I wasn’t looking forward to the ride from the hotel to the Australian Embassy in Rabat. Adventure riding in the remote parts of Morocco is great; adventure riding through Moroccan city traffic is not. My trepidation was well-founded, as I had a predictably hair-raising journey through town. I was very relieved to reach Rabat’s ‘Embassy suburb’, with its palm tree-fringed roads, sprawling properties, and neat, freshly mowed lawns.
After reaching my destination, I parked the bike and wandered over to the Embassy entrance. Canada and Australia share a large block of land, upon which the two countries’ embassy buildings stand. Behind the front office window sat a security guard wearing a crisp white shirt with bright red maple leaf epaulettes.
I presented myself at the window and said: ‘Hello, I’m here to vote in the Australian election.’
Nodding, the guard opened the door and let me in. After having my backpack and helmet x-rayed, I walked through the security screen in my riding gear and promptly set off all the bells and whistles. Maple Leaves didn’t seem to care, and after disappearing for a short time with my passport, he returned and handed me a visitor’s pass dangling on a lanyard.
There was another bloke in the entrance building who had arrived before me, looking like he’d just walked off Bondi Beach in his shorts and singlet. Had to be another Aussie voter, I thought. Maples and the other bloke headed out the door, and I followed them down a long, paved walkway which took us to the Australian Embassy.
Upon approaching the building, I got the feeling the Canadians must have set up camp in Rabat first, after which we dragged our sorry arses into town and asked them if we could set up a small embassy down the back of the garden.
Inside our little Embassy, Maples directed the other Aussie into an adjoining room, and motioned for me to wait in the foyer. It appeared that a personalised and private voting experience was the protocol in Rabat.
A few minutes later the other Aussie reappeared.
‘Job done?’ I asked.
‘Yep all done.’ he replied. ‘See ya mate.’
‘See ya.’
I wandered towards the door, and a smiling lady in a friendly purple AEC vest welcomed me in. From behind a glass partition she invited me to take a seat.
‘How was your ride?’ she asked, correctly assuming I hadn’t worn motorcycle gear as a fashion statement.
‘Well, I’m still alive, so it was good, thanks.’ Borrowing from the old aviation saying, a good ride through a Moroccan city is one you walk away from.
‘Have you been to Casablanca?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, though not on the bike thankfully. It’s crazy there!’ She nodded in agreement. ‘Too big and busy for me.’ I went on. ‘I like the south of Morocco. Where are you from? Here in Rabat?’
‘No I’m from Dades. Have you been there?’
‘Yes, it’s beautiful.’ The Dades region features spectacular gorges and the remains of hundreds of historic fortified towns.
‘We go back down there to visit my family every holidays.’
‘Must be a nice change from the city.’
‘It sure is!’
She then slid a form through a hole in the glass and asked me to fill it out. After doing so, I returned it and was issued ballot papers for the House of Representatives and the Senate.
‘You can use one of the privacy booths behind you.’
Being the only one there, I had my choice of either of the cardboard booths, and having selected one and ensured my privacy, I filled out the ballots.
Returning them to the friendly AEC lady, she asked me to fold the House of Reps form in half. Whilst I was doing so, she deftly origami-ed my form to create an envelope. Carefully explaining each step of the process, she placed my ballot papers into the newly created envelope and sealed it. Whilst ensuring I could see, she poked it through a slot in the top of a large plastic tub. All very professional.
‘Done.’ she proclaimed.
‘Thankyou! Do you work for the Embassy too or just the Electoral Commission?’
‘I work for the Embassy too.’
‘What are the Australians like to work for?’
She took a long pause before answering, and I began to worry that she thought we were arseholes.
‘Very good.’ She said, finally.
‘Oh that’s a relief!’
‘Better than the Americans.’ She said. I beamed.
‘Have you had many people come in to vote?’
‘Well, you’re the seventh today, and we’ve had seventeen others since polling opened. We’re expecting it to get busier over the next couple of days.’
‘Oh good! Then you won’t get bored in here rattling around by yourself.’
‘No.’ she laughed. ‘We’re having an Election Day BBQ on Saturday. If you’ll still be here you’re welcome to come.’
‘Oh that would have been great! Thankyou but I’ll be heading off before then. Thanks for all your help today.’
‘You’re welcome, enjoy the rest of your time in Morocco.’
My democratic duty done, I walked back to the entry office in the bright sunshine and returned my visitor’s pass to Maples. On my way to the carpark, I thought back to the last election in 2022, when I was in Ukraine and didn’t have the chance to vote. And then about visiting the Australian Embassy in Austria to vote in ‘The Voice’ referendum.
I wonder where I’ll be for the next election in three years’ time? Presuming I make it out of the streets of Rabat alive, that is.
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