Fellows' Reflections: Emma Schneck

At the beginning of February, I had the opportunity to venture out of Casablanca and work remotely from Essaouira, a small seaside town on Morocco’s Atlantic coast. After nearly 5 months in Morocco, it was the first time I left Casa for more than a day, and I was eager to experience more of the country I now consider a second home.

In the seaside town of Essaouira, the normally-bustling blue-trimmed medina was calm and quiet. Fishermen gave their leftover catch of the day to curious street cats while shopkeepers displayed their colorful selections of djellabas outside of their shops. As I walked through the medina, I peered my head into random shops, looking for an interesting way to kill the afternoon. One of the many silver shops nestled in the alleyway caught my eye, so I ventured in, looking for a conversation and hopefully a new treasure.

The young shopkeeper was eager to show me around his shop of treasures, and welcome me with the unmistakable hospitality of a Moroccan. “You’re like me,” he told me, “We have kind eyes. You can tell who you can trust by looking at them.” He showed me how he made his silver Berber charms, and what each of the intricate symbols meant. We conversed a little in Arabic and French, and he told me about his family back home in the Southern desert oasis of Mhamid. In normal times, he works as a tour guide showing guests his home village while his family was in the jewelry business. Because of the pandemic, he permanently moved to Essaouira to sell jewelry and hadn’t been home in months. He asked about my studies, and what brought me here to Morocco during this time. We ended up sitting and chatting for a while over a cup of tea long after I bought one of his necklaces. We both took our time chatting--the pace of the medina was so slow that these moments of connection were rarities to be cherished.

I am in the very privileged position of being one of the few foreigners here in Morocco at this time. It can be weird and uncomfortable at times, and there is little guidance as to how to navigate the situation here in the country. Mostly though, my fortunate position has given me the opportunity to have conversations that I might not have otherwise. As the only guest in near-empty riads (small hotels), one of the most rewarding experiences has been sitting over a pot of overly-sugared tea and talking with hosts about the current situation and life moving forward.

For better or for worse, life in Morocco largely revolves around tourism, and the pandemic has really overhauled many Moroccans’ way of life. The shops and salespeople, drivers, and riad owners that made their livings off of the millions of guests that Morocco welcomes each year have all had to adapt to the empty medina streets and lack of business with little to no government support or assistance. Despite a year of incredible uncertainty, most of the people I’ve spoken to are remarkably optimistic, both about their personal lives and the future of Morocco’s tourism economy.

In times where things feel stuck, it's inspiring to see the ways that people instinctively look to adapt, especially in the tourism industry. I see this drive not only in the riad owners or craftspeople that I’ve met here, but also in my coworkers at Experience Morocco. Since the beginning of the pandemic, everyone here at EM immediately began imagining new ways to adapt the company to every closure, restriction, and lockdown that the pandemic has thrown our way. It feels nice to be a part of that effort, even if it’s hard to see any concrete results at the present moment. While things here might be pretty quiet for now, these instances of resilience make me hopeful for Morocco’s next chapter moving forward.