Northern African: Morocco - The Lions on the Road: Cycling London to Cape Town - page 59

on an open fire. The 10-year-old boy came over and shook my hands. He had friendly eyes
and smiled a lot. We talked about various things and then I asked him about his family. He
started with a story about how his mother died and there was his father and 2 brothers left.
He also kept reiterating how poor he was as I asked him other questions. When he respon-
ded, he only looked to the ground in shame. My heart was going out to this kid and I was
ready to offer him some money.
As I was getting ready to leave and hand him a few dirhams, the boy became agit-
ated and blurted out he wanted money. I paused and looked at him. I then realized that he
wasahustler.Hisstorywasabidtomakemefeelsorryforhimandtopartwithmymoney
anditalmostworked.Ithenplayedthestupid-tourist-who-can't-understand-Frenchroutine
and pretended not to understand the word ' l'argent '. When he realized that I didn't under-
stand the word 'money' he switched to Arabic, 'il- flus [ floose ]!' He started to get angry.
Not wanting to confront the two men who by now were watching, I hastily mounted the
bikeandsaid“ Salem allikħom .”OffIwent,notreallyrestedfromthemorningcycle.Iwas
a little taken aback by this whole incident. Part of me wished to believe his story about his
mother however my gut feeling urged me to stop the conversation and just leave.
I continued my way to Marrakech and climbed to 510 m. I made it into a town
called Ben Guerir. Just off the highway, I came across a hotel that charged 30 dirhams.
The manager insisted that I leave my bicycle outside on the ground floor which I refused.
I wanted to put it into my room which she refused. Then she threw her hands up in the air
and said that the hotel was full. My French and Arabic were not at a sophisticated enough
leveltocallheralyingbitch.AsIwasabouttoleave,astrangerapproachedmeandinvited
me to stay at his home. I looked at him and saw that he had a new scooter and was well
dressed.MygutfeelingtoldmethathewasOK.SoIfollowedhimtohishouseintheback
streets of the town.
Trust Your Gut Feeling…Most of the Time
Hishomewaspartofacompoundsharedwithotherfamiliesandgoats.Itwascom-
pletely enclosed by a high wall with a large wooden door serving as the only entrance. His
homewasawindowlessroomwithonlyasmallairventabovethedoor.Theroomwasspa-
ciousenoughfor2beds,2tables,mybicycleandhisscooter.Hehadnoelectricity,heating,
or plumbing.
I need to add here that I was having a slight problem with my left knee. On the in-
side part of my knee I had a bump on the bone and when my host noticed it, he massaged
it with oil and suggested that I should rest from cycling. It hurt a little and I regretted that I
didn't have it examined when I was in Casablanca.