Vagabonding

I am lying in a double bed near Khenichet in borrowed pyjamas.
How did I get here?

I wanted to see something other than the main road and drive more on the small roads with less traffic. There you can experience more, the encounters are more interesting, because here the smallest deviation from normality is much more obvious and causes more excitement.

A couple of boys ride with me and talk to me in Arabic. They are friendly and interested, but unfortunately we can hardly communicate. My Moroccan is just good enough to count to five and that doesn't make for a satisfactory conversation.
At some point they turn left and we wish each other a good journey ( I guess). 😄

It's hot, about 30 degrees today, and I try desperately to balance my fluid intake.

I drive to Khenichet and start looking for a place to eat. Next to me, someone rolls up on an old bicycle, several sticks of baguette in a basket in front of the handlebars.
'Do you want something to eat?'
'Yes.'
'Come on!'
We pass one or two bistros and slowly I understand that he probably doesn't want to recommend a restaurant but has extended an invitation. 🫢

We roll out of town. I'm worried that he lives far away, but luckily we turn into a housing estate.
There we are stopped by a black Audi. The driver, a plainclothes policeman, has seen us driving through town and wants to make sure that everything is all right with me and that I am voluntarily going with my companion Zacharias.

Side note:
It is quite common in Morocco for the police to pay special attention to bicycle tourists and follow them at a distance. They don't always make themselves known, but after a while it can become quite obvious that a black vehicle is following you in 500 metres at a crawl.

The policeman confers with my host. Everything seems to be all right. He wants to know where I will be staying and where I want to go.
I explain that I want to go to a petrol station 15 km away to pitch my tent. He replies that it is already too late for that. We exchange numbers and after dinner the police will be waiting for me to make sure that everything is still in order.

When we arrive at Zacharias' house it is already dark. We enter and are greeted by the whole family and led directly to the prepared table.
Besides Zacharias, my host, his wife and daughter live in the house, as well as his brother with his wife and child, his father and his uncle.
We all sit together at the dining table and break the daily fast, because it is Ramadan.
Zacharias says to me that I am now like his son and part of the family.

I speak to the family (father and wife) in French, with Zacharias I get some help of an Arabic translator. His daughter watches all the translations with great interest.
They help me learn the numbers up to 17 and the days of the week. 😃
As I am showing photos of my family and the course of my journey, suddenly a man stands in the doorway. He is greeted warmly by the family and invited in for a coffee. He introduces himself as the security officer of the settlement. He wants to see my passport and takes photos of it.
He also asks if everything is all right, how I am, where I come from and where I am going.

Another person enters the house. From his appearance I conclude that he is an authority figure. He identifies himself as a policeman. I knew it.
He asks the obligatory questions about my passport, my profession, my parents and their profession, my address in Berlin and, of course, my itinerary and where I will be staying.
I explain to him my idea of a quiet night at the petrol station.
He: Nah, there's a hostel in town.
Me: Nah, I like camping.
Him: You can sleep here.

Now the situation becomes a bit bizarre, because no one has asked the family for their opinion. My understanding is that the family should issue the invitation. I think about how I can play the question back towards the family so that they make the decision. I turn to the family and say if the petrol station is not an option and there are no problems then I would like to stay with the family.
Policeman: No, that won't cause any problems.
I try a second time with passing on the question and again I am assured by the police that it is okay.

Later, host Zacharias asks me a couple of times if I want to have a coffee. Due to the late hour, I don't really want to, but before I can express this, his daughter says no on my behalf. 😁
I don't quite understand the situation. He asks several more times and his daughter declines several times on my behalf. The situation leaves me a bit baffled.
He asks me again and the penny drops: he would very much like to go to a local café with me - his daughter, on the other hand, wants us to continue learning from each other at home with the translator. I'm sure the situation is just as exciting for her as it is for me.
I finally understand that he would like to show me his favourite place. So we leave. In the café we take more selfies. More men join us and we talk a bit. About football, Ramadan and Islamic prophets. We write everything crosswise on a notepad, which becomes a nice memory.

Finally we go back to the house. We take selfies with the dog, goat and family. They offer me the large family bedroom. Now I am lying here in the double bed, in Zachariah's prayer robe. I feel a bit bad because I sleep alone in the big room and because of me the whole family sleeps in the living room on the sofa beds.

The night passes without me sleeping much. I am too excited. Because this family has welcomed me so warmly, I decide to have breakfast with them at 4am the next morning, as it is still Ramadan.
Around 3:30 am I wake up and hear a soft noise. Too quiet for a family breakfast. I lie awake in bed and wait for evidence of the meal, but hear nothing to suggest it. Eventually I fall asleep again. When I tell Zacharias' father my decision the next morning, he just laughs. He wanted to wake me up, but Zacharias' wife forbade it. 😄Weiterlesen