My Moroccan Driver Held Me Hostage - Spain & Morocco Part 8
I recently went on a trip to Spain and Morocco that turned out to be one of the hardest experiences I’ve had in a long time. Over the next few weeks, I’ll continue sharing the lessons and stories that came out of it. My intent is not to rehash the drama, but to explore the human experience when life doesn’t go the way we planned.
Sometimes the most beautiful growth hides inside the messiest moments.
These posts will be written in a more personal, I/Me storytelling style, but no matter where you live, where you’ve traveled, or what you’re walking through right now, I think you’ll find a piece of your own story in mine.
They’ll be a bit longer than usual, but don’t worry, here is the link to the audio version if you’d rather listen.
Because I’m not surfing anymore on this retreat, Imsouane is cold and dusty, and I don’t want to share a room, I decided to leave a day early to spend an extra day in Marrakesh, which is where I already had plans to cap off this trip anyway.
This means that I have to pay for an extra night at the hotel and my own transportation to Marrakesh since I am not leaving with the retreat group. This wouldn’t be a big deal except the five-star hotel that I already have a reservation at in Marrakesh doesn’t have the same room available a day earlier, so I have to pay for a much higher-end room, which is a significant upgrade, although still cheap for a 5-star hotel in US dollars.
I really don’t care how much it costs to get out of here, though. I haven’t had this bad of a trip since I dog sat for five dogs in Guam in 2019.
Is this worse than Guam?
I honestly don’t even remember since everything feels like a time warp since 2020. At least I had my own accommodation and didn’t black out in Guam.
As I hug everybody goodbye before getting in the car, I hope they don’t sense how eager I am to leave. On second thought, I really don’t give a shit since nobody cared about safety after blacking out.
I get into the mini passenger van, which is the exact kind of vehicle we took to the Essaouira market, except this time I am the only passenger, which feels amazing. The trip to Marrakesh is four hours, which I am not thrilled about, but it’s a means to an end to get the hell out of Imosouane.
After about forty-five minutes into the drive, the driver pulls over, gets out of the car, and lifts the hood. He makes a phone call, but I can’t hear from inside the car. After about ten minutes, he gets back into the car.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, it’s fine. Just a little bit overheated.”
We start driving again. About ten minutes later, he pulls over, gets out of the car, and lifts the hood. He makes a phone call, but I can’t hear from inside the car. After about ten minutes, he gets back into the car and grabs his water bottle, gets back out of the car, and pours the water onto something underneath the hood.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, it’s good.”
We start driving again. About ten minutes later, he pulls over, gets out of the car, and lifts the hood. He gets back into the car and grabs his water bottle. I have a huge bottle of water with me and am eager to get back on the road.
“Do you need this?” I say as I hand him the bottle.
“Yes, thank you!”
He gets back out of the car and pours the water bottles onto something underneath the hood.
We start driving again. About ten minutes later, he pulls over to a well on the side of the road, fills up our water bottles, and pours them on something under the hood.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“It’s leaking and keeps overheating. We need to make it to the next town to get it fixed.”
“How far away is that?”
“Twelve kilometers.”
I know that ten kilometers is six miles, which doesn’t seem like that far, but we’re only making it about two miles per ten minutes and we have already been on the road for almost two hours. I’m trying to be patient, but I can feel my anxiety rising.
Maybe it would have been better to stay in Imosouane.
We finally make it to the next town, and the driver pulls into a mechanic shop.
I have to pee, so I tell the driver that I am going to find a place to go to the bathroom. As I start walking away, he says, “Wait! I’ll come with you.”
I assume this means he has to go too, but when we get to the gas station, he waits for me outside the bathroom. I can’t figure out if he’s being nice or if it’s dangerous for me to be alone in this town.
After getting back to the mechanic shop, they tell us that we have to take it to someone else.
“Can you please call another driver?” I ask the driver.
