Amid the uncertainty and anxiety of the US presidential election news cycle, Leah found her way back to a place of hope among a group of strangers in Morocco.
The passenger on my left opens her window shade and the morning light floods into our row. The flight attendant announces we’ll be landing soon. I’ve been in and out of sleep for seven hours, but it only feels like a few minutes. I swipe open my phone and continue to hit refresh on my cellular connection as we get closer and closer. The plane touches down.
‘Welcome to Morocco,’ our captain says. Refresh. Refresh. Connected. I open the New York Times app and read the words: Donald Trump has Won Pennsylvania, Democrats’ Path to Victory is Slim.
I try to keep reading but my attention is quickly taken by the movement around me. I grab my bags, deboard and make my way through customs and the crowded airport. I’m physically and mentally exhausted from a week of volunteering to get out the vote followed by 14 straight hours of working at the election polling location in my town immediately before this flight.
As I stand outside Marrakech International Airport surrounded by people speaking 100 different languages, my phone buzzes. The Associated Press has called it. Donald Trump will be the next president of the United States. Again. Suddenly the chatter around me is silent and I feel entirely alone.
I was in Morocco to join a group of six strangers in their 20s and 30s on a week-long trip through the country. I’d been dreaming of this trip for so long – to escape the hustle of New York City in November, visit the iconic Sahara and maybe even make a few friends along the way.
I spent my first 24 hours in Morocco in my hotel bed, in complete darkness with nothing but expensive calls back home, candy bars from the airport and a whole lot of tears. I felt incredibly lucky to be here, but suddenly all I wanted was to be with my friends and family at home. The uncertainty was overwhelming, and so many thoughts were running through my head: What does this mean for reproductive rights? What does this mean for gun laws? What does this mean for our climate? What does this mean for the future of democracy?
I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to pull it together to meet my fellow travellers for the start of our trip the next day. When the time came, I deleted my social media apps, washed my face and did my very best to leave the situation in my hotel room.
I met my group of five young solo travellers from the UK, Ukraine, Canada and Australia. Being the only American in the group meant our conversations didn’t veer into election talk – the only thing I had been hearing for the last few months. That night, we strolled through the medina, tasting Moroccan food and getting to know each other. When it ended, my spirits were much higher, and I had hope that maybe this trip could at least be a good distraction.
I was so far off. It was so much more. Over those eight days, I built friendships deeper than I could have ever imagined with people I would have never met if it weren’t for this trip.
When we arrived in the Sahara, it was everything I had always dreamed of: rolling hills, camels in the distance and warm orange sand as far as the eye could see. We dropped our bags in our glamping tents before eagerly venturing into the desert. We were like kids again, playing with sand and rolling down dunes at full speed. When we returned to our camp, I was exhausted and covered in sand. I couldn’t imagine a better day, and yet the best of it was still to come.
After changing into new clothes and enjoying a meal, we met up with another group of travellers and locals around the fire pit. Local men played drums and sang songs. The beat quickly picked up, and before we knew it, we were all dancing around the fire to songs we’d never heard, running in circles and holding hands with people we’d never met – every one of us smiling from ear to ear. As the music and laughter died down, the group dwindled as people wandered off to their tents to sleep. It was just me and one of my fellow travellers left, Matt, a 29-year-old British man, by the fire. We began chit-chatting and sharing stories of our lives back at home.
Before we knew it, we were all dancing around the fire to songs we’d never heard, running in circles and holding hands with people we’d never met.
As we spoke, the sky dimmed, the stars erupted and the voices of our fellow travellers drifted into silence, but we didn’t mind. I opened up to Matt about my family, my career, my hopes and my fears around the election, and in return, he did the same. Eventually, he told me that just two years prior, exactly to the month, he had lost his mum. I was taken aback. After a day of acting like children, I couldn’t fathom the thought of losing my mum. He shared beautiful stories that gave me a glimpse into the wonderful person she was. I could see Matt had been on a long journey through grief, and opening up about her was part of his healing process.
