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On 11 February , the Moroccan Central Bureau of Judicial Investigations announced it had seized kilograms of cocaine in a container transported by a cargo ship coming from Brazil, and headed to the port of Casablanca. This comes five months after a record 2. Another 2. The shipment was reportedly found aboard a fishing boat that had been spotted navigating north up the Mauritanian coastline before reaching Morocco. Morocco has seen a drastic increase of the number of cocaine seizures coming from South America. Recently, however, the country has seen a drastic increase of the number of cocaine seizures coming from South America. It is clear that there has been a significant change in the routes that drug traffickers use to channel their goods towards consumer markets, but are there links between the groups that produce and smuggle cocaine through Morocco, and those associated with cannabis production and exportation? This suggests that Morocco is being incorporated along the transatlantic cocaine route that traditionally goes from the Andes region through West Africa to reach Europe. In , a UNODC report on cocaine also suggested that traditional cannabis resin trafficking routes from Morocco to Spain were being used to traffic cocaine. A rare and expensive drug, cocaine was traditionally consumed by only a small group. A rare and expensive drug, cocaine was traditionally consumed by only a small group of Moroccans and not seen by authorities to pose a significant threat. However, increased cocaine trafficking seems to have boosted local consumption. Ten years ago, a gram of cocaine cost 1 Dirham while today, it may be bought for Dirham. Between and , only the nine cases of cocaine overdose were identified. A swift response is needed to curb this threat before it becomes even more deeply entrenched. Kenya needs in-depth empirical research to better regulate muguka and miraa drug consumption amid calls for restrictions. This policy brief outlines regional drug use trends for based on data from 11 countries. Home Research and policy Trend reports In Morocco, is cocaine the new cannabis? Jihane Ben Yahia. Drug trafficking To ban or to regulate muguka in Kenya?

Morocco: Cannabis production accounting for 23% of country’s GDP, US State Department claims

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That was the exact sensation I felt as Ibrahim the Moroccan mechanic leaned in and briefly sucked on my neck. You could not have described it as a kiss, there was too much…ingestion. Kiss verses suck. Even if it only lasts a second, you can tell the difference. Things are often like this in Morocco, you can go for a long time believing things are one way, in this instance, avoiding physical contact with men, smiling, touching your hand to your heart and feeling incredibly smug and culturally aware, only to have someone greet you not with a polite but distant gesture but by performing an alarmingly accurate garra rufa fish impression right under your left ear. Maybe Ibrahim was going for a fashionable French cheek kiss and missed the mark? Maybe the neck-suck is an ancient Berber greeting which I should have returned? Probably, it will remain a mystery. One thing to know about Morocco is that it is almost impossible to be truly alone there. You can drive for miles away from the nearest village, over dunes soft as flour and through near-impassable river beds, to a place where the only sound is that of a fat black beetle dutifully shuffling a ball of camel shit towards its hole. Wait five minutes in that serene and silent spot and a chair salesman with 7 wicker stools strapped to his scooter will appear like a mirage. You want chair? English car yes? Lovely jubbly! Thousands of French tourists visit Morocco every year. Indeed, in a lot of places, opportunistic scamming is basically a national sport. Hamid is a desert guide who lives in Merzouga, on the edge of the vast and glorious dunes of Erg Chebbi. I pull out my hashish and I smoke. I say nothing. So I say yea I can get it, but it is difficult. Same with beer. They say they want beer and hashish. So I go over one dune, just one big dune, I sit and smoke for 2 hours, maybe 3 hours. So, keeping in mind those above three points, we headed into the High Atlas Mountains with excitement and a twinge of trepidation gnawing away somewhere deep in our skulls. About three hours in, we found ourselves on a winding dirt track overlooking a green valley. Around the bend, a house appeared, and two figures running like hell towards us. We lowered the window and a pair of wrinkled hands clamped onto our door frame with the strength of of a pair of hands that had clamped onto many hundreds of door frames in the past. Oscar pumped the brakes, and chased a skinny-jeaned teenager, sans clothes rack, up the road. On we trundled, down deep into the guts of the mountains, along the valley floor with the light falling and nowhere to camp in the howling wind. We were greeted by a large family who must have heard us coming for miles. They seemed excited, the road had washed out some time ago with no obvious efforts made to replace it. They spoke over each other in French and Arabic, inviting us in for tea or a meal, we said we had to keep going, but to avoid another attempted clothes rack heist, plonked a perfect round orange into the hands of each family member. Their reactions were not ones of satisfaction, in fact they looked truly confused. They spoke to each other with unfamiliar words but an entirely recognisable tone. We left feeling abashed. The next morning, we came across Omar and his brother, two charismatic young Berber men trying to hillstart their dusty car. We gave them a jumpstart and were invited in to meet the family and have breakfast. The house was toasty warm, with the morning light streaming through the window and a medical reality show playing on the small TV in the living room. After a sleepless night in our tent cowering from the wind, the steaming mint tea and bread with jam was a godsend. As we left, we asked Omar if he wanted anything in return for the hospitality. Call it southern hospitality, or luck, but from that point on every single local we met wanted nothing but to talk, and be friends. In Mirleft, Bokhtar and Ali shared fishing tips and some of their catch. In Dakhla, we spent two days camping next door to Jelili, who kept us topped up to the eyeballs with tea and insisted we join him for a feast of fish tagine, lemony and delicious. At the border of the Western Sahara, a disputed territory and former conflict zone, Abdes, a military police officer, kept us lingering under the blazing afternoon sun as he showed us what seemed to be every picture ever taken of his new wife, a wide eyed beauty with an impressive cake repertoire. Morocco is an enigma. The constant clamour of touts and opportunists can make you feel miles from home, desperate for the cool indifference of a Glassons sales assistant. People sometimes ask me what to expect from the country, and frankly, I wish I knew. You can prepare to be swindled, but you should also prepare to be as surprised by the kindness and humility of the Moroccan people as you would be by a cheeky neck-slurp. Email Twitter. Widgets Connect Search. As we drove off, I looked back at the workshop. The mechanic?? Erg Chebbi post-neck slurp. Stool salesman territory, Moroccan Sahara. Hamid the entrepreneur. High Atlas Mountains. Breakfast at Chez Omar. Agadir sunset. Tata gorge. Subscribe Subscribed. Sign me up. Already have a WordPress. Log in now. Loading Comments Email Required Name Required Website. Design a site like this with WordPress.

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