Sunday was a relatively slow day for my group in comparison to Friday and Saturday. That said, this post might seem disproportionately long. If sexual harassment is a sensitive topic for you, please skip this post.
We woke up on Sunday planning to revisit the tanneries since they hadn't been running on Friday and hoping to find the Andalusian Mosque on the eastern side of Fez. The tanneries were, of course, easy to find. With men on all sides calling out, "Tannery? Tannery this way. Chouara Tannery. Biggest tannery. You come this way," it would have been more difficult to avoid the tanneries than to find them. We reached the Chouara Tannery and were provided two options: we could look at the tanneries from terraces for free or we could get closer for a fee. None of us were interested enough to pay for the closer view, so we chose the free tour.
A man led us around the terraces and explained the process of leather production. At the end of the tour, our guide led us to the tannery's shop. Again, none of us were prepared to pay the asking price. We tried to leave. The man insisted he'd lead us to a traditional pharmacy. We explained we'd seen one already, thanked him, and made another attempt at leaving his company.
He told us we needed to pay him now. Confused, we explained that we had been told the tour was free. The man was obviously frustrated by this. He insisted that there was a fee since we hadn't made any purchases. We stuck to our guns and refused to pay. A motorized scooter zipped past us, down the narrow passage. The man became angrier and louder, but we repeated that we would not be paying and made motions to head in the opposite direction of the tannery. He eventually stomped off, cursing us under his breath. The men here were clearly moody. It was a bit of an awkward interaction that left us all somewhat uncomfortable, but we moved on to the Andalusian Mosque.
The Andalusian Mosque dates back to 859 AD. It was built as a symbolic counterpart to the University and Mosque of Al Quaraouiyine, which we'd seen on Friday. As non-Muslims, we couldn't actually visit the mosque itself, but we wanted to see the carved doors and eaves the mosque that give the mosque its fame. Determined to find this mosque on our own, we rejected the offers of false guides that came more frequently the closer we were to the mosque. Although the paths were much wider and less crowded in the Andalusian quarter of Fez, it was still draining to constantly fend off false guides, who seemed to materialize out of thin air.
We did manage to find the mosque without the help of a false guide. Once we were there, the guides started insisting that we could look over the walls surrounding the mosque from a nearby vista. But they would have to bring us to it, of course. We rolled our eyes and put some effort into finding the vista ourselves. This we didn't manage, but it was so nice to walk down roads with more than enough space for the people on them that none of us seemed to mind.
We returned to the medina to revisit University and Mosque of Al Quaraouiyine. It must have been prime shopping hour because the paths were so crowded that there wasn't space to inhale fully. We ducked into a place for lunch to escape. Even after the break for lunch, the stress of the crowds, false guides, and men shouting about the tanneries felt overwhelming. We retired to the riad for some rest.
After a few hours in the room, I realized that I was spending my last night in Morocco inside the walls of my riad. I felt compelled to get out, so I suggested dinner. No one else was hungry, though. I tried to be socially well-behaved, but feelings of confinement and restlessness overcame me. I decided the previous night's chase had been an unusual occurrence and that I wanted one last souvenir before we left. My friends were still drained, so I wrapped my head and went out.
I hadn't even made it to the street before I heard the first catcalls. The boys were maybe fifteen years old. "Hey, honey, do you have a boyfriend? Husband? No? Come over here!" Clearly, I told myself, boys will be boys and adolescents never have any self-control, so no harm was done. I headed into the medina. Suddenly every man between the ages of fifteen and forty-five considered himself a suitor. I was surrounded by them.
"Hey, baby."
Whistling.
"Come over here and let me look at that body."
Mimed masturbation.
"I remember you. I've seen you before. Come with me, I'll show you something real special."
It was everywhere. It was coming in two languages that I spoke and a third that I didn't. There was no turning away. I tried keeping my head down. I tried keeping my head up and shoulders thrown back. I tried following around the only white man I found, who was about eighty years old and barely moving with the help of his cane. Nothing stopped it.
Men followed too closely behind me. They reached for me and grabbed at me.
There was not a man in the medina who had nothing to say to me or about me. The more I tried to escape it, the more turned around I became. The medina's stone walls seemed to close in on me. With the sun setting quickly, alleyways darkened. Every passing second made the medina into more of a maze and brought me closer to tears. I was alone in a place that was quickly emptying of anyone other than the men who had spent the past hour harassing me.
The medina seemed hushed as the bustle settled down, but the catcalls were as loud and frequent as ever. Panicked visions of turning down the wrong dark alley at the wrong time danced across my mind as I searched a way out.
"Wow, honey. Yum."
"That's a dead end, ma'am. Come this way instead."
"Hey there, sweetheart."
I was focusing so hard on blocking out the catcalls that I almost didn't hear him. "Ma'am, no, that's a dead end. Where are you trying to go?" I asked him for directions to Bab Rcif and let him know I had no money on me. He said he just wanted to help.
I hesitated at every turn. The alleys were getting darker and emptier. He asked where I came from and about my family. I fabricated stories of a husband and our lovely daughter. He told me that was the end of his guidance and insisted I find a way to pay him. I told him I didn't have anything with me. A second man appeared. They both started yelling at me. Backing me towards a wall. Americans are rich. Of course I had something. Or else. All I could think about as I dug into the bottom of my bag was every story I've ever heard of a woman being killed for not giving a man something to which he felt entitled. I felt coins rolling around in my bag. 4€ was what I had. I offered it. This offer offended my guide. He shouted louder. I threw the 4€ and ran.
It had been too much. It had all been too much. Being lost in the medina. Hours of catcalls and obscene gestures. The false guide and his friend screaming. It was all I could do to shower. I put on my best show of normality. I waited for my friends to fall asleep. I quietly cried myself to sleep.
I understand that most readers will have something to say about this experience. I expect hurtful and insensitive backlash, but if I can survive those hours in the medina, I can survive Internet trolls. This blog is here to share my experiences. This is the experience I had and it can't be changed, as much as you or I wish it could. All hurtful comments will be deleted.
Until next time.