Is it right to be here?
Going to places post-disaster can be conflicting, making us reflect on the ethics of travel. Right after the devastating September 8th earthquake that claimed the lives of over 2,000 people in the Atlas Mountains, Morocco, I visited the region and found myself questioning the morality of my trip
On the third day of the Morocco writing retreat, I woke up around eight, did some yoga, ate breakfast, and appreciated the mountain that surrounded us with such beauty I had never seen. I was ready and excited for the workshop that was coming next: Travel Writing with Leslie Jamison.
Travel Writing has always intrigued me and I wanted to learn how to write about my travels in a more personal and fluid way.
During the workshop, we sat in a circle and listened to Leslie's insightful words. One particular topic that struck me was how writing about places affected by disasters can prompt us to reflect on the morality of our travels and our role as writers.
This was an important subject to discuss, especially because the retreat took place just one month after a devastating earthquake in the Atlas Mountains region. These were the same mountains that I had admired every morning during my stay.
Being in Morocco at that moment brought us a natural discomfort and a question that I started to answer during the workshop and finished when my trip ended: “Is it right to be here?”
By Laís Queiroz, Brazilian travel writer based in Lisbon, Portugal.
The plane landed smoothly and at the window, I could see the same airport I took a picture of eleven years ago when I first stepped foot in this country. I recognized the colors of the buildings and the heat of the sun. A few people were waiting with me in line to enter the country. On my turn, the immigration officer asked me where I was staying while talking in Arabic with someone on the phone. “Sorry, my internet is not working and I can´t remember the name of the hotel. Is it in the Atlas Mountains”, I said. “In the Atlas?” he asked, a bit surprised and stamping my passport at the same time. “Welcome”.
Outside of the building, someone waited for me with a sign in his hands with the name of the hotel I had forgotten. Armehd is the driver that would bring me to a writing retreat at the Ourika Valley, 45 km from Marrakesh, the main city of central Morocco. The region, located in the Atlas Mountains, was one of the most affected by the September 8th earthquake, with a 6.8 magnitude, that killed approximately 2,900 people and left entire villages destroyed.
On the way to the hotel, Armehd was silent, and I was curious. “How did the disaster affect his life? Did someone in his family die? What were his thoughts about tourism at this moment? Is it right to ask those questions?” I wondered. Inevitably this subject came as we passed yellow tents on the road - temporary “homes” for those displaced. “My family is fine, but we all know people who died in the villages. It is very bad”, he shared. “I am sorry”, was all I could say.
Nearly one month has passed since the disaster and there I was, on my way to a retreat in search of reconnection to my words, in a beautiful place in the middle of sadness and grief. The question that was most pressing in my head was: Is it right to be here?
As we continued on our way to the Ourika Valley, the scenes I saw were anything but sad. Young men feeling the breeze and freedom of riding a motorcycle without a helmet; shopkeepers doing their business, young ladies coming back from school, women hanging out, kids playing freely on the streets and waving to me in the car…
although those facts do not diminish the pain and suffering of what happened, I felt incredibly welcomed and at ease.
Two weeks before the trip, the retreat was still uncertain for obvious reasons. The message we got was that the venue we would stay at had some damage, but the new building was not affected by the quake, meaning that it was safe to stay there. And that, most importantly, the people in the Ourika Valley were waiting for us with open arms, as their jobs depend on us, tourists.
Knowing that information made me more comfortable with the decision to keep my plans and fly to Morocco. But even though I felt good about it, there were still some feelings of doubt. After all, what is the ethics of travel in these situations?
I spent five days immersed in a beautiful place facing the Atlas Mountains. I felt peace looking at them and writing to them each morning. I even fell in love with a mountain with such beauty I had never seen. Those mountains were houses of villages and now probably only wreckage could be found there. Do I have the right to feel peace, beauty, and love, when people next to me are struggling?
Walking around the village where the hotel is located, the warmth of the locals caught my attention when they passed our group smiling at us, asking “Are you enjoying Ourika Valley?” making sure we were having a good time even when the time was not so good for them.
After many magical days in the retreat, I decided to spend some time in Marrakech before going back home. Marrakech’s economy is primarily based on tourism, commerce, and crafts. For that reason, I wanted to feel the city and see with my own eyes how the situation was being handled there. After all, the local economy is heavily dependent on tourists and a disaster like that can have significant consequences for the country.
On my first day wandering the Medina, an endless maze market where you can pass hours of your day hypnotized by the colors, products, flavors, and motorcycles, I met Abdul. As I walked by myself through the alleys, a man walking by my side looked at me and offered a tagine, a typical Moroccan dish. I shook my head and continued walking. For women who travel solo, it is not uncommon to be approached by men who feel the right to approach us because they see us alone. I normally deny those types of interactions.
But that man showed up again next to me, asking if I was from Morocco, as the color of my skin and physical traces can indicate that, according to him. He was being kind, we ended up having a good talk and Abdul introduced himself by bringing me to his spice shop in Medina.
“Look, this is fresh mint. This is paprika for good food. This is ginger. This, coriander, smell it! All fresh, from the Atlas Mountains”, he explained excitedly, pointing me to all the spices available.
That was when I discovered that Abdul lives in the Atlas, in the part that was heavily destroyed and comes to Marrakech every day to work on his shop inherited from his father. After buying a couple of things he offered: “I know nice places around and I can show you!”. Walking through the city with a local is something that I enjoyed doing, so I accepted the tour.
As he guided me on the streets, we could see some damage on the buildings caused by the quake as he shared, vulnerably, that many members of his wife´s family were killed by the disaster. “Now my wife and I are trying to adopt the baby that survived without the parents. I, myself, am a survivor of two earthquakes, the last one was in 1960, in Agadir, where I was born”.
As we walked more, the environment was a booming city with many people on the streets, shopping, eating, walking…living. “If there is no tourism, there is no money. In Marrakech and the Atlas, we depend on agriculture and tourism. It's not been raining too much lately, and the pandemic has made it worse. That’s why we need tourists to come”.
“What happened is a natural disaster, it was not caused by us. Don’t worry, because when people die in those circumstances they go straight to paradise” he added, looking at me with tranquility.
Shoukran, I said, paying for the tour and carrying a strong sense of resilience. Abdul went back to his life, and I went back to mine, feeling good for being here.
How can I help Morocco?
Besides supporting tourism by traveling to the country and contributing to the local economy, you can also donate any amount to organizations through the links below:
