I woke on Monday ready to leave. I leapt up to pack my things. The taxi to the airport would come at 11, so I only had to make it through a few more hours. My friends and I enjoyed our typical light breakfast and headed out for a final stroll through the medina and last minute souvenir purchases.
I was jumpy in the medina. I was careful to stay near my male travel buddy. I was reluctant to lead to group or seem to be making any major decisions. Although most shops were still closed, the air still rang with calls of, "Tanneries this way!" I took a deep breath at every elevated voice, just to make sure I was still breathing.
We left the medina with a few minutes before our taxi would come. It was agreed that we needed lunch, but we also needed to get our bags downstairs. Lyssie and I headed to the riad to grab our things while Connor went for food. The owner of the riad confirmed and reconfirmed that we'd enjoyed our stay and would leave a positive review. He seemed so proud of his country and how welcoming its people were.
Our travel situation clearly baffled him. "So you are married to him? Or you? Or family? Or-"
"No, we're all just friends." Lyssie and I smiled.
"Oh, okay...?" It didn't seem to be okay, but neither of us bothered to explain.
The ride to the airport was fun. No one came begging at the van's windows the way they had on our way in, and we all laughed bemusedly when we saw another van with a flock of sheep on its roof.
Security was quick. Our passports were stamped and we passed through a metal detector while our items were scanned. Knowing I was so much closer to returning to the western world, I began to relax. A female security guard approached me. She grabbed my head.
"Ah, okay, a pat-down of the hijab. I guess that makes sense."
She ran her palms over my breasts, my torso, my backside, and up the insides of my legs. Since the inseam of my flowing pants ended well before my crotch, she grabbed the fabric just below my groin. Given the preceding day's harassment, the pat-down felt violating. I held my breath and held back tears until she had finished her job. I passed into the terminal without further delay.
For the first couple days, I had enjoyed Fez. But when the plane landed in Barcelona, I felt a relief unlike any other. This landing meant more to me than the beautifully smooth landing in Fez. It meant more to me than the landing that brought me to Europe for the first time. It meant I felt relatively safe.
I am not claiming that Spain is any more safe than Morocco. I am not praising Spanish culture or condemning Moroccan culture. I am saying that when I landed in Spain, I felt safer. I felt far from the people who had intimidated me. And that was a liberation I hope to never again experience.
Until next time.