I’d ended up watching Netflix until 3am, even though I was beyond tired; I think it was the comfort aspect of it.
I must have eventually drifted into a deep sleep, as I slept through the mosque call to prayer and didn’t wake until around 8am. I then drifted in and out of sleep for a little longer.
Today, I decided, would largely be a PJ day.
Sometimes, you just need to rest. When my anxiety’s been bad these days are a necessity for me, and given the anxiety caused by first the dog and then the unknowns around the rabies treatment, I decided resting was a priority.
I therefore had a chilled day, writing my first blog entry and cuddling with the cats. The most active I got was making a brunch of eggs, cheese, avocado, tomatoes and coffee and doing some light housework.
The early afternoon mosque prayers seemed longer today – it was Friday – and aside from this I intentionally kept my environment as silent as possible.
Sometimes, silence is necessary for me too.
As evening approached, I knew that I would have to face my fear and return to the beach area or else I’d spend the rest of my trip entirely in this flat.
I didn’t want what happened to limit me, but I was terrified at the thought of being around the stray dogs again.
After a shower, I headed out into the late afternoon sunshine.
The children who live in these flats congregate from late afternoon until very late at night to play. I passed a large group playing football in a car parking area, and smaller groups of girls deep in conversation.
As I passed them, I reflected on how it’s rare for children to play unattended in the UK as it isn’t safe. I don’t know if it’s just because this area is more of a gated community, that’s guarded, that makes the difference but, somehow, I suspect it’s society here in general.
I wasn’t quite yet brave enough to go straight to the beach: as I got nearer, my pulse began to quicken and my legs felt weak. So I decided to have a little walk around the village first.
The village was a hive of activity: men, women, children all in the streets and roads.
Walking, talking, playing.
Two early teenage girls passed me and said, “Hi”. When I responded with the same they looked like I’d just given them a gift! Most locals kept themselves to themselves but if we made eye contact I’d either smile and nod, or say, “Salam” and they’d respond accordingly.
Occasionally, someone would try to strike up conversation. Usually from afar and always a man.
I was polite, but didn’t engage beyond a “Hello” back and I made sure to keep walking.
Turning onto a side street, I came across a tiny little restaurant with a handful of tables where locals were eating soup. Right on the street was a glass cabinet containing what looked like East African chapati.
And if you know anything about me, you know that’s my all-time favourite food.
I asked the lady, “Qu’est-ce que c’est?” as I couldn’t in the moment think how to ask what it was called but she responded with the price – 4 MAD. I told her I’d like one and she popped it on a hot plate to cook.
Once cooked, she wrapped it in paper and handed it to me. I thanked her and scurried away, the excitement effervescent inside of me.
A street cat clearly could smell my wares as the minute I stopped to peer inside the paper it climbed up my leg. I told it no and continued to walk. The cat followed.
At the point where it gave up, I found a place to stand and really enjoy the anticipation of breaking off my first piece and tasting my prize.
Apparently, the Moroccan version of chapati is called Msemen. It’s commonly eaten as a breakfast food, or in the afternoon as a snack. It can also be filled in the evenings and eaten alongside soup.
I savoured every last bite – it was thicker than a chapati, and square, but otherwise remarkably similar in taste or texture.
This happiness boost helped distract me from my fear; I felt like I’d won the lottery with this discovery, THAT’s how much I love chapati!
After some more wandering the time had come to truly face my fear. So I deliberately made my way to the beach front cafes and restaurants in time for sunset.
I couldn’t return to the scene of the crime; I doubt I’ll ever be able to do that.
But I did choose a nearby restaurant which had a little fence enclosing the seating, as that felt safer. I also chose a seat right near the road, as even though that didn’t afford me quite such a good view of the sunset it did mean I could escape more easily if I needed to.
I’d left my cloth bag at home and instead was carrying my little crossbody bag, which I kept on my person.
Ordering some fried fish, with no onion in the salad, and a virgin Mojito (most places here don’t serve alcohol as it’s a Muslim country. I can’t say I miss it), I tried to be present with my feelings.
Around me, everyone was local and all of them were seated in pairs or groups. Aside from two elderly men with milky drinks everyone else was drinking mint tea from the ornate silver kettles that are common here. No one else was eating.
As soon as my food came, a very persistent cat appeared. Like the dog, it put its paws on me but at no point did it try and hurt me. Its behaviour, however, made me feel that the theory the dog was used to getting food by doing what it did was correct.
I was a little puzzled by the fact I’d been brought salad without onion but also the usual salad with onion but didn’t question it.
A boy walked around the tables selling packets of sunflower seeds. He was followed by an elderly woman asking for money. A few people did hand her change; I didn’t see anyone buy the seeds.
Then, I froze: there was a dog a few tables away.
I watched as it padded over to each of the tables closest to the beach. The occupants mostly ignored it or made a gesture for it to go away.
My heart started pounding but I knew it was important I didn’t show any signs of fear.
My limbs felt like they’d turned to jelly.
I positioned my body so I was facing into the table and continued to eat with one eye fixed on the dog at all times.
Fortunately, it didn’t come near me.
Moments after I finished, however, another two dogs appeared and I decided that was my cue to leave.
I shakily stood and walked up the steps to the road, making sure not even to look in the direction of the dogs.
Crossing the road, I washed my hands in the restaurants’ sink, situated outside the toilet area, and then asked to pay my bill.
The waiter told me an amount that was substantially more than the menu price, so I queried this. He told me it was because I’d asked for a salad without onion and so they’d brought me an extra salad. I told him okay, but I’d specifically asked for no onion due to an allergy and if he was going to charge me for an extra dish then he should have at least informed me of this; I was prepared to pay the higher price but would have preferred to have been told they’d be charging for an extra meal.
The manager was listening to the conversation and asked me to clarify what had happened.
He then said something to the waiter in Arabic and when he handed me my change, I noticed I’d been charged the menu price.
Now, I don’t know if this had been a misunderstanding but my gut had been telling me it was more of an opportunistic tourist tax situation. I’m all for contributing to the local economy – it’s one of the reasons I seek out local places to eat – but I’m not okay with being charged extra just because I’m not a local, especially when it’s not done in an upfront way.
Walking back up to my temporary home, I felt proud of myself for having faced my fear. I know it’s still going to be an ongoing battle to make myself get out and about here but something as simple as eating at that restaurant was hugely challenging for me but I did it!
The cats eyes in the roads here sparkle and move and I found myself mesmerised by how beautiful they are as I waited to cross the main road.
And talking of cats, there was a real life Top Cat next to the bins on my road: as I passed he trotted after me, meowing loudly.
Arriving at the main door to my block, I found a man carrying a huge bottle of a lemon drink having problems with the door code and muttering to himself. Just as I reached the door and was about to offer to help, he’d pressed a buzzer and his wife let him in. I greeted them both and they responded warmly. Small, random, encounters like these mean I never feel alone.
My two furry companions were waiting for me at the door when I got in and I was showered with love, their purrs soothing the tension from my body.
Cats deserve the world.
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