“No, it’s fine. We’ll take it to this next place to get fixed.”
I don’t want to wait. I want to get on the road. I paid for a car ride to Marrakesh. This isn’t a car ride. This is a standstill.
I Google transportation options, but, unlike America, there really aren’t crystal clear websites on how to find a ride, and even if I did find a number where I could call a new ride, I don’t even know where we are. I pull up Google Maps, and it’s still not clear. We seem to be in the middle of the desert.
Maybe a nearby sign will have the town name.
I wander closer to the main street but don’t see any signs. Even the business names are simple or non-existent.
We drive to someone’s home on an off-the-beaten-path street, near a dingy little strip mall and market. Even though this doesn’t look as professional as the proper mechanic shop, this mechanic looks hardcore, like he can fix anything. My hopes are up.
“He can have us back on the road in thirty minutes!” the driver happily tells me.
After looking into the issue, the mechanic and his assistant disappear. And don’t reappear. After about fifteen minutes, I say to the driver, “Can you please call a new driver?”
“No, it’s fine. They are going to fix it soon.”
“They aren’t even here!”
“I will go check on them.”
Now, the driver has disappeared. After about fifteen minutes, they all reappear and the mechanic and his assistant start working on the issue.
“I’m going to go get some fruit from the market while we wait,” I tell the driver.
“I’ll go with you.”
I know he doesn’t want fruit, but I don’t argue in case it’s for safety reasons. But he also ends up paying for my fruit because I think he feels bad.
But not bad enough to call me a new ride. I am assuming, since the remaining distance is about three hours, he will miss out on a huge part of the fee. But that’s not my problem. This is his car. This is his problem. I paid for a ride to Marrakesh, and that is not what is happening here.
Here we go again. More shit that isn’t my problem, but I somehow have to deal with it.
As I eat the grapes from the market, the mechanic, the mechanic’s assistant, and the driver disappear for an extended period of time again.
I can’t take this anymore.
With my anxiety reaching its limits, I call the retreat owner.
“Hello?”
“You aren’t going to believe this,” I explain the whole situation and ask her to have the hotel manager call a new ride for me. She agrees.
As I wait for her to call me back, the driver, mechanic, and mechanic assistant all reappear and then disappear again.
She calls me back about fifteen minutes later. “Mohammed called the driver, and the driver said it’s fine and they are working on it.”
“They aren’t working on it. They aren’t even here. The driver keeps saying that to me, too, because he doesn’t want me to get another ride. Please have Mohammed call another driver. If he keeps calling this driver, he is going to say everything is fine, but it’s not.”
Alas, Mohammed, the hotel manager, keeps calling the driver, and the driver keeps telling him everything is okay when everything is in fact not okay.
And around and around we go.
If the driver didn’t already hint at the possibility of this being a dangerous place for me, I would hitchhike.
The driver is holding me hostage, and there is nothing I can do about it. I feel so helpless and defeated.
I can’t even catch a break escaping to a new location.
After over two hours in the deserted town, we finally get back on the road.
The landscape starts to change as we get closer to Marrakesh. Along the barren desert, homes start to become more abundant. Then, I start seeing billboards and larger businesses. And the traffic is picking up!
We’re finally here!
Not so fast. At the next stoplight, the driver pulls over, gets out of the car, and lifts the hood. He makes a phone call, but I can’t hear from inside the car. After a few minutes, he gets back into the car.
“It’s broken again. I’m going to call you another driver.”
Part of me wants to lose my shit. I hate this guy. He’s been holding me hostage for over eight hours. But at least we’re in Marrakesh now, and he’s calling a new driver to take me to the hotel. I step out of the car and notice there is an abundance of taxi cabs driving down the street.
Hallelujah!
“I’m going to catch a taxi,” I tell the driver.
As I grab my bags out of the car, he hails one for me and then grabs my bags to help me get them in the car.
