furnace in Hell.
The mason moistened his upper lip. ' Allahu Akbar! God
is great,' he said.
The next night when I tucked Ariane in bed she asked me if the
fairies would come while she was asleep.
'When your tooth has fallen out,' I said. 'That's when they'll
come.'
'Are you sure, Baba?'
I looked down, her chestnut eyes catching the light.
'Yes, I'm sure.'
'Do you promise the fairies will come when my tooth has
fallen out?'
'I promise,' I said.
'How do you know?'
'Because . . .'
'Yes, Baba?'
'Because you believe in them.'
'Is that what makes them real?'
'What?'
'Believing in them?'
'Yes, Ariane, sometimes that's all it takes.'
A popular Moroccan proverb goes: 'A man without friends is like
a garden without flowers.' It was said to me in the very first week
I arrived to live in Casablanca, by a plumber who had come to
clean out the drains. He seemed distraught that I could have
moved to a new home in a foreign land where I knew no one at all.
I told him that it felt liberating. 'I don't have to avoid people
any more,' I said, jubilantly.
The plumber wiped a rag over the crown of his bald
head.
'But how will you live if you don't have friends?'
Looking back to that first week, I now understand what he
meant. In our society friends are sometimes little more than
people we go to the pub with so we aren't there alone. We have
different expectations of them, or no expectations at all. If asked
to do a favour, we usually enquire what it is before we accept.
But in Morocco, friendship is still charged with codes of honour
and loyalty, as it may once have been in the West. It is a bond
between two people under which any favour, however great,
may be asked.
After we had known each other for a month, Abdelmalik
invited me to his apartment. It was small, cosy, and dominated
by a low coffee table. On the table there were laid at least ten
plates, each one piled with sticky cakes, biscuits and buns. I
asked how many other people had been invited.
'Just you,' replied my host.
'But I can't eat this much,' I said.
Abdelmalik grinned like a Cheshire cat. 'You must try to eat
it all,' he replied.
A few days later, he called me and announced he had a
surprise. An hour later, I found myself in the steam room of
a hammam , a Turkish-style bath. For Moroccans, going to the hammam is a weekly ceremony, one of the communal pillars
upon which the society is built. Abdelmalik taught me how to
apply the aromatic savon noir and the ritual of gommage ,
scrubbing myself down until my body was as raw as meat on a
butcher's block. In the scalding fog of the steam room, he presented
me with an expensive wash-case packed with the items I
would need.
When I choked out thanks, embarrassed at the costly gift, he
whispered: 'No price is too great for a friend.'
As time passed, I braced myself for Abdelmalik's ulterior
motive. I felt sure he would eventually ask me for something big,
some kind of payment for my side of our friendship.
Then, one morning, after many coffee meetings, he leaned
over the table at Café Lugano and said, 'I have a favour to ask
you.'
I felt my stomach knot with selfishness.
'Anything,' I mumbled, bravely.
Abdelmalik edged closer and smiled very gently.
'Would you allow me to buy you an Arab horse?' he said.
FIVE
A drowning man is not troubled by rain.
Persian proverb
FROM THE FIRST DAYS WE TOOK UP RESIDENCE IN THE CALIPH'S House, I found myself in a world that lies parallel to our own.
Morocco is a kingdom overlaid with a cloak of supernatural
belief. A twilight zone, a fourth dimension, its spell touches
every aspect of life, affecting everyone in the most unexpected
way.
At first you hardly realize it is there. But as you learn to
observe, really observe, you see it – everywhere. The more you
hear of it, the more you sense it all around. And the more
you sense it, the more you begin to believe.
Believe, and what was impossible becomes possible, what at
first was hidden becomes
The mason moistened his upper lip. ' Allahu Akbar! God
is great,' he said.
The next night when I tucked Ariane in bed she asked me if the
fairies would come while she was asleep.
'When your tooth has fallen out,' I said. 'That's when they'll
come.'
'Are you sure, Baba?'
I looked down, her chestnut eyes catching the light.
'Yes, I'm sure.'
'Do you promise the fairies will come when my tooth has
fallen out?'
'I promise,' I said.
'How do you know?'
'Because . . .'
'Yes, Baba?'
'Because you believe in them.'
'Is that what makes them real?'
'What?'
'Believing in them?'
'Yes, Ariane, sometimes that's all it takes.'
A popular Moroccan proverb goes: 'A man without friends is like
a garden without flowers.' It was said to me in the very first week
I arrived to live in Casablanca, by a plumber who had come to
clean out the drains. He seemed distraught that I could have
moved to a new home in a foreign land where I knew no one at all.
I told him that it felt liberating. 'I don't have to avoid people
any more,' I said, jubilantly.
The plumber wiped a rag over the crown of his bald
head.
'But how will you live if you don't have friends?'
Looking back to that first week, I now understand what he
meant. In our society friends are sometimes little more than
people we go to the pub with so we aren't there alone. We have
different expectations of them, or no expectations at all. If asked
to do a favour, we usually enquire what it is before we accept.
But in Morocco, friendship is still charged with codes of honour
and loyalty, as it may once have been in the West. It is a bond
between two people under which any favour, however great,
may be asked.
After we had known each other for a month, Abdelmalik
invited me to his apartment. It was small, cosy, and dominated
by a low coffee table. On the table there were laid at least ten
plates, each one piled with sticky cakes, biscuits and buns. I
asked how many other people had been invited.
'Just you,' replied my host.
'But I can't eat this much,' I said.
Abdelmalik grinned like a Cheshire cat. 'You must try to eat
it all,' he replied.
A few days later, he called me and announced he had a
surprise. An hour later, I found myself in the steam room of
a hammam , a Turkish-style bath. For Moroccans, going to the hammam is a weekly ceremony, one of the communal pillars
upon which the society is built. Abdelmalik taught me how to
apply the aromatic savon noir and the ritual of gommage ,
scrubbing myself down until my body was as raw as meat on a
butcher's block. In the scalding fog of the steam room, he presented
me with an expensive wash-case packed with the items I
would need.
When I choked out thanks, embarrassed at the costly gift, he
whispered: 'No price is too great for a friend.'
As time passed, I braced myself for Abdelmalik's ulterior
motive. I felt sure he would eventually ask me for something big,
some kind of payment for my side of our friendship.
Then, one morning, after many coffee meetings, he leaned
over the table at Café Lugano and said, 'I have a favour to ask
you.'
I felt my stomach knot with selfishness.
'Anything,' I mumbled, bravely.
Abdelmalik edged closer and smiled very gently.
'Would you allow me to buy you an Arab horse?' he said.
FIVE
A drowning man is not troubled by rain.
Persian proverb
FROM THE FIRST DAYS WE TOOK UP RESIDENCE IN THE CALIPH'S House, I found myself in a world that lies parallel to our own.
Morocco is a kingdom overlaid with a cloak of supernatural
belief. A twilight zone, a fourth dimension, its spell touches
every aspect of life, affecting everyone in the most unexpected
way.
At first you hardly realize it is there. But as you learn to
observe, really observe, you see it – everywhere. The more you
hear of it, the more you sense it all around. And the more
you sense it, the more you begin to believe.
Believe, and what was impossible becomes possible, what at
first was hidden becomes
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