Red dust explodes under my feet with every step as I walk up the “African” road with my Ramadan promise to fulfill. The heat from the afternoon sun is still lingering here in this lane under tall eucalyptus and cedar trees, and it is drawing from the pine duff a strong smell of familiarity that leaves me a little homesick.
The going is pleasant, but not without difficulty. Despite having cheated on my fasting by drinking early, walking uphill in the hot African sun is work, and by the time I reach the crest, my chest and back are blotched with sweat. It’s all worth it though when I look up and the view over Tegma opens up to me. I’ve seen it 100 times before; the mosque hanging on the edge of a cliff, the simple houses, the gardens spread out through the valley, the plain and sea below in the distance, but every time, without fail, I’m blown away by its beauty. And rarely are days so clear as this one. Usually new viewers have to search through the haze and imagine the coast where it should be, but today I can see the dark blue water out to the horizon and the Spanish islands jutting sharply from the water just off the coast. As I catch my breath I imagine that I see can see Spain’s coast on the other side.
I would sit up here for hours admiring the rare view, but today I’m on a mission and the Mghrib (fast-ending call to prayer) is close at hand. I want to reach Yemeni’s house before that, and I still have a couple of kilometers to go. It’s a race against the sun, but the sun is predictably well paced and I know that I have time for one last lingering glance down the mountain.
As I readjust my sunglasses and shoulder my pack, a scooter roars up behind me. Redoun hops off the back and quickly tries to distance himself from the choking cloud of dust and exhaust that follow him by catching up with me. Redoun is like many of my better friends here: smart, reserved, and expressedly unimpressed with my 3rd grade Arabic vocabulary. He smiles politely as I offer a long overdue congratulation on his recent marriage and we exchange the necessary handshake and greetings.
As usually happens, we quickly run out of formalities and an acute silence follows. “Did you have a honeymoon?” I ask trying my best to piece together something that would communicate the idea of honeymoon since I don’t know the word. “We stayed in Sadia.” “Oh! That sounds fun. Was it nice?” “Yes.” “How long were you there?” “Two weeks.” Uh…what else do I ask?
I am relieved for the end of the awkward conversation when finally he reaches his house and we part each other with a wish for peace and good. I continue down the road alone. Past the cliff mosque I turn down a steep dirt path that winds under the cliff. I could follow the road, but this way is quicker and more beautiful. Speed over beauty? Not in Morocco. Past the precariously draping fig trees, I enter the cool shade of terraced gardens full of olives, pomegranates, figs, and carob trees.
Soon, Yemeni meets me on the road, and after filling his jugs up with water at a nearby spring, we walk together down to his house. Yemeni is one of the few people I have no problem talking to. His personality runs the conversation and I lose all the reservations that usually inhibit my Arabic. He runs a wonderful little bed and breakfast on this quality.
We reach his house just as the sun is hitting the horizon. His family is there and they greet me like I’m an announced guest that they have been anticipating. I don’t know why I’m always a little surprised at the ready unsolicited generosity that many Moroccan’s always seem to have on hand. I was given the standing invitation long ago, but I didn’t precede this visit with an announcement. The fact that families are always ready for one more is a great part of Morocco that I will miss in America.
There is not much lingering before the barely audible Mghrib sounds, and without any pomp we (those of us who didn’t cheat) break our fast. Under the open air of the night we quietly and quickly make our way through the dates, fish, tea, and Harira (Moroccan soup). Afterward, the frisky crickets and swooping bats entertain us as we all lay back, full and satisfied. THIS is the life.
