(A Short Story by Derek A. Murrey)
How ironic is it that two lost souls find each other in the middle of a country neither expected to be in? One, an American born Negro man traveling to Africa to find some semblance of history. The other, a native Moroccan girl currently living in France. Up to this point he had been going through the motions. Living through his generational traumas and coping the best way he knew how. She was struggling with her identity as well. Sort of a moral tug of war between her family’s traditional muslim values and western civilization’s glorification of all things secular. They both had reached an impasse. He was at his wits end with modern society and its narrow sighted view of the so-called black man. She on the other hand was ready to embrace some of its more progressive ideologies.
The setting you ask? A rooftop terrace at a beautiful hostel in Tangier, Morocco. A very magical place, it very much plays an integral role in this tale. If you looked closely you see Spain through the skyline. Right off the coast of the Atlantic Ocean this city by the water was full of brilliant sights, delicious sounds, and enough hustle and bustle to put any major city of the world to shame. Plenty of tourists came to and from to get a taste of a perfect blend of African delights with a Spanish sensibility. The architecture screamed Europe. Cobblestone streets. Hundred year old castles. Brick and mortar that had survived the Arabic resurgence of the mid 1900s. The locals spoke with a dialect that could only be described as Arabish, a mixture of Arabic with a dash of Spanish in the accent. Though the European presence was very prevalent the Arabic traditions remained intact. Medinas packed with textiles, wild spices, and musicians beating on boxes, crashing symbols, and playing stringed instruments similarly to those from Marrakesh. Tajine, Moroccan tea, and ofcourse couscous were all there.
The American sat on the roof reading a book by Isaac Asimov. He really enjoyed reading about distant futures where man and machines have assimilated to form a newer, better society. As a consequence of his travels he had begun to disassociate himself from interactions with the other tourists he had come to encounter. He had realized that there was little point in creating more relationships and swapping lives just to say goodbye to them within days of their introduction. Then, in walked Aicha. With wide eyes and high energy she bounced through the rooftop entrance and up to the highest peak of the terrace to roll a spliff of hash. Hashish spliffs were very common for tourists to smoke. He had even taken up the habit as he’d been traveling for about a month and grew accustomed to the customs. For no reason he could explain the American felt compelled to greet her. He knew doing so would create another “here today, gone tomorrow” style friend but he couldn’t resist his urge. Something was different about her. “Hello!” He said this trying to hide his excitement.
“Ello,” she replied. She had an accent and he couldn’t pin it.
“Where are you from? I can’t place the accent.”
“I live in France, but I was born in Morocco,” she answered with a sort of confidence and pride he did not expect.
“Well then, I guess I should say welcome home,” he said with a smile.
Her skin was that of an amber brown complection. Her eyes, hazel. Her hair was a wavy reddish brunette. Short in stature but tall in charisma she asked if she could come down and have a seat. An unexpected but welcomed request. You see the wind was blowing something fierce where she was sitting and her attempts to roll her spliff were being thwarted by the elements. He had been sitting in the perfect location to roll up. He obliged. She walked down the steps and over to the table with her things and shook his hand. Her hand felt soft. Well maintained. There was a certain youthful innocence to her. A childlike wonder that intrigued him. Her smile was as bright as the Moroccan sun and she shined it often. She was also intrigued by the foreigners mysterious demeanor. Naturally the questions began to flow. First the standard ones. “Where are you from?” “How long are you here for?” Then came the more advanced and nuanced questions. “Where are you at in life?” “Why would you take a trip as big as this one?” “Are you happy?” These back and forths excited them both. With each new question a new layer was pulled back and a new layer of depth was reached.
She asked him if he would like to roll the spliff assuming the American Negro from California would be an expert at it. She was dead wrong. He had been out of practice and had only rolled 3 times since being in Africa. Every other time he had to concede to someone he was smoking with to successfully smoke a spliff. He obliged in this case however. He wanted to impress her for some reason. A fool's move. His result was a very poor excuse for a joint. Rather than repelling her though his botched attempt it seemed to endear him to her. She took his abomination and re-rolled it. Much better than he did. She sparked it and they began to talk more about life and where they fit in to it. That’s when she received a phone call that was urgent enough to put the conversation into a halt. “Damn it!” he thought, “A boyfriend.” That would be just his luck. She immediately gathered her belongings and said she had to leave. That was the way interactions had been on this trip. He knew what to expect and tried not to be shaken by it happening again. That’s when she asked what he was doing later that evening. Apparently there was no boyfriend after all. Just a loving cousin who wanted to take a visiting relative to the museum to take photos.
“I was going to do some sightseeing but I will be back up on the rooftop this evening,” he said, this time unable to quiet the excitement he was feeling inside.
“Hmmm, well maybe I could join you? Unless you don’t want to be bothered.” Her accent to him was like hearing someone speak in cursive. Beautiful. Elegant.
“Of Course you can join me. I’d like that.” He smiled shyly. They said their goodbyes and went their separate ways. Both looking forward to recapping their days later that evening…
jbbartram-illu
origamiaround
romaincrisis
2087
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