A journey through North Africa in uncertain times
Pauline Dikuelo | Monday April 20, 2026 19:14
My trip to Casablanca, Morocco, came with a sense of unease. It happened at a time when the world seemed to be holding its breath. At one point, the airspace was closed, making it harder to travel across continents.
We had discussions about the safest route to Casablanca, Morocco, and concluded that travelling through Egypt was safer compared to going through Qatar.
As my departure day drew closer, I couldn’t help but wonder what it truly meant to travel to North Africa. My biggest concern was that the region is geographically close to some of the most sensitive geopolitical fault lines. Given its proximity to the Strait of Hormuz, a critical artery for global oil trade and often a barometer of regional instability, I expected an atmosphere marked by caution, if not unease.
On my departure day, news of ongoing conflict in parts of the Middle East still filled the airwaves, with images of uncertainty and tension becoming impossible to ignore.
The 55 minutes flight from Gaborone to Johannesburg was fine; it felt like any other trip to visit relatives. But reality began to sink in as I boarded my flight to Cairo, Egypt. I felt a quiet sense of unease. This was, after all, a time when the world seemed to be holding its breath.
For a moment, I was relieved to see that all the seats were occupied. I thought to myself, maybe it is safe to travel to Arab countries. But then again, I noticed that about 98% of the passengers looked like they were simply going home.
Normally, I am quick to watch a movie as soon as the flight takes off. But this time, I listened to gospel music on my phone and kept checking the flight radar. There were moments when we flew above the Indian Ocean, and I thought they were being strategic, if anything happened, we might have a better chance of survival over water.
This nine-hour trip felt like the longest journey ever, only for me to realise that the contrast between perception and reality would truly hit once I landed.
As we began our descent, I was immediately impressed by how vast and beautiful Cairo looked. This was the Cairo I had long dreamed of visiting. I owed it to myself to see the pyramids, the Red Sea, and other historical sites.
I was surprised when we landed. The city was alive in a way that felt almost defiant. The airport buzzed with movement, and conversations overlapped in a symphony of normalcy. People carried on as though untouched by the tension I had anticipated.
There were no visible signs of fear, no interruption to the steady rhythm of daily life.
It felt as though the world I had consumed through screens existed somewhere far away, detached from the lived reality before me.
In that moment, something shifted within me.
I realised how easy it is to inherit fear from a distance to internalise narratives shaped by headlines without ever witnessing the truth on the ground. Egypt, standing so close to regions often associated with instability, showed me a different story: one of resilience, continuity, and quiet strength.
As I continued my journey to Morocco, I carried that feeling with me.
I had subconsciously imagined that North Africa would mirror the anxiety dominating global narratives. I expected to feel it in the air, in the silence, and in the faces of people going about their day. But what I found instead caught me off guard.
Life moved.
What began as a trip clouded by uncertainty slowly transformed into something deeper, a lesson in perspective, in humanity, and in the enduring rhythm of life, even in the shadow of conflict.
Casablanca, too, moved with its usual rhythm. The airport was busy, the streets were alive, and businesses operated as normal. There was no visible disruption, no palpable tension to suggest that just a few kilometres away, global powers remained locked in conflict.
It was a powerful reminder of the resilience of everyday life, even in regions often defined by their proximity to crisis.
The experience underscored a deeper truth: while headlines capture moments of conflict, they often overlook the continuity of life and commerce that persists regardless.