The Adventure of Arriving at Special Olympics Morocco

“Sorry, the bus strike started today. The bus to Ifrane isn’t coming.”

“Shit. What time is it?” Bethany asked me.

I looked down at my watch, which read 7:30AM. Our week working at Special Olympics Morocco wasn’t off to the greatest start. We had 6 and a half hours to get nearly 200 kilometers to Ifrane, before our first meeting started at 2pm. The bus we were supposed to be on would have gotten us in sometime between noon and 1, and was a direct route to Ifrane. The only other option we knew of was a chartered bus that would get us in at 2:55pm. That option was out.

“Do you think we can make it with grand taxi’s?”

We'd make it to the Games eventually...

Morocco has two kinds of taxi’s. Petit taxi’s are only within cities, run on meters to determine payment, and work very similarly to taxi’s in America. Grand Taxi’s run city to city. They have specific routes, pre-set prices, and manage to fit 6 passengers into the car, therefore making them the least comfortable option. They are also the fastest and most expensive option. Since it wasn’t my site, I had no idea how to get to Ifrane from where I was at. But it was our only option if we were going to make it in time for the first Special Olympics meeting.

We set off across town towards the grand taxi stand, sure that if nothing else, the day would turn into an adventure. We had chosen a city we knew was somewhere halfway-ish between Bejad and Ifrane, and hoped for the best. If we could get to that halfway point, we could hopefully get a taxi from there to Ifrane, or, last resort, we could catch that charter bus as it came through that city (the bus strike was only affecting the souk buses, not charter buses), and show up late.

“You can’t take a taxi to Khenifra, you need to take one taxi to ????, then take a taxi to Khenifra.”
“Alright, what’s the name of the town we’re going to?”
“?????”

“Say it one more time?”

“????”

“Alright sounds good, let’s go.”

“Wait, where are going?”
“I have no idea, we’re just going.”

And with that, we set off in our first of what would end up being four grand taxi’s towards a city we could not understand the name of, and we headed down a road neither of us have ever been down. We had nothing to do but put our complete blinded trust in the random guy that is in charge of the taxi stand. As we drove, I looked at Bethany and asked if she had any idea where we were, with her responding with a shrug and a look that seemed to say “hey if we’re lost, we’re lost together.” The taxi then slowed down and we looked around to realize we were in the absolute middle of nowhere. There was 2 buildings on my left, a single building on my right, and an old rusted sign in the ground that said ‘Taxi Stand.’ There weren’t even taxis at the taxi stand. “Monika I’m not getting out of the car right here. There’s no way we’re getting out here. I have no idea where we are” Bethany said with a touch of worry to her voice. Our plan was to continue sitting in the car until the driver said we were at our destination and we needed to get out now. Luckily, this wasn’t our stop, and we carried on.

When we pulled into a city that actually had people and buildings and cars and dogs, our driver pulled up to another taxi stand. Knowing we were winging it, he made sure to take care of us. He made sure he found where the other taxi’s were heading towards Khenifra that we needed before letting us get out of the car in a strange town, and personally talked to the other driver to tell him where we needed to go for us. We climbed into taxi number 2, amazed at our luck with how fast our trip was going, and knocking on wood every time we talked about our good luck. Our driver asked where we were from, and was so excited to tell us how welcome we were in his country, and how much he loved having us here. He told us a story of an American he had met at some unknown point in time, who also had said she was in Morocco for 2 years, and he had driven her to the airport in his taxi when she was going home to America at the end. Bethany and I smiled at each other, knowing this was clearly another Peace Corps Volunteer that he had met, and very possibly, he was still telling us this story 20 years after she was in Morocco. I hope random taxi drivers still tell about the time they met the random blonde American girl after I go home.

Ifrane, Morocco

Our day continued on this same trend, and we became more and more dumbfounded by the incredible luck we were having. When we arrived in Ifrane I looked down at my watch once more, and smiled as I realized we had arrived 1 minute shy of exactly four hours after we first pulled out in that first taxi, headed to a town we couldn’t pronounce. It wasn’t even noon yet.

“The meeting will be at 5. We moved it because of the bus strike.”

All that work to get to Ifrane in time, and we didn’t even need to do it. Well, damn. At least at this point in time, I was in beautiful Ifrane, and, in many ways, felt like I was back in America for a week. City planning was a thing again, maple trees dropped leaves for me to jump on like a five-year-old, and I actually ate legit, real cheesecake. I may have floated a few inches off the ground during that last one.

Teams marching into the stadium

The Games started with the opening ceremony, as is Olympic tradition. Each of us volunteers was assigned a team to lead into the stadium for the ceremony, while we held a sign that read where in Morocco the team was from. I escorted the team from Kasbah Tadlah into the stadium, and couldn’t help but laugh while one little girl with down syndrome spent the entire time working the crowd: waving, blowing kisses, smiling into the TV cameras, everything. If I had gone home that day right after the opening ceremony, my time at Special Olympics still would have been the most moving, humbling experience I’ve had thus far during my Peace Corps service. Walking the entire track in a parade of over a thousand athletes, plus their coaches and assistants, gave me chills the entire time.

In Morocco, people with special needs have a huge stigma attached to them often times. Many are sadly kept in their houses all days, and never see the light of the world. Having the chance to interact with so many associations that are fighting for the rights of these people every day was an incredible experience to be given. Some of these teams had travelled 15+ hours to get to Ifrane for the Games even. Ifrane is also the wealthiest city in Morocco (hence why it probably feels like I’m in America, as it was originally built as a vacation spot for French colonists), and a place many average Moroccans can never afford to visit. The chance to participate in these Games was, I’m sure, the highlight of most of these athletes’ year. The officials were all so amazing at working with the competitors, the events were specially planned to make sure not to push them too hard, and a sense of opportunity and friendship was much more prevalent than hardcore competitiveness. I was in awe every day by how amazing this entire chance was.

The gold medal winner of tennis hugging his
coach right after winning the final match. 

With everything from weightlifting, equestrian riding, cycling, or swimming to gymnastics, bocce ball, badminton, and tennis, the entire range of summer Olympic sports was represented, with athletes from every corner of Morocco there to compete, it was truly a moving and humbling experience to have. While my job may have mostly consisted of just sitting on a bench and cheering for each and every athlete, I still felt like I was accomplishing something.

And, just to keep our luck up with transportation, we spent most of the week walking places because we couldn’t get our buses to pick us up when we needed to be anywhere. We couldn’t actually forget we were in Morocco for a week right?