I wrote the previous entry at 10:00 this morning on the bus ride back to the ship. It is now 6:15, and my day has taken quite an ironic turn… 

Our tour guide, Majid, agreed to drop me off at the American Consulate in Casablanca on our way back to the ship around 11:00. So I hopped off the bus with my bag, clutching my passport and security clearance forms tightly as I walked toward the security guards by the barricades. There I encountered hurdle number one: they weren't accepting Americans at that time; hours were 8-9:30 and 1:30-3. That was easy enough to get around, as I just said I needed to get fingerprinted and was leaving on a ship at 6:00 for Namibia and really didn't have time to waste. That bought me a conversation with Abdullah, who reviewed all of my paperwork only to say that they had never fingerprinted an American citizen, and that it was against the State Department's rules to do so. Of course I had not printed out the e-mail that explained they could if I was studying abroad, so his first bit of advice was to do that. 

I left the consulate for the first time and wandered around Casablanca until a very nice French-speaking man understood "cyber café" enough to take me to one that was closed. I'm sure he meant well at least. Finally I went into a copy shop that did not provide internet and wordlessly convinced the man behind the counter to let me use his computer for 10 dirham. I forwarded the e-mail to the address Abdullah provided and headed back to the consulate (of course that simple process was very complex when I realized the keys on the keyboard were in a completely different order, meaning I had to type like a 5-year old to make sure I was hitting the right ones). When I arrived he told me he had called the Regional Security Officer to ask about this case, as it had never happened before and that officer would have the final say in the matter. Okay, great. Except that the officer was in a briefing that would not be finished until 1:00. I would have to come back then. Fine. So I went to get more money changed (I had used my last 10 dirham on the copy shop guy) and found a snack shop that sold "humburger". On my way back to the consulate just before one I spent my remaining money on a call home where everyone was half asleep and not very talkative since it was 7 something in the morning. Nice talking to you guys too- thanks for mustering up some enthusiasm for me, Mom and Jess. And Joe, sorry your throat hurt. 

So I trudged back to the consulate with my bag that was becoming very heavy, where I encountered Abdullah again. He told me that they could not fingerprint me there, but that Azziz, over at the embassy in Rabat, was expecting me this afternoon and had agreed to do it this one time. My mouth hung open as I realized what he was implying: that I hop the 2:00 train to Rabat, get fingerprinted, and get back to Casablanca in time to board the ship before 6:00. I laughed at first, but saw he was completely serious. He had gone to great lengths to get the powers that be allow this, and did not seem to care that I would be traveling alone and violating the majority of SAS's safety tips by doing so. I asked if I could go back to the ship to get someone to go with me, and was told I probably should not waste time. So after calling the "duty dean" on the ship (and losing my green sheet in the process) to say I was going to Rabat in case anything happened (and hearing no concern at all other than "you know if you miss on-ship time there will be consequences") I got into a taxi and headed to the train station. (Overally, Abdullah was very nice and helpful- he even printed off the train schedule for me, for which I was very thankful.) 

The rest was an experience I had to think of in phases or I never would have collected myself enough to have the courage to go. So, like a list of tasks to be crossed off, I divided it simply: Casablanca to Rabat to the embassy, the embassy back to the train back to Casablanca, the train station into the port and onto the ship in time. 

After a lot of confusion, I was able to purchase my round-trip train ticket, and figure out which train I actually had to get on (mostly I followed the crowd that sprinted across the tracks in the rain to the appropriate one). I was shaking as I found my seat, and just kept thinking of Third Eye Blind: "and I've, never been so alone. And I've, never been so alive." It was all I could do to keep from either laughing hysterically or crying as the people on the train stared at me, clearly wondering what the hell I was doing with a big duffel bag all by myself in their country. An hour later, I'd made it to Rabat where I wished Catie was with me to read a sign or speak to a cab driver. Instead, I wandered around saying "American embassy" until finally a guy pointed to his cab, then sketchily waited awhile before actually coming over himself, instead talking to a bunch of other guys for a while as I planned an escape method in my head to calm down. He drove me to the embassy, which was barricaded in and about a block's walk away. The guys outside were nice enough to let me through, and I made it inside where officials pointed and escorted me to where Aziz was waiting. 

He explained that they had never had a case like mine before (a fact I had already grasped), and then fingerprinted me. I stared around the office as he did so, looking at the walls filled with framed pictures and certificates from all kinds of government officials and agencies. That was pretty awesome. Anyway, during this process I asked about mailing, because apparently if the forms are not Fedexed there is a good chance the prints will smear during security screening. Aziz made a few calls, and finally said that they could send it for me if I had $50 to pay for the expensive shipping. I asked if he took credit; he didn't. So I had another dilemma. Finally, he arranged for a nice guy named Karim to meet me at the train station in Casablanca (he printed me off a sign to hold up that said "KARIM" in big bold letters). Karim would take me to an ATM and then try to drive me to the ship. The scariest part was when Aziz handed me his phone and said, "Here, talk to Karim so you know his voice," as if to imply that a strange man may see my sign and decide to pose as Karim when I got to the train station. No, not nerve-racking at all. After I hung up the phone Aziz just said, "And not you have to run to the train because it leaves at 4:30." It was 4:05, and I had to flag down a cab somewhere down the road because they do not come near the embassy. Well, Phase 1 complete anyway. 

Finally a driver named Mohamed stopped for me after several others ignored my hand in the air. Mohamed had a son in the United States, and thought I should learn French. We were best friends for about five minutes. I made it to the station with ten minutes to spare, so I took money out of the ATM there to make it easier. Then I got on the train and met a nice guy named Leon who ended up giving me his e-mail address and phone number in case I had any problems because if he had a daughter he would not like her traveling by herself in Morocco. I told him I was fine because I was meeting Karim at the other end. An hour later, it was 5:40, and I saw Karim, who I luckily recognized as one of the security guards from the consulate this morning. Phase 2 was over. 

I handed Karim the money and the forms, and told him to please call my house when he sent them so I had confirmation he'd done it. We then got into his black car and he pulled a crazy U-turn to get into the port area. He was stopped and questioned, but eventually we were let through when he explained the situation. I was then only on edge because I wanted to get on the ship before 6 so I wouldn't have dock time. As the Explorer came into view I have to say I have never felt so happy to see a place that is not even my home. I thanked Karim hurriedly and he told me to co