When the Maghreb became more than a map, By Mohammed Dahiru Aminu

I just returned this week from my first trip to Morocco. Before this journey, I had only known Morocco through books, maps and stories. It is a country steeped in history and mystery, especially for someone like me who has always been fascinated by the cultures of the Maghreb. Morocco holds a special kind of magnetism. Whether you think of Rabat with its political calm, or Fez with its spiritual and scholarly air, or Casablanca with its cinematic reputation, or Marrakech with its desert charm, each city promises a different experience. So, when the opportunity came to visit the country for a workshop in a city called Ben Guerir, I jumped on it with excitement.

My journey began in Abuja. Unlike the multiple flights I had taken in the past for other travels, this time it was a single direct flight to Casablanca, less than five hours long. The only real challenge was that it was scheduled for the early hours of the morning, and there is something about waking up before the world stirs that always leaves you feeling unprepared, no matter how early you sleep. But once I was seated on the flight and heard the engines hum to life, I leaned into the moment. I was finally headed to Morocco.

We touched down in Casablanca in the morning. The sun had already stretched across the runways and the cool Moroccan air filled my lungs as I stepped into the airport. I had heard stories about immigration officers in French-speaking countries being a little stern, but the officer who attended to me wore a cheerful smile. He was curious about my destination and when I told him I was heading to Ben Guerir, his eyes lit up. “That’s my city,” he said proudly. There was an unmistakable warmth in his voice. He seemed genuinely excited that someone from Nigeria was visiting his hometown and I could tell it meant something to him.

Leaving the airport, we headed straight to the train station connected to the terminal. The train ride to Ben Guerir took about two and a half hours, with a short layover at a place called Casa Oasis. That was when I learned that “Casa” is a local shorthand for Casablanca, and Casa Oasis likely suggests a peaceful retreat or neighborhood within Casablanca. The ride itself was more than just a journey from one place to another. It was a slow unveiling of Morocco’s diverse landscapes. We passed through rocky outcrops, stretches of arid plains, patches of olive farms and distant hills that carried a desert elegance. As a geologist, I could not help but notice the formations that peeked out of the earth, whispering stories of ancient shifts and timeless patience.

By the time we reached Ben Guerir, the skies had started to change. A gentle rain began to fall just a few miles outside the city. It was the kind of rain that feels soft on your skin and cools the air without making everything unpleasantly wet. The other organizers of the workshop we had come for were waiting at the station. They quickly ushered us into vehicles and took us to the campus of Mohammed VI Polytechnic University, popularly called UM6P. I had read about UM6P before arriving. It is ranked as the top university in North Africa and is known for its cutting-edge research and innovation. It also houses the most powerful supercomputer on the African continent, and from the moment I stepped onto the campus, I could see that it was a place designed with ambition.

I was lodged at the Hilton hotel located right inside the university campus. What struck me was how seamlessly the hotel blended with the rest of the campus architecture. Everything was built in a uniform color palette of earthy tones, with designs that paid homage to Moroccan heritage while embracing futuristic minimalism. After settling in, we had dinner with the other organisers of the workshop. It was a warm and casual gathering where we introduced ourselves, shared stories and laughed like old friends. There were colleagues from Finland, Germany, Spain, Belgium, the Netherlands, and Ghana. That evening, we strolled through parts of the campus under the soft drizzle of rain. The buildings glowed under the lights and the air smelled clean, like wet soil and blooming plants. It felt like a place full of possibility.

The workshop kicked off the next day. It was the inaugural edition of the SATVA 2025 workshop, focused on satellite atmospheric data validation and application in Africa. The goal was to equip early-career researchers across the continent with the tools and knowledge to use satellite data for tracking air quality and greenhouse gas emissions. Most of the participants were young scientists from different African countries, and they arrived with a mixture of nervousness and enthusiasm that reminded me of my own early steps into research.

Unfortunately, I fell ill during the first few days of the workshop. It started with a migraine that kept intensifying and was followed by nausea, indigestion and fatigue. I pushed through it at first, thinking it would pass, but eventually, I had to visit the university’s medical center. The care I received there was thorough and professional. After being given an intravenous drip and some medication, I was advised to rest for a day. That rest turned out to be a turning point. I slowly regained my strength and by the next day, I was back on my feet and able to participate fully.

Once I was better, I jumped into the work. I led a discussion session exploring the barriers young researchers face when trying to access and apply satellite atmospheric data in Africa. The conversation was raw and revealing. We spoke about the lack of local infrastructure, the difficulty in interpreting raw satellite data and the need for long-term support and mentorship. Later in the week, I gave a presentation on policymaking in Africa and shared insights from my work on methane emissions mitigation. Over the past three years, I have been involved in efforts to craft evidence-based policy around methane emissions in the oil and gas and waste sectors across several African countries. My talk focused on how satellite data, when paired with ground-level monitoring and modern technologies like leak detection tools, can support effective climate action in Africa.

The other sessions of the workshop were equally inspiring. Scientists gave lectures on radiation and atmospheric physics, greenhouse gas detection through spectroscopy and how remote sensing can be used for decision-making. The goal was not just to teach skills, but to build a community. One where African researchers lead the conversation on African environmental challenges.

Throughout the week, the hospitality was second to none. Moroccan cuisine became part of our daily rhythm. We had harira, a hearty tomato and lentil soup; tagine, which is a slow-cooked stew served in a conical dish; and couscous topped with vegetables and tender meat. Olives, I noticed, were in everything. They were in salads, on plates, and even offered as side snacks. Then there was the mint tea, always served hot and poured from a height into small glasses. It was not just a drink. It was a ritual. During breaks, people gathered with tea in hand, talking about science, politics and life. It reminded me how food and drink can quietly become part of the learning environment.

When Friday came and the workshop ended, we said our goodbyes. There was laughter and the occasional tear, as everyone realized they had just been part of something significant. A week earlier, most of us had never met. Now we were colleagues and perhaps even friends. We had shared ideas, challenged each other and planted the seeds of future collaboration.

As I left Ben Guerir and retraced my steps back to Casablanca to catch my flight home, I reflected on the journey. Morocco had left its mark on me. I had arrived thinking it was just another professional trip, but I was leaving with stories, lessons, friendships and the memory of a rain-soaked city that had quietly welcomed me and healed me. I know now that this was not a one-time visit. It was only the beginning. I have not seen Rabat, Fez or Marrakech yet. I have not walked through the souks or climbed the Atlas Mountains. There is still more of Morocco waiting for me. And something tells me that when I return, the country will have more to teach, and I will be more than ready to learn.

Mohammed Dahiru Aminu (mohd.aminu@gmail.com) wrote from Abuja, Nigeria.