didn’t make any sense though, I understood Moroccans are known for their hash and all but isn’t it a drug? Alcohol is strictly prohibited so why isn’t hash? What am I missing here?

Bad Berrad

The farmer insisted he would drive us back with a few of his friends in the car. Whilst they took us for a ride around the block they begun asking us a few strange questions. I started to pick up a vibe that they wanted us to smuggle hash back into Europe. The only thing going through my mind at this point was the movie Midnight Express - and I was not fucking ready to get fucked in the arse by Moroccan criminals. Jose and I kindly declined hoping that they would just move on from the conversation. After the "farmers" noticed they could get nothing out of us, they dropped us back at the supermarket with our shopkeeper friend - in safe hands we hoped.

We were totally side tracked by a meeting to smuggle hash into Europe that we had forgotten about the accommodation. We approached all 3 motels in the town & were denied from all 3, I don’t know if it was because we were outsiders, non-muslim or whatever the reason was, but we had no place to stay.

Confused and not sure what to do we head back to the supermarket to see our guy and we explain our situation. The shopkeeper made a few calls, yells at a few friends hanging outside, and the next thing you know, a younger fella pops up out of nowhere & escorts us to a nearby hotel. The young kid chatted with the hotel clerk and after a few rounds of back and forth the motel clerk sitting behind a metal bars in darkness eventually passes a key for our room - we were in.

Weirdly, all this time I was never worried. I guess Jose was never worried which settled me; it’s always nice when your travelling partner is cool and calm.

We settle into this tiny bedroom with 2 beds and 1 toilet down the hall. The toilet was of course a hole in the ground - we didn’t mind at this point. The walls were falling apart with chipped holes and the beaten door was barely holding onto its hinges. No longer than 15 minutes we get a sudden knock on the door. We were slightly suspicious. We open the door and it was the same young fella who had escorted us to the motel.

He lifts his hand, opens it - big ol ball off Moroccan Hash.

We happily purchased it and smoked it until the very evening.

Also I must mention that in the period we were travelling in Morocco was Ramadan. For those who don’t know, Ramadan in Islam is the nine month of the Muslim calendar and the holy month for fasting. It begins and ends with the appearance of the new moon. Although sawm, is most commonly understood as the obligation to fast during ramadan, it is most broadly interpreted as the obligation to refrain between dawn and dusk from food, drink, sexual activity, and all forms of immoral behaviour, including impure or unkind thoughts. Thus, false words or bad deeds or intentions are as destructive of a fast as is eating or drinking.

This may have been the worst and best time to travel Morocco. As mentioned above, it is a sin to consume any goods during the periods of daylight. So during the hottest months in Morocco, we felt obliged to follow these doctrines in respect to the culture we were in. It was difficult at times but in brief moments of privacy we secretly enjoyed our beverages and snacks - I was not ready to piss off a thirsty, hungry Moroccan as he watched me stuff my face at 2pm in broad daylight in the middle of June - It just didn’t seem right.

Looking back at my time in Morocco during Ramadan maybe locals felt inclined to help us out as bad deeds or intentions are considered a sin, so maybe helping us was their inclination. Who knows but in saying that I felt very welcome during my travels in Morocco, never once besides that time the dude asked us to smuggle hash back into Europe did I ever feel under threat.

The next morning we packed our bags and planned to head south towards Fes. Our plan was to get to Fes and find an overnight bus to Merzouga which is the last city on the cusp before entering the Sahara.

Trying to find a ride out of Bad Berrad

We left our hotel and went to thank our friend at the supermarket who helped us dearly. We walk down a few km’s until we were out of the city and found a ride - the car had 5 seats and they squeezed 8 of us in there - the circus had nothing on us.

Jose & I squeezed into a 5 seater

At this point in time we were just trying to make km’s to Fes. After 2 hours of driving we reached the most spectacular region of Morocco - I was completely blown away by the luscious majestic cedar trees and mountains ranges spread along the horizon for as long as I can see - it was God’s Country.

Rif Mountains on Film

We arrive in Ketema, another small remote village in the mountains north east of Fes. We try and hitch another ride to Fes but all we had was taxi drivers offering us steep prices.

We declined all offers waiting for a higher being to send us another driver.

A few hours run by and no luck.

Eventually a middle aged gentlemen in his 40s named Jomal approaches us and offers to take us back to his farm - he insisted he would feed us and show us his “farm". I hesitated slightly, not sure of what to do, but Jose took the wheel on this one and agreed for both of us to join Jomal at his place. We get into his car and drove about a km down the main road before entering his property.

Jomal & Jose

Fellow reader, thank you for getting this far in the reading because this was one of most unparalleled moments of this trip.

Do you recollect earlier when I mentioned that Jose & I had reached The Mecca of ganja, heaven on earth? Well I was fucking wrong - this place made the last farm we visited look like a backyard garden of a storey house in the middle of London. The driveway was at least 500 metres long with on either side dense green ganja plants all about 2 metres tall. At this point it may as well been called a forrest, the plants were a foot taller than the car - you couldn’t even see the sky -

*I open the window for some fresh air*.

We jumped out of the car, looked back and gazed over this magical place. As we payed more attention to the surroundings, we had noticed it was a valley of marijuana - an oasis of ganja plants. I think this time we definitely hit the jackpot. Jomal invites us into his large farm house and prepares a light meal for us including his very own hash right next to the biscuits and tea he had served on the table.

No Comment Needed

We spend a lovely few hours with Jomal and his family, introducing us to his daughters and cousins. These were some of the most genuine people I have ever met in my entire life. We were able to share stories and of course talk a little bit about the hash situation or "Kif" as they would call it.

Kif goes all the way back to 1890, Sultan Hassan I of Morocco gave villages in the Rif Mountains permission to cultivate cannabis whilst restricting it in other parts of the country. Now from what I gathered talking to Jomal, it is totally legal for farmers to grow Kif, just as long as the government taxed half the earnings which does not correlate with my research. I spent a little time asking google a few questions in regards to the situation and all information points to the same conclusion - that it is totally illegal to produce, cultivate and to sell hash, kif, weed whatever you want to call it. On the contrary Morocco is one of the largest hash exporters in the world, every year tons of hash are seized at the European borders, so I wasn’t so sure what to believe.

Nonetheless we enjoyed a few fresh joints, a cup of classic Moroccan tea and a warm shower - we were on our way off to Fes.

Biscuits, Tea & Hash

Hash/Kif

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