To Love Morocco is to Want to Know It

What is it that makes us fall in love? What is that spark, that moment of connection that makes one place stay in our hearts? How often can we pinpoint a moment when that transformation takes place?

For me, I fell in love with Morocco as I sat in the restaurant of Casablanca’s Hotel Guynemer, with the group from Illinois Wesleyan clapping along to the songs of the oud player. The hotel director, Mustapha – whose huge smile is matched only by his savvy for knowing what his visitors need – joined along with a set of hand-made Moroccan drums, crafted with goatskin. It was then that Morocco felt like home. 

Today we say goodbye to Casablanca, and headed to the capital city of Rabat. Like any city in the world, Casablanca is a city of stark dichotomy – modern buildings of glass that exude prosperity, and old medinas that enfold traditions into everyday life. One of my favorite images of Casablanca was watching an older man pulling his wares in a donkey-driven cart along a busy six-lane road. A driver in a sleek, black Mercedes gave a quick honk to let the old man know he would be passing. The old man waved to the driver, who smiled and shouted “Saha!”, a common way of saying thank you meaning “to your health.” Tradition and progress together, but all in the friendly Moroccan style.

Perhaps one of the greatest symbols of tradition and progress combining is the Hassan II Mosque. The mosque, completed in 1993, is a tribute to King Hassan II, who ruled Morocco from 1961 to 1999. A massive structure with ceilings vaulted to dizzying heights, the term “spare no expense” could have been envisioned for the mosque. It took six years to construct the mosque. Everything is the best – cedar wood, titanium doors, shining marble and plaster carved with such intricacy it resembles lace along the walls. The tour guide tells us more than 10,000 craftsman carved that artistry into that plaster. The breathtaking walls ascend to a dome that can open to bring sun and air to the 25,000 worshippers the mosque can accommodate. Another 80,000 can take part in prayers outside on the marble grounds that surround the minaut (or tower) rising more than 650 feet into the sky. Two-thirds of the mosque is built stretching over the water, inspired by the phrase in the Koran, “the throne of God was built on water.”

Never having been to the great cathedrals of Europe, to stand in a structure so large and so imposing gives one the feeling of shrinking. It was amazing to me how all of the questions left my head as I walked with required bare feet across the cool marble floors. I have often felt like a tourist, a welcome foreigner, during my days in Morocco, but this was the first time I had a feeling I was an interloper. No matter how friendly the tour guide, how many polite nods I received security guards, I felt apart.

Confused by my reaction, I boarded the bus with the rest of the group to Rabat. Conversations turned toward religion. Buddhism, Judaism, Catholicism were discussed and compared to Islam, the national religion of Morocco. And I knew – I knew my discomfort did not stem from the overwhelming surroundings, but from my own ignorance of the religion that inspired every mosque in Morocco. King Mohammed VI is considered the protector of the Islamic faith, and a descendent of the Prophet Mohammed. The country prides itself on its openness toward other religions, and has been a safe haven for non-Islamic people. Yet here, Islam is a way of life. And I felt a pang of guilt that I professed to love Morocco, without understanding such an important element of what makes Morocco. Perhaps it is one thing to loved, and yet another to truly understand. I hope my time here can bring me closer to understanding.