Promoting African Unity my own way after Marrakech experience

A Moroccan friend, Ahmed, is coming to Bongoland next week. Actually - and to be more precise - he is transiting Bongoland on his way to Malawi.

My friendship with Ahmed is a bit complicated. The first time we met was in Marrakech, a city located in the west of Morocco. That was many years ago, in 1983, to be more precise.

This is a former imperial city and a major economic centre, home of mosques, palaces and gardens. It hosts Medina, a densely packed and walled medieval city dating back to the Barber dynasty, with mazelike alleys where the thriving souks sell traditional textiles, pottery and jewellery. But then that is a story for another day.

Back to Ahmed... Then he was a security officer at the city’s airport, Menara. It happens that I and a colleague had some technical problems as we landed at the airport from Paris.

We had flown from Bongoland’s Kilimanjaro International Airport, via Rome and Paris, to reach Morroco on a business trip. Whew! And we still talk of promoting African unity.

Actually, our problems began when we landed at the Casablanca International Airport on our way to Marrakech.

We had all the necessary documents which included letters of invitation to a business meeting in Marrakech and endorsement from the Moroccan embassy in Dar es Salaam.

But as we landed at Casablanca we were marshalled into a special room and detained. Our fellow passengers, who included some Moroccans and French tourists simply waltzed through customs and immigration, on account of the Visa-free policy which covered them.

We were then interrogated by teams of young dark-glassed men who thought we were illegal immigrants from sub-Saharan states.

After five or so hours, we were finally allowed to proceed to our final destination, Marrakech, but without our passports. We were told we would find our passports in Marrakech.

On arrival at the Menara airport in Marrakech, we were again marshalled into a special room, where we met a young man, and again, in dark glasses. Ahmed, that was his name.

He was friendly and even apologised for our ordeal. He further revealed that, indeed, he had our passports which we would collect on the day we flew out of the country. He went on to confirm our hotel booking, where our meeting would take place.

The following day, Ahmed passed by our hotel to check on us. In hindsight, I tend to believe that he was making sure we were not agents of the separatist Polisario outfit fighting to become an autonomous country in that region.

As the days passed, Ahmed became our friend - and he even advised us, if wanted, to attend an important football match at the nearby stadium.

One free afternoon, we marched to the venue and were surprised that we were allowed to enter the stadium free of charge. We were accorded VIP treatment and went to sit in the VIP zone - a few rows behind the guest of honour, then Prince (now King) Hassan.

The match pitted a Senegalese club team against the hosts Raja Casablanca. The passion and vibrancy lived up to the known Arabic style.

The hosts won 1-0. Ironically, the winning goal was scored by a Senegalese who was then playing for the Raja Casablanca team.

Our departure from Morocco was smooth. Ahmed physically escorted us to the plane. We all bid farewell with the usual pleasantries including the famous one promising to one day meet again.

I have kept in touch with Ahmed for all these years. But, I was shocked when the other day he sent a message that he would be in Bongoland for two or three days before proceeding to Malawi.

I will definitely meet him - and even attempt to ‘revenge’ his Moroccan hospitality by taking him to one of the major premier league football matches. And, perhaps, convince him that we also have great passion for football. This would also be my way of promoting African unity... Or would it...?

The author is a veteran journalist and communication expert based in Arusha