“Breakfast is ready,” announced Hanane with a big bright smile that made her eyes dance.
She hadn’t changed at all. I held her in my arms with a big hug. In all these years since she first joined our family to take care of our ailing mother in the summer of 2003, she had retained her joy and childlike lightness, going through life with the same grace and usual acceptance. Regardless of the circumstances, she always seemed unburdened and grateful. She possessed so little and yet her heart was overflowing.
I took James by the hand to show him the view, stepping outside to take it all in, the rocky landscape and the mighty Atlantic with only the horizon to put an end to its majestic vastness. A sensation of peace and calm swept over me. I had no idea that for my partner, a much different feeling was getting hold of him. We took a long nap after our brunch that first day. The jet lag had finally taken its toll on both of us.
The following day, after a long and uninterrupted sleep in the darkened room, I awoke to a lazy and slow day, not planning anything but unpacking and settling in. James, on the other hand, became edgy and filled with anxiety. I had sensed it mounting in him since the night before. His mood had been shifting, getting darker by the hour. As I busied myself, he took a walk outside the house and when he came back I knew something was wrong.
“Are you okay?” I asked knowing full well he was not.
“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” he mumbled, “I should be home working.”
His face was somber, his tone barely perceptible. The light had gone out of his eyes. Fear had taken over. I recognized the symptoms and my heart ached for him.
“What do you mean? We barely just arrived. You haven’t seen anything yet. I know this is all new and foreign to you but you were so excited about this trip, about Morocco…” I was dumbfounded and couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “You’re anxious and everything looks awful right now so you want to run away…” I said feebly. “Give it a chance…”
But nothing I said made a difference. His mind was as shut off as his expression.
I got up and went upstairs to find Nezha, my sister, in her room. I cried a little when I told her what happened. I felt an overwhelming sense of betrayal but knew enough that this was not about me.
“He’s hurting big time and I don’t know how to help him. He feels lost and out of place… This man did nothing but work all his life. The sudden idleness terrifies him. Could you please go and talk to him, he wants to go back home,” I said. “I think maybe you’ll have better luck with him.”
“But why? What happened?” she asked. I shrugged with puzzlement.
“You’re not trapped at all, James. You can take a plane back home tomorrow if you want to,” I heard her tell him. “But let’s at least go to Rabat today. ”
Moments later, we were ready to go explore the city. And soon, like a dark cloud in a blue sky, the sun was shining again and James’s disposition lifted.
That afternoon we first drove around town just to give him a feel of the capital city, frenzied traffic, unruly pedestrians, ghastly drivers, aggressive panhandlers and all. He took it all in stride, laughing at the chaos around him. Nezha and I kept explaining, rationalizing and translating, as if to make it more acceptable, more palatable to this American man used to a civic society far more behaved and contained.
Very quickly, however, it became obvious that James got his groove back and he, as his usual self, was not into judging anything. He was happy just witnessing life around him as it was. He particularly enjoyed the market at Bab el Had with its open stalls of fruit and vegetables, meats, cheeses, spices and nuts…
“So much abundance,” he marveled snapping up pictures.
Then we were off to the Challah and Mohamed V Mausoleum.
“Wow,” he kept saying simply. He knew now why he was in Morocco.
