The rain stopped a little. I moved all my clothes back outside onto the lines and watched to see how the incoming storm clouds would behave. I took a chance the wind would stay dry a while and went for a walk around town.
It’s the off-season and many restaurants and businesses just close shop on rainy days. Kids were barely getting out of school, so there were plenty of long, rainwashed streets with no action whatsoever. I went extra deep into unknown sidestreets and perched myself on the steps in a quiet little nook of a closed store, kept a sharp eye on the clouds in the sky in case of more downpouring, and let my frustration from being shipwrecked here fade and wash itself clean.
I started seeing kids walking home from school, many in uniforms, playfully tagging and chasing each other, filling up the air with that kids-playing noise.
Three girls across the street stopped in their tracks when they saw me and made a beeline for my porch. Without a word, they came over and quietly sat down right next to me, giggled a little and shyly waited… as if they had asked me a question and were anticipating a reply (but nothing was ever spoken). I was struck by their sweet curiosity and courage as they cautiously examined me like they were visiting an attraction at the zoo… scrutinizing my strange clothes… taking in as many details as they could before darting their eyes away…
I broke the long silence after a few minutes and pretended to assume they spoke English, I made no attempt at being understood, and rambled a lengthy, comprehensive sentence, “How are you guys doing, wow school must have just let out, I bet you’re happy and excited to be going home so you can do your homework because that will make you smart and successful in life.”
They looked at each other with desperate glances, then back at me, stymied and mute. I asked if they spoke any French. No. Spanish? No. English? No.
They huddled up and started grilling each other in Arabic, wondering if they knew ANY words in ANY other language, then laughed and conceded with disappointed shrugs.
It was comical and strange, they sat there in silence for 10 more minutes, occasionally sneaking another peak at me, the zoo monkey. One ran away down the street to another group of their school friends. Quizzed each of them. They all nodded “no,” looked up the street and sauntered back altogether to our stoop. I was now surrounded by 9 or 10 uniformed high school girls, all gazing and staring and giggling at the scientific specimen find.
Ten more minutes passed… more giggling… more curious staring. Nobody spoke English, but they were perfectly content to encircle me and study me in awkward silence. More friends came and went, giving his or her crack at some English, then would give up and move on. This went on for ONE HOUR.
At one point, a businessman stopped and tried to communicate and interpret questions from and to each other in his own form of stunted English.
Then, without any warning, they decided to clear out and off they ran, as happy and contented as they first came… all looking over their shoulders, each yelling her TV version of Bye! Ciao! Au revoir!
I started back to the hotel and was intercepted by my recent new good friend, Rhedwine. For the past couple days, he has been bringing homemade feasts over to the cafe, insisting that I join him and his buddies. Giant plates of chicken and vegetable couscous, chicken and beef Tajine.
Once again, he demanded I join him for fish and bread and he led me across the town square to get freshly baked bread from the bakery, then back to where his coworker, Brahim, (fellow parking guardsmen) took the baton, ran into the side entrance of a restaurant, and returned with the bread and a plate of fried sardines.
We crossed the street to the jardin park for our makeshift picnic and were immediately surrounded by a built-in audience of attentive kittens. It felt more like we were part of the garbage scrounging alley cats as we devoured the meal and picked apart those sardines until the plate was clean. Neither seemed to care that we hardly spoke the entire time. They were just content and pleased that they could offer me a meal and hang out…. and their doting kindness and generous caring was quite touching.
I felt some sprinkles on my face, looked up at the dark clouds and remembered my laundry hanging on the rooftop clothesline.
I made a mad dash back, past the medina gates, down the beach to my hotel, the last one on the edge of the cliffs… up the stairs to the roof… in time to get all my clothes out of the next rain… everything was mostly dry, as I hauled it all back to my room… then realized… I had just handled… all my clean clothes…
with SARDINE HANDS!!
Tomorrow is a new day…
One of my ancestors (on my mother’s side) named Stephen Deane was on the second ship (The Fortune) of the Pilgrims to America. The Mayflower came here in 1620. The Fortune came in 1621. Stephen was a young man when he came to Plymouth Plantation and not married. He married Elizabeth Ring. He built the first mill (for grinding wheat, corn) in New England.
I jumped a bus to Tetouan, a tiny town at the foot of the Rif Mountains… like every bus, it fills up to the brim, every seat, and the seat next to me is always the last to go… mothers won’t let their children sit next to me… men cram in other seats to avoid mine… I am a leper… an alien… an unknown danger…
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