Was I Safe or Nahhhh…

I’ve been seeing so many Instagram posts about the overseas areas Black women feel unsafe in. One location keeps popping up. Marrakesh, Morocco. Well, I’m ready to add in my two cents.

So here I am, cold as fuck on an expensive ass gondola ride in Venice, Italy. I remember clutching my peacoat trying to recall what street that fire ass seafood soup was on. FYI-that’s the picture on my homepage- Denise knocked me out of my daydream with her phone. “Ohh My God BIIIIIIIIIIITCHHHHHHHH! We bout ta go ta Africa real quick!” Wait WHAT? Denise never wanted to stay in one place more than two days. Venice was rather boring and pricey in my opinion, so I welcomed the new destination. But now I’m curious. Where in Africa? I prayed that we’d be on a plane to Senegal. If I’ve never told you before, let me put you on game NOW. The FINEST MAN I’ve ever seen in my thirty-eight years is from Senegal. He was working at The W in Paris, France and I couldn’t stop staring at him. That skin, that build, that stature! I just know half of them men in his hometown have to look equivalent if not better. And peep! The flight is less than five hours away. “Look!” Denise shoved her iPhone in my face. “We can go to Morocco tomorrow for just eighty-two dollars. Leo told me Moroccan men love us!” Well aiight then. Morocco here we come! I crossed my fingers that French Montana would see us on the plane and graciously decide to show us around town. Soon enough, I was heading the three hours down the way to Marrakech with no French Montana to keep me company. All I had were my own weird ass thoughts of what Morocco would be like. I had no idea what to expect. I’d never even had Moroccan food before. We jumped off that plane into pure chaos. First of all, the climate drastically changed. I went from shivering in my Uggs in that forty-four degree weather in Venice to a hot ass dry ass seventy-six degrees in Northwest Africa. And on top of that, holding that heavy ass peacoat was weighing me down! I would’ve tossed it if we weren’t headed back to the freezing ass cold in the next couple days. We didn’t wait long for a car service. As a matter of fact, once we waved around that US dollar, our taxi driver summoned his friend to ride with us over to Le Meridien Hotel. Don’t ask me why he had to tag along. I don’t know what the fuck was being said! It was definitely suspicious….regardless, we made it to the hotel in one piece and spotted a huge shopping center right across the street. I couldn’t wait to throw all my shit in the room and hit the town. Unfortunately, the huge marketplace that all us tourists want to visit was closed for the evening, but the mall across the way was still jumpin’. After running across four lanes of traffic, we made it to the spot. And this was the exact point where I fell in love. Hands down, this mall was the most colorful place I’d ever seen in my life. A beautiful lantern shop straight ahead of me, brilliant spices next door to the lanterns, moo moo dresses galore to my far right, and then heaven to my left…purses of every shape, color and texture. I made the executive decision to hit the purse shop last because that was going to take up most of my time. Off to the moo moos I go! And of course they’re not called that in Marrakech, it’s actually an abaya, but I didn’t know that shit then. I have southern parents, so my wording is always going to be a little bit seasoned! Needless to say, I had a fantastic time sippin’ complementary herbal tea, sniffing all kinds of spices, and fondling thousands of purses until the wee hours of the night. I said to myself ‘If the mall is this great, the Bab El Khemis marketplace is definitely gonna be FIRE!’

And as always, I was right. But the swap meet wasn’t the level of fire I was looking for. This was way too much. Appropriately dressed and ready to shop til we dropped, Denise and I found ourselves surrounded by every single person in the city! Put me in the mind of how Black Friday used to be like to fifteen years ago. If the taxi driver wouldn’t have sped off, I would’ve asked if I can get a ride back to the shopping center across the street from our hotel. But what did I look like getting scared of crowds? I’m a thug at heart! So, I manned up and walked towards the ATMs. With my Dirham in hand, I replaced my anxious face with my resting bitch face, and headed for the entrance. Our first few steps were fabulous. Two wedding proposals, and hustlers begging for me to enter their stall. I was starting to wonder why I was flipping out in the first place. Then, things changed. The proposals turned into cat calls, and the men that once begged for patronage were long gone and replaced by men grabbing us forcefully into their stalls. Now, I’m a different person out of town. In the states, I would’ve fist fought any man for doing this to me. But overseas, I make sure to keep my voice soft and prayers on repeat! My prayer this trip was for my safe release from these controlling ass men! Somehow, I’d separated from Denise. My only thought was that some man took her in the opposite direction of me. I was completely lost. But some advice from my sister kicked in. “When you’re headed to an unfamiliar place, always keep your eyes on the landmarks.” I could only hope that Denise’s young mom taught her the same thing. Eventually we found each other heading back towards the entrance. I hugged her tight. And y’all know that’s not my thing. In silence, we made our way back to the entrance holding hands as we cautiously followed the crowd back out to the food stalls. We both purchased one thing from the friendlier men at the front of the marketplace and scurried towards the street to hail a cab ride back to Le Meridien. Once we felt safe enough to converse, Denise and I shared stories of being yelled at, pulled in every direction, and even ignored when asking for help. Reliving this isn’t even sitting right with me at this moment. I was completely terrified. We made the best of our afternoon by visiting a couple luxurious hotels and the Koutoubia Mosque. Turning the day around was much needed for the both of us. The one thing that made my evening that much better was visiting the colorful mall one last time. I needed souvenirs for the family.

All and all, I definitely want to visit Marrakesh again. My Moroccan metal bag is my absolute favorite souvenir and I get so many compliments on it. I have to get back out that way to purchase at least eight more! But I definitely don’t ever have to see the Bab El Khemis marketplace ever again. The only way I’ll ever step foot back there is with my man or my nephew! The shopping center I frequented had all the same items, and the price mark up wasn’t that significant. I’ll gladly give up the extra five dollars! Do you have your own story about Morocco or any place that didn't treat you so well? Let’s dish! Contact me at jualeeah@jualeeworld.com or jualeeworld@yahoo.com I love a good overseas nightmare. Trust, I can relate!