The Martlet

Last May, my roommate and I chose to stray from the norm of utilizing the summer to make money, and instead opted to spend money — a lot of money. I took what was left of my student loan and put it toward a three-week volunteer trip to Morocco to work in an orphanage.

Paying to volunteer struck me as an odd concept. Yet, I felt certain the opportunity to help people in a less-privileged country would prove extremely worthwhile. Not to mention the obvious fact that the experience would likely be one of the most memorable of my life. And memorable it was — just not for the reasons I thought it would be.

We booked our trip through an online volunteer organization based out of Baton Rouge, Louisiana called Global Crossroads. Yet, by the end of our trip, my roommate and I agreed Global Falseroads would’ve been more fitting.

Almost immediately after our feet touched the tarmac at the Rabat-Sale airport, it became apparent that our itinerary for the following weeks’ planned events did not coincide with that of the in-country coordinators. For one thing, we were placed with separate homestay families, though we’d been assured we would together, something we felt was essential for our first time traveling alone in a foreign country. When we brought this to the attention of the co-ordinators, they told us we were being “selfish.” I pointed out that I had been chased into my building by a gang of men after walking home by myself from my roommate’s dwelling. Their response: “We don’t care.”

From that point on, it’s difficult to pinpoint a moment when I didn’t fear for my well-being. Each morning, we would meet with a different guide, none of whom seemed trustworthy. As we were strolling through the most poverty-stricken area of Rabat, one “guide” chucked us into a black sedan with four men, none of whom spoke English, while he disappeared for an hour. When our guide finally returned, he claimed he “was just visiting with friends.” The following day we were informed that we would be leaving for a weekend trip to Fez, a beautiful city two hours north of Rabat, with three of our guides. Already feeling uneasy because we were to share a single hotel room with three men, we discovered they were attempting to secure alcohol for the journey. Now, Morocco is a strictly Islamic nation where alcohol is prohibited — anyone caught with it in their possession can be heavily fined or even jailed.

Clearly our safety and security were not among our guide’s priorities, a realization that finally prompted us to leave. But we didn’t speak the language and we didn’t even know where the airport was. Ultimately, the guides had the power to keep us there. Devising a lie seemed to be the only means of gaining permission to leave.

So, tears streaming down my face, I claimed my grandmother had passed away and we needed to return home. Make no mistake, those tears weren’t forced. The co-ordinators bought the ruse, and got us to the airport where we booked a flight to Paris for the next day.

The night before our departure, my homestay family, who had been exceptionally wonderful to me, said their goodbyes and we exchanged gifts. Without a doubt, they were the highlight of my stay in Morocco and I was sorry to have to leave them after only a few days.

My roommate received her own variation of a goodbye from her homestay brother, in the form of a marriage proposal. Throughout her stay with him, he had been incessantly quizzing her on marriage laws and visa entrance requirements to Canada. He confessed that he wanted to move to Canada and, if she were to marry him, he could possibly accomplish this. After his genuine proposal, during which he gave her a ring, she turned him down. After enduring 72 hours in Morocco, we arrived in Paris the following day, and decided to spend the following two weeks exploring Europe. Talk about taking lemons and making lemonade.

Despite the unfortunate beginning, my trip took me to places I couldn’t have begun to imagine exploring when it first began: Versailles, Notre Dame, the Eiffel Tower, Anne Frank’s house, Buckingham Palace, Cologne Cathedral and so much more. Our spontaneity and impulsiveness were what ultimately turned our experience into the trip of a lifetime.

As for Morocco, the experience has in no way deterred me from going back. There were so many other places to see and culture to immerse myself in that I didn’t get a chance to experience.

I fully intend on returning one day, but the first trip proved to me the importance of educating myself — and making it clear that I’m not in the market for a husband.

MOROCCO - capital: Rabat - largest city: Casablanca - official language: Arabic - population: 31, 993,000 (according to 2009 census) - currency: Moroccan dirham (MAD) - climate: mediterranean - 99.1 per cent of the population are Arab-Berber