I sit here tonight, surrounded by stone, mud, and plaster walls that existed long before I did, long before my parents or their parents’ parents ever took a breath on the earth. I’m in the most ancient part of an ancient Moroccan city, in a towering fortress of a home that overlooks the Oum Er-Rbia River at the point where it pours into the sea. How I got here is a convoluted path of false starts and failures that turned out to be anything but. In hindsight, I see that every step, every disappointment and dead end was only guiding me to the exact spot where I am needed most at this juncture of time.
Christmas is still a fresh memory for me, spent in Eastbourne, England during the last months of life as we knew it, when no one had heard of coronavirus and the apocalypse was still just an idea people wrote about in fiction. Here we are four months later with morgues overflowing in first world countries and a military lockdown that affects every aspect of my daily life. Seeing firsthand a group of citizens herded down the street by armed soldiers has changed me at the cellular level. Learning that I am essentially a ward of a country that will not let me leave has altered my entire perspective of autonomy. I will never look at personal freedom in quite the same way again. However, I’m experiencing no sense of loss, no sense of anxiety that anything has been taken from me. Freedom is not the issue here. Survival is. Personal freedom is meaningless when one is not alive to experience it. This is not a lesson I ever expected to learn in my lifetime, but learn it I have.
A year ago I was still living in Appalachia, knowing I would leave Virginia soon but not entertaining any plans to expatriate. I had traveled abroad by then, was living a slightly bigger life than I’d anticipated, but the U.S. was still my home and I didn’t want to leave it. In August I flew to France, eager to spend a few months recovering from the emotional trauma of trying to save animals in a community that hated me for it. While I was on this side of the Atlantic I stayed in the U.K. for a while, letting the slow-pace of life on the English Channel heal me. Then we were off to Morocco for three months, with round-trip tickets and a confirmed return date. The climate there would be good for me during the winter and the cost of living was cheap--naturally I had some fears about traveling to a new continent where I didn’t speak a single word of the native language, but I never doubted that I should go.
The first month was bliss. Not a single complaint about that time. But nearing the end of my second month in Morocco, the world ended. No, not the planet that spins ‘round the sun, but the network of people and society that made it home for billions of people. A pandemic seized the globe in its unrelenting grip, killing people by the thousands, crippling economies, and catalyzing extreme measures by Moroccan government to prevent its spread within their borders.
I don’t disagree with the decisions made by Moroccan authorities. In fact, I applaud them. Moreover, I’m now weighing my options about staying in Morocco permanently, long after the travel ban has lifted. I’m impressed by this country’s leadership. I’m impressed by this country’s people. But the clincher for me is that here in Morocco, it seems that all the skills and experience that in America I sacrificed my lifestyle, life savings, and at times even my sanity to gain have come to bear here, in this tiny village of Azemmour on the Atlantic coast, where I can be useful and helpful and fulfill a destiny I never knew was mine.
I recorded much of this journey on my blog here already, in previous posts about Sidi Bouzid and Hinda the street dog, a beautiful soul who ended up being the ambassador to a world I never knew existed. Hinda is still with us in Azemmour. We are keeping her safe during the lockdown of Morocco when all the shops and cafes and markets that sustain street animals are closed by military order. I’ll share more about Hinda soon. She is happy. Just know that. Much has happened since I last posted, though, and little by little I’ll catch up with the details. @michelios and I are in a different house, in a different city, with our return flights canceled and no idea whatsoever when we’ll be able to see our families again. But for now, all is well. Life here is stressful at times but far from bleak. And far from boring. We stay busy helping a nonprofit called ERHAM keep the street animals fed during this crisis, working with a local veterinarian who is worth his weight in pure gold. We’re where we need to be, doing exactly what we were put on this earth to do.
I’ll keep you updated.
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Stay healthy.
Thank you so much @rhondak, for keeping us updated. Yes, the world has become a very different place in the past few months. My County has just recently been added to the Governor's list of locked-down areas.
The US Northern Command has now been activated to support civilian authorities, but martial law has not been implemented yet. The world is fighting a war of attrition against this terrible pandemic.
I have read a great many articles that lean towards conspiracy, those I take with a grain of salt.
My wish is that you stay safe. As I have known you for quite some time now, I know that you do have some health issues. Along with the rest of our planet, you are in my thoughts and prayers. May Providence keep you safe and give you peace.
This is awesome that you are in the right place at the right time. Take care and good luck with taking care of the animals.
Haunting: ".... the last months of life as we knew it, when no one had heard of coronavirus and the apocalypse was still just an idea people wrote about in fiction" - and I love the opening lines about the old brick-and-mortar built by people who came and went long before you landed in Morocco. Bless the beasts and the children and all the good folk in your new world!