“You’re paying for my taxi, right?” After being his hostage, I am not paying for any part of a trip that I’ve already paid for.
“Yes, of course!” he says.
He pays the driver as I get in. I don’t even say goodbye because I have zero respect for him. There was no reason he couldn’t have called a new driver for me when we were stranded in that town other than that he wanted his money. I had to suffer for his greed.
The taxi driver is nice and is trying to make small talk, but I’m so exhausted because it’s been over eight hours since I left Imsouane, and between the stress and only eating grapes and a banana, I am running on fumes.
I give the driver the Cliff Notes about my experience with the driver.
“Yeah, he’s a nice guy, but you can tell he’s not very smart,” he responds.
I find this to be an interesting observation, especially since the only exchange this driver had with him was exchanging the money for the fare.
We finally pull up to the hotel, and as I am getting my bags out of the car, the taxi driver says to me, “Your driver didn’t give me enough money.”
The stress of the day comes to its peak, and pure rage is flowing through my veins.
Oh. My. F*cking. God. I am going to crash out.
I feel like I could murder someone with my bare hands right now. Fortunately, my logic switches back on.
Do I think he is scamming me? Yes.
Is it possible that the idiot, hostage-holding driver didn’t give him enough money? Also, yes.
Will going bat shit crazy Chicago-style on this guy solve anything, regardless of which one of those assumptions is true? No.
I only have two hundred dirham on me, which is only about twenty US dollars, which is a small price to pay to be free of this entire situation. Without saying a word, I pull out my 200 dirham and hand it to the driver.
“It’s not your fault,” he says.
I look him dead in the eye. “I know.”
I shut the door and walk at a Chicagoan pace to the lobby to get away from him as quickly as possible.
(To be continued in Part 9)
Glow Tip:
Resourcefulness, Assertiveness, and Choosing Your Response
On the road to Marrakesh, I was trapped in a taxi for hours, held hostage by a driver who refused to call a replacement. I had no clue where I was other than in the desert, almost no cash, and no control over anyone around me. Yet, the only thing I could control was myself, my focus, my logic, my choices.
For years, I let circumstances, other people, and their behavior dictate my safety, my energy, and my peace. I tolerated situations where I felt stuck or dismissed because it felt easier than standing up for myself.
That day, with only my observation, my voice, and a handful of dirham, I realized: I can’t control other people, but I can control my response. I can assert my needs, advocate for myself, and navigate chaos with calm, logic, and intentional action, whether it works the way I would like or not.
Self-love isn’t about controlling the world, it’s about protecting yourself, making empowered choices, and trusting that your clarity and courage will carry you through the mess.
When you reclaim your power in small, assertive ways, even in terrifying moments, you stop surviving and start thriving. That’s what it means to truly shine from the inside.
Video Version: https://youtu.be/29QaTVjPgjg
Ready to reclaim your power when life feels out of control?
For hours, I was trapped in a Moroccan taxi, held hostage by circumstances I couldn’t control. My anxiety soared, my patience was tested, but I realized something powerful: I could control my response.
Self-love isn’t about controlling others. It’s about standing up, asserting your needs, and protecting your energy, even when life feels out of control. It’s about making choices that honor your safety, your boundaries, and your peace.
The moment you start choosing your energy instead of absorbing everyone else’s chaos, your nervous system relaxes, your mind clears, and your power returns.
If you’re ready to stop surviving and start thriving on your own terms…
Then, it’s time to book your free Find Your Glow session.
👉 https://www.runninginslippers.com/work-with-me
Here’s what you’ll get:
Clarity – Identify the hidden patterns blocking your confidence, abundance, and joy.
Compassion – Gently reconnect with your emotions and inner voice (without judgment).
Confidence – Leave with a personalized next-step plan to reignite your glow.
Because glowing isn’t about controlling the world. It’s about mastering your response, standing in your power, and intentionally choosing what you allow into your life.
With love and fire,
Angie
