The Airport

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I'd never been to Marrakech airport, I'd flown into Casablanca and Tangiers and my only other flight out of Morocco was from Agadir. That mostly sticks in the memory for the cats wandering around the departure lounge and a loud man in a djellaba marching around shouting something in Arabic, which we realised just in the nick of time was the announcement for the departure of our flight. So I wasn't expecting much from Marrakech Airport at at 5.45 in the morning which was the time that I got out of my Moroccan colleague's car for the last time. I'd barely shut the door before his tyres screeched and he was starting his long journey back to Casablanca.
Having low expectations is a positive, the airport was no terminal 5 but it was a damned sight better than many I've been to, including Bristol which was today’s final destination.
I'd already checked in so it was just a case of baggage drop, pick up my boarding cards and then a coffee and a croissant.
The queue for check in was filled with Brits wearing that Marrakesh hats and holding those little Moroccan snake baskets. Some of the woman had gone native with the henna tattoos and headscarves while the men showed signs of too much sun and beer. Just as it was my turn to approach the desk, the pretty woman with dark Moroccan eyes who'd been service with a smile, slipped  out of her seat to be replaced by a surly looking man who barely looked old enough to shave.
I handed over my passport and loaded my case on to the scales. The man tapped at his keyboard, no eye contact, no speech, just a permafrown that seemed to be getting deeper by the second.
‘You are not booked on this flight sir,’ he said.
‘What?’ Was all my 6am mind could think of saying.
‘You are not on this flight,’ he repeated.
‘Of course I am I checked in online last night.’
‘Well you are not here.’ He shrugged. ‘Next!’ He looked through me like I’d disappeared and beckoned the next customer forward.
‘No next’ I said waving the passenger away. ‘Look!’ I showed him my ticket on my phone.
‘You have ticket, but you are not here.’ He gestured at the screen.
‘Next!’
‘Wait!’ I said. ‘Check again.’
‘I'll call my supervisor,’ he said ‘Next!’ The person behind me took a step forward but I stood firm.
‘When?’  I said, noting he hadn't picked up the phone.
‘What when?’
‘When will you call your supervisor?’
‘When he starts work.’
‘And that is?’ I could feel the queue behind me getting agitated.
‘Maybe an hour,’ he said.
I was fighting a losing battle to keep my cool.
‘Can you just get me on the flight?’ I said as patiently as possible.
‘No! flight is full.’ He said.  ‘Next.’

This time I stood aside and let the next passenger check in while the news sunk in.

I tried to call my colleague but I got a message in Arabic and in French. I tried to call a friend back in the UK but the same message.

Soon everyone was checked in but I was still standing there.

‘Sir, we close check in now.’ The surly man said to me.

‘Your supervisor?’ I said.

‘His day off!’ He replied.

I had no other choice than to try to buy a new ticket. I went to a ticket booth and asked the guy.

‘Yes we have tickets, he said. ‘Flight in three hours via Madrid.’ It wasn't ideal but it was better than nothing.

‘Ok.’ I said and handed over my debit card and passport.

‘Sorry sir, there is a problem with your passport.’ He said as he tried to enter my details.  ‘The system says you don’t exist.’

‘Book it without the passport.’ I said.

‘Impossible.’ He said.He gave me back my passport and debit card and shut his window signalling the conversation was over.

I tried to call my colleague again but this time there was nothing, not even a voice.

What the hell was going on? I seemed to be disappearing before my very eyes.

I went to the café, maybe I could get online and book a ticket.

I picket up some water and a coke and went to pay.

‘Sorry sir, your credit card is out of date.’ The woman handed it back to me and took my drinks from me.

I looked at it, there was still 3 months left on it. ‘Try again?’ I said.

She sighed, tried again and shook her head. ‘No, next!’ she said and started serving the person behind me.

This was just ridiculous; it was like I didn’t exist.  I sat with my head in my hands wondering what to do next. When I looked up I saw a man in a black djellaba with his hood up was approaching me. He looked like Death. He beckoned me, was this it? Did Death really exist?

‘Would you like to come this way sir?’

I didn’t really want to go anywhere but I don’t think I had a choice.