His willingness to share her with me reminded me that we’re not alone in this life, and how incredibly meaningful it is to share our vulnerabilities with others.
One evening, my groupmate Jackson from Australia mentioned he’d be going on a run the next morning. I love a morning run back home through familiar streets, but I hadn’t really considered it out in the Todra Gorge at a small hotel on a cliff within the canyons. Without thinking, I volunteered to join him. I quickly came to regret this decision when my alarm sounded and the sky was still dark, but I heard him knock on my door and decided to go anyway. Out we went into the vast and open Moroccan wilderness. As a woman in an unfamiliar country, running in complete darkness was daunting, but somehow, I knew with Jackson beside me that I’d be safe.
We ran down the road with stars as our only visible light source. We made conversation under our breath and finally slowed at the wall of a canyon. Jackson began climbing the rocky wall and I nervously laughed, but next thing you know, he was reaching out his hand to help me up. Here I was, someone who had been overwhelmed with anxiety just two days prior, taking a risk and putting my weight in the hands of a complete stranger. I climbed a few rocks and eventually found a comfortable position to sit and look up at the stars. Now that we had our footing, my heartbeat slowed to a normal pace.
Out of nowhere, Jackson asked me, ‘What would you do if you weren’t afraid?’
I’d never been asked that question before, and to be honest, I couldn’t find the perfect answer. I rambled off some boring response about travelling the world that seemed to satisfy the question but left me thinking about what I really could’ve said. As the sun started to rise, we climbed down the rocks and began our run back to the hotel. With one mile left, I closed my eyes and remembered the question he asked me… then ran full speed ahead, freely and blindly under the breaking dawn.
Towards the end of the trip, I stayed up late with Lisa, a young Ukranian woman who lives in Canada. Lisa is the kind of traveller you hope you’ll find on your trip. She was kind, funny, radiant and lit up every room. She spoke to me softly about how watching young children run around in Imlil, a village we visited earlier that day, made her miss her little sister.
Lisa’s family lived in Ukraine, and she hadn’t seen her sister since the start of the war. Hearing Lisa speak about her young sister reminded me of my own little sister and how truly lucky I am to experience sisterhood. Lisa told me she hadn’t made many deep friendships since moving away from home a few years ago, until this trip. As the evening wore on, we shared stories, warm hugs and a bottle of wine – key ingredients to a lifelong friendship.
On one of our last nights, our Intrepid leader Ahmed introduced us to his family. His nieces, nephews, sisters, brothers, mother and grandmothers showered us with love and welcomed us into their home. We were in the middle of the Atlas Mountains with nothing around us but nature and a small community of people who embraced one another fully. These moments reminded me of how lucky I am to have travelled and how meeting people from different cultures has truly helped widen my perspective and approach to life back home.
It also reminded me of what matters most to me in this life: human connection. At a time of uncertainty and extreme dividedness, I bonded with a group of strangers from all different backgrounds.
When I landed back home, my mum picked me up. It was her 60th birthday, so my family was getting together for the weekend to celebrate. Her warm hug and beautiful smile reminded me of Matt’s mum.
As we drove to her house, I told her about Jackson’s question – what would I do if I wasn’t afraid – and I excitedly reeled off career plans I’d dreamed up on the plane.
We pulled into the driveway, and I saw my sisters and their husbands and kids. I remembered Lisa and her sister, Ahmed and his family, and all the other people I met along the way.
We didn’t talk about the election, at least not right away. Still, it was there somewhere under the surface. I don’t know what the next four years will bring. With information at our fingertips and a news cycle that prioritises the unfathomable, I know the anxiety I felt at the beginning of my trip will surely creep up again in time.
But when it does, I can remind myself that taking the time to connect with one another is what gets us through the uncertainty, the headlines and the darkest days.
And after one magical week in Morocco doing just that, I felt like there was hope.
Leah travelled on One Week in Morocco: Sahara and Todra Gorge, an eight-day trip for travellers aged 18 to 35. Find yourself on one of Intrepid’s 30 trips in Morocco.
