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There are no Huggies in he Medina!
by Karsten Horne
A journey through the walled, maze-like medina of Fes in Morocco took Karsten Horne and his family way beyond their comfort zone as his diary reveals.
The almost eerie silence is suddenly punctured by Imams at over a dozen mosques. They simultaneously commence the daily Islam teaching via speakers placed on top of the minarets. Between breaks, the faqihs lead a chorus of chanting and singing that penetrates your very soul, the pitch rising and falling and the volume changing with the wind. There is no escaping the performance; then again it is not every day you get to spend Good Friday in Fes.
We arrived in Fes very late after a long journey from Gibraltar. It is a giant rock, controlled by the British, covered in monkeys, and hollowed out with lots of military installations and caves. It is a good place for a pub meal, cup of tea and a slice of England if you must.
The day started badly when we could not find the Avis depot at the port of Algeciras. After driving the wrong way up a one way street and doing a reverse park on the footpath, we made it to the ferry. It was supposed to take an hour but circled for two before docking. As a result we missed the Fes train and had to wait five hours.
The trains are German rolling stock from the 1980’s, a bit tatty but built to last. A comforting thought as we relaxed and watched the surprisingly green hills roll past. There was an interesting moment when we had to change trains and Denise was left standing on the platform as the train started moving. To add to the spectacle, a fellow traveller was hanging onto the train for dear life screaming at the top of her lungs. The unusually eventful day did not end there. A guide we met on the train nearly got into a brawl with a bunch of taxi drivers outside the medina in Fes. He claims he was protecting us, but who knows, it could have been about protecting his commissions.
Fortunately we were met by our host, Gail, who led us into the medina, through dark alleyways and secret passages and finally to a door. Wow! As she opened this inconspicuous hole in the mud brick wall, we were welcomed into what looked like a palace; towering ceilings, dramatic archways, carved wood reliefs and tiny mosaic tiles on every wall.
Our rooms opened onto a courtyard which was beautifully appointed with giant carved doors that were 20 feet tall. Gail was an interesting character, typical of the new wave of migrants. She was from the north of England, visited Fes for the first time a couple of years ago and could not leave. A single mother with a young child she was adapting to the change, using humour as her guide.
She told us some great stories of life in the medina; things that would never occur to us. Like learning to use the communal oven, shopping for daily necessities and coping with one million people living in such a tight space.
Everything comes in and out by donkey. You constantly have to flatten yourself against the wall as a mule laden with produce pushes past; first the Coca Cola donkey, then the cooking utensils donkey, then the gas donkey, and on it goes. I asked what would happen if the water donkey crashed into the nappy donkey? Would it create a giant blockage and traffic jams for miles? She replied “Oh no, Karsten, that would never happen, there are no Huggies in the medina!” Next day with the assistance of our wonderful guide Hakima, we set out to explore the largest medina in the world.
Without a guide you have no chance of finding your way; every doorway looks the same, alleys twist and turn on themselves and occasionally it gets very dark and cold. We spent hours exploring the different souks, watched the ceramic makers creating beautiful bowls and plates. Imagine spending your whole life being will spend the next week bent over that same plate, polish it up, then move onto the next!
Standing in another shop, looking down at the tanners at work, knee deep in the red vats, I could only imagine what years of bending over scraping and dyeing skins could do to your mind.
Meanwhile the girls bought some colourful pointy shoes. Michelle got caught showing interest in a red leather jacket and I spent the next half an hour watching her politely trying to get out of the deal, refusing to get involved. She got me back at the carpet shop when she told the guy that you just need to keep showing me carpets until I find one to buy.
We leave this shop, as we had so many others, and merge back into another dark alleyway.
Cooking smells escape from hidden doorways, chanting and prayers fill the air from above and join the huffing and puffing of fully laden donkeys. Walking through the medina is a little like life’s journey, even with guidance you can never be sure what is around the corner.
As we head back to the riad, I was suddenly struck by something I never expected to see. There in a small shop in a dark corner, behind the toilet paper was a lone packet of nappies. I make a mental note to ask Gail: “Who said there are no Huggies in the medina?”