How Morocco’s Only Black Female Hotelier Has Created an Oasis of Luxury that Facilitates Magical Connections

I wasn’t sure what to expect when the driver collected me from Marrakech’s modern Guéliz district and headed out of town, past caravans of camels draped in red blankets awaiting tourists, to the Palmeraie, a luxury neighborhood named for its 100,000 ancient palm trees. I just knew that my destination — boutique hotel Jnane Tamsna — is Morocco’s only Black-owned and woman-owned hotel…that its aspirational Instagram feed boasts celebrities, Black artists at the top of their game, and impossibly long candlelit tables…and that Senegalese-West Indian owner Meryanne Loum-Martin had been incredibly generous and welcoming when I reached out.

Once inside the property gates, I entered a series of sweeping Moorish archways the color of ripe mango, dripping with white bougainvillea. Concierge Oualid Alam ushered me into a library appointed with oversized, ornate daybeds and tables inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Art books and literature crammed the shelves; framed vintage scenes of Morocco and its people covered the walls. I was served mint tea in decorative glass cups, an important Moroccan gesture that set the tone for my two-night stay, then shown to my suite, complete with sitting room, fainting couch, skylight, Berber rugs, and fireplace.

The family — Ms. Loum-Martin, her American-born husband Dr. Gary Martin, their adult daughter Thaïs, and the dog Smokey — stopped by for a friendly chat. I knew from profiles in Travel Noire, BBC World of Africa, Essence, Condé Nast Traveller, Travel & Leisure, Town & Country, and CNN that the elegant Loum-Martin was born in Côte d’Ivoire, worked in Paris as a lawyer, and moved to Morocco in 1996. In 2001 they built the property, she designing the buildings and homey interiors and ethnobotanist Martin designing the native xeriscape gardens for which the hotel is named. Thaïs, an artist and musician, curates the cultural programming that makes Jnane Tamsna a destination hotel and cultural force in the area.

After they departed, I wandered the walkways, following the patterned shadows cast by lanterns, missing my husband back in Oakland. Seven years ago, I’d arranged for us to spend 3 days each in Barcelona, Lisbon, and Marrakech—a quick birthday Moor Tour. He was thrilled about Barcelona (he adored our friends there and was itching to see Gaudí’s buildings) and Lisbon (with its ancient connections to his hometown, Benin City in Nigeria) but skeptical of Marrakech. Like many Africans of his generation, he’d been brainwashed into believing his own continent unworthy of visiting.

In three days, he became a believer. After bargaining in souks crammed with leather goods, intricately pierced brass lanterns, blocks of perfume, tubs of black soap paste and nigella seeds, glistening ceramic platters. After exploring bustling Jemaa el-Fna Square, a UNESCO site, listening to storytellers and joining long tables of Moroccans who stared then sent up cheers when we ordered sheep’s head with cumin salt. Even after I dragged him to Faim d’espices, an orange grove at the edge of town, for an all-day cooking class led by female chef Ilhame Razouk, followed by a couple’s treatment at a hammam.

Loum-Martin had mentioned the arrival of a couple, also from the Bay Area. As someone who traveled to Nigeria at age 26 to find my father and siblings, I was excited to learn they were fresh from a 10-day roots journey to Central Africa, after DNA testing helped find the wife’s ancestral village. As spirit would have it, the husband was recuperating and the other guests eating out. The staff had staged two tables in the same alcove, which we consolidated into one, soon sharing intimacies about our spiritual journeys and family reunions. Near midnight I floated back to my room, grateful for travel’s deep connections.

I awoke the next morning profoundly relaxed. Though Jnane Tamsna is only 5 miles/8 km outside Marrakech and offers onsite cooking, calligraphy, and tennis lessons, plus camel, bicycle, and sidecar rides, I reveled in the opportunity to do nothing. As these 10 weeks in Morocco are an exercise in slow travel, I explored the indoor/outdoor seating areas, attended a bird symphony in the garden, nursed an espresso in the breakfast salon, watching the considerable staff it takes to tend clay tennis courts, 5 salt-water pools, and 24 bedrooms in 5 houses spread over 9 acres/3.6 hectares.

I spent the afternoon at the pool with my book, taking breaks to poke around the well-curated gift shop with its handicrafts sourced from local collectives, exchanging video messages with friends in France and Bali, and lunching al fresco with my new friend and her husband, a former musician I turned onto the Gnaoua & World Music Fest happening nearby in the legendary beach town of Essaouira.

In the evening, the owners invited me and Michael Reese, a photographer at a nearby artists’ residency, to join them on the rooftop lounge to watch Marrakech’s famous sunset and sip delicate, gardenia-infused margaritas. We descended to find a candle-lit table awaiting us in the courtyard, where the chef served a 3-course gourmet Moroccan meal with a modern Mediterranean twist. Over an excellent local red, spicy shrimp, and organic okra from the garden bursting with flavor, they regaled us with tales of last-minute weddings and costume parties and plans for retreats with the likes of Tanzanian author and Nobel Prize Laureate Abdulrazak Gurnah. After dessert, beneath a sky heavy with stars, we explored an abandoned traditional mud house, imagining the space transformed into writing and dance studios, a dark room.

The next afternoon, I left with my new pals. Thaïs had booked us into a small riad in the medina run by one of her friends. In a day, I would be heading north to Casablanca to teach travel writing, and the couple would be heading south to Essaouira. The concierge (who, it turned out, had done his master’s with a travel scholar I’ve been trying to meet) had found them a driver and accommodations for the first night; the rest would be on faith.

As I explained all the connections to her, Loum-Martin nodded brightly. “That kind of magic actually happens all the time,” she said, hugging us goodbye. “This place is like Match.com for friends!” Though I can’t wait to return with my husband, to continue showing him the best that Africa has to offer, I’m grateful that this time I traveled solo, that I was able to become a believer, and a member of the Jnane Tamsna family, alone.

Faith Adiele founded the nation’s first writing workshop for travelers of color through VONA. Her award-winning memoir Meeting Faith routinely makes travel listicles, and her travel media credits include A World of Calm (Max), Sleep Stories (CALM app) and My Journey Home (PBS). A member of the Black Travel Alliance, she publishes in Here magazine, Off Assignment, Best Women’s Travel Writing, Oprah magazine, ESSENCE and others. Find her in Oakland, Finland, Nigeria or @meetingfaith.

This story was originally published July 11, 2023 at 3:38 PM.