After all my bitching and moaning about the men here, all the relentless cat calls and hassling and the overall exhausting experiences having to do with most things male... I actually sort of have a date.
And with a guy. A human guy.
At least one of my readers told me he was tired of hearing about camels and pack mules and that my story needed some kind of fiery romance to keep things interesting. Well, I don't know about a fiery romance but this should get pretty interesting considering my minimal Arabic and his even spottier English.
But first, the back story:
I had been turning up the last few nights to Ma'alem Sadik's to see Mr. Beautiful Dimples, MBD (and listen to music of course), but the last couple of times, he didn't show. As long as he wasn't there, I thought I'd take the opportunity to find out some informaiton about him from the other musicians. Like his name, for starters.
I asked one of the other musicians, Mohammed, but he thought I was referring to someone else so gave me the wrong name: “Khalid.” Well, then Khalid turned up and I realized we weren't talking about the same person and boy was I glad that I had kept my mouth shut because I really had considered telling Mohammed, “Khalid is really cute. Does he have a girlfriend?” And oh, what a mess that would have been. And so way beyond my language skills to ever repair.
So last night, I had plans to go again. I was working on my laptop up on the patio when a very nice Frenchman who was staying at the guest house the last couple nights came up to chat with me. I wasn't sure I was in the mood for company but he won me over with his measured, slow English: “you seem like very nice person so I come talk to you.” Aww.
We had a delightful conversation that was surprisingly philosophical and heartfelt considering the language barrier. He was born in France but all his ancestors are Moroccan. He talked about struggling with his identity and the challenges of being so privileged when so many of his relatives and family aren't. He talked about choosing his profession in city politics because he couldn't bear to see so many people suffering when he had so much. It was such an engaging conversation that I lost track of time; I had meant to head to Ma'alem Sadik's an hour earlier. I didn't want to be rude by leaving quickly and ditching him (ironically, his name is Khalid) so I invited him to come along.
And of course, when we arrived I saw that MBD was there. I tried to casually convey the fact that Khalid wasn't my date but was just a guy I'd met that day. However, I'm not sure that this necessarily looked any better. Anyway, I strategically plopped down on the floor across from MBD and henceforth, a very wonderful evening unfolded.
Khalid, the Frenchman/Moroccan, totally hit it off with the gang. Despite his European background and being raised to speak French, he still speaks Arabic so he chattered along with all the men, occasionally turning to translate a little. I chuckled as he and MBD were slapping each other on the shoulders like old buddies and giving each other high 5s over god knows what.
I was thinking, “oh great, so finally MBD shows up and you've brought another guy with you who is now the newest member of the Man Clan.” But it was quite entertaining to watch.
I eventually just came right out and asked MBD his name. The truth is, I'd gone looking on Google (oh, the internet stalking has begun!) for the band he's in with Ma'alem Sadik to see if I could find any pictures. I thought I'd recognized a picture of him but the caption under it didn't fit and the name didn't seem right (I thought I'd heard his name some weeks back). So I told him all of this as a seemingly-less idiotic way to ask his name after knowing him for 2 weeks now.
His name is Hassan. Which, funny enough, if you pronounce it a certain way, means “favorite,” or “the best.”' How cute and fitting.
So anyway, during one of the songs, as I'm looking Hassan up and down (conveniently, he sings and plays with his eyes closed and with a grin on his face), I notice that he's again wearing his rainbow colored fuzzy scarf and a knit sweater with English words stitched on it. I couldn't quite make out the words at first because the guimbri was blocking it. When I finally caught all of the letters, I fought to contain my laughter:
Free Hell.
Free Hell?
As in “Set all those damned spirits free!”?
Or that it is free to get into Hell?
Regardless, it hit my funny bone. I've seen a lot of strange shirts in Morocco- it's like Europe sends all the weird, reject shirts here with typos and bizarre combinations of English words; and because the locals usually have no idea what the words mean but it's Western fashion, nobody really cares. Therefore, there are some straaange shirts that often make no sense.
Like “Free Hell.”
In my botchy Arabic, I tried to ask Hassan if he knew what the stitching on his sweater meant. To make a long story short, not only did he not know what “Free Hell” means (does anyone?) but I don't think he understood what I was asking him or why I was laughing so much. He was smiling and looking puzzled and then I thought I better stop before he thought I was making fun of him (I kept pointing at his shirt then laughing) since he didn't seem to be following.
Anyway, there was a lot of great music last night, too. Ma'alem Sadik put on an amazing performance. One of the best I've heard since being in Morocco. I felt blissfully happy listening to it and noticed that everyone else in the room was also smiling, rocking back and forth and seemed to be glowing. It was magical.
Towards the end of the night, it was just me, Khalid the Frenchman, Hassan and the ma'alem. When Khalid finally mentioned he was going back to the hotel, I thought I'd join him since it was almost midnight and I wanted to hear what he'd thought of the evening.
As we were getting up to leave, Hassan asked me something which turned into one of our typical exchanges that go something like: “what? can you repeat that?” “huh?” “where? oh, you live there?” “wait-when?”“can you repeat that?” “What? I don't understand...” and after about five minutes of this, I had gathered that he asked if I'd like to come with him sometime to the little beach village where he lives, just north of Essaouira- that he'd like to show me around. I graciously accepted the invitation for “sometime after tomorrow”- which is all I was able to gather for the language barrier.
Because I know my mother is reading this, I will add that I'm not just going to hang out with him because he's gorgeous and an amazing musician. After two weeks of careful observation (some might use another term), I can tell that he's also a safe, sweet, warm, caring guy and despite the inevitable teasing that I know I've got coming to me, there's really something about him that radiates. Even on just a human-to-human level, there's something special about his spirit.
(yeah, yeah, yeah, laugh all you want)
On the walk back to the hotel with Khalid, he thanked me over and over again for inviting him, said that the evening was incredibly magical and that he felt that meeting me was meant to be so that he could witness that evening. He had really been wanting to connect with his roots again, his Moroccan blood. I was so touched. God knows, I owe the universe some paybacks for all the great things others have done for me so I was thrilled to be someone else's “meant to be” assistant. What a sweet, heartfelt guy. I hope to stay in touch with him.
As for Hassan, this should be fascinating. I've never had to bring a phrase book on a date before.
