noor
“You are the storyteller of your own life, and you can create your own legend, or not.”
Dear Simone,
I am sitting at the ledge of a cafe overlooking Banana Beach in Aourir. I have been here for five days, not the restaurant- the beach- and it has changed my appearance and attitude.
Every night I watch dinner cook at the fire. The flames crack, my face burns, and my backside is cold where it faces the sea. Abderrahmane likes to say that the ocean is working very hard. By this, he means the waves are high, and the sound is constant. The tide has moved repeatedly since our arrival, and one event took our tent. We recovered all our belongings except for a pair of white socks (that belonged to Elise) and my black thong.
I’ll tell you about how I wound up here with a small espresso in my right hand and my phone in my left. I am tapping away at the keys one finger at a time to write you this. The camels are pulling at the pricky bushes and there is a large group of surfers running in a circle along the beach.
Before I get into my day, here are six things I am grateful for:
The way Abderrahmane kisses me with a salty mouth after he swims.
The way we all eat with our fingers and soak up the thick Moroccan bread with the meat in the Tajine.
The way my hair feels- thick, fluffy, and slightly coarse- from living on the beach.
The way my day starts slow, with cuddles and coffee.
The way the sun looks as it sets in the water, like a fat purple egg.
The way Abderrahmane tells me stories in the dark.
I will go back to where we slept and write you the rest from my computer. I want to walk a little bit to feel the sand shift beneath me.
The wild is so wonderful to remind one of the constant changes- the water never stops moving and the sand is everywhere no matter how hard I try to brush it away.
10:51am
I'm back. My seat is softer than my previous spot and I have my computer with me so I can recant the events of this week with a little more speed and clarity. It's not fun typing with one hand when I know I am so much quicker with two.
Abderhammane keeps telling me to speak slowly and enunciate so he can understand me. I'm learning a lot through this expression; not all is good. I have one speed and slowing down is very hard for me.
Clara and I got into a pretty wide discussion about happiness versus fulfillment. She does not believe you should rely on being happy because it is so fleeting. To be fulfilled in a partnership- in life- is the utmost desire and subjective. I've spent two weeks with A; this is the longest I've ever been with a partner consistently. I leave for Brazil in three days and it will feel like I am missing a limb, I think.
I am scared and excited about my departure. Arousal is like the sea- changing form depending on the circumstances. Today it is very windy and it matches my mood. My hair is wet and dripping on the Moroccan tiles and the coffee is a bit weak. A is sleeping and I'm sipping slowly to wait for him, though I've had some bread and marmalade. I'm not hungry, though it feels good to eat- to be grounded.
I didn't realize the extent of my mania until I met him and saw how perfect our contrast is next to each other.
He is tall; I am small.
He is caramel and I am cream.
He prefers pictures; I prefer words.
He is calm and quiet (sometimes).
I am excited and punctuated (sometimes).
He prefers sunset; I prefer sunrise.
I missed dawn this morning and chose to lay with him in the makeshift bed. Our room has two single beds and we pushed them together and constructed a mini-mattress in the gap with pillows and sheets. He is like a furnace and I, with my cold hands and feet, slid in and rested my cheek on his chest. I woke up sideways and moved back until he curled around me like a comma.
For two days we will stay here, at the Sunset Villa B&B in Aourir. It is Thursday. We arrived on Saturday and spent five nights on the beach. It was magnificent until it wasn't. Tuesday, there was a Full Moon in Taurus with a Lunar Eclipse and the dogs went mad barking all night. I could not sleep and tossed in the damp sleeping gear until my body hurt and itched with anger.
A woke up several times and tried to shush them. It didn't work.
Let me tell you about the dogs.
There is a pack of them that live on the beach. Too many to count, though I will say one large white dog with black eyes stood out. There are three skinny black dogs with one puppy and a lean beige dog who took a liking to our makeshift home with the tent and canopy that A built with wood he pulled from the trees. The dogs follow us and frolic in the water. They stick their noses in our calves and run alongside when we skip to the sea. The beige dog gets very upset if the other dogs get too close to our tent, and a few fights have had to be broken up by the boys. They throw stones until the snarling and biting stop. I don't mind- it's nice to belong. Zak said A has been feeding the dogs, which is why they are so protective toward us, but I haven't seen anything.
The dogs lounge during the day and come alive at night when it is cool. During daytime, they rotate from water to sand and tuck their noses in their paws when they rest in the shade. In the evening hours, they run around the beach and dig holes.
On the eve of the full moon, the pack multiplied. We could see more pups arriving in the wet sands and we stayed by the fire as they galloped back and forth along the uneven paths. It was quiet, save for the waves and the snapping flames. The boys had prepared a tajine with chicken, olives, potatoes, and onion. It was midnight when we were done eating and the clouds had cleared the view of the moon.
Alqamar is the full moon in Arabic.
I collect words like little pebbles in my pocket for when A is gone. Something to ground me by and a way to stay connected to him. I won't think about it until it happens, and for now, I relish each word he whispers in my ear.
We slipped into the tent and I was very tired and snuggled low in the sleeping bag. I was not asleep, though half awake, when the barking began. The snarling and deep throaty growls were beside the tent and created a circle around us. A went out and threw a few stones and the cacophony stopped just long enough for us both to drift a little further away, and then it started again. I was not scared; I was annoyed.
It lasted all night and I was up with it between dreams about getting lost in the woods with my youngest sister. Rebecca. She was a kid in my dream, about six years old, and I was supposed to look after her. I kept losing track of where she was and running around in the mud with these shoes that did not fit my feet properly. I found her eventually, with a man in a cowboy hat that I did not trust. I felt as if I had failed her.
I woke to the dogs many times and my tossing woke A and he would go out, throw the stones, and come back in the tent and fall asleep. The cycle was complete when the sun rose and I rolled out from the tent to see the dogs lying sideways at the door. It was endearing and enraging.
I was in a foul mood and did not take it out on the dogs; it is not their fault they want to belong and protect. People, like animals, do things they do not understand and I understand their lack of understanding. I didn't touch the dogs; I simply walked past to the water and had a big cry at the sea's edge before going for my walk along the shoreline. The tide was way out and the moon was full in the sky across from the sun. It was beautiful to witness the complexities of my temper against the polarity of the landscape. After listening to Clara's voice memo and leaving her one of my own, I felt a bit better, recanting the desperate night.
I walked for an hour and got a small coffee and when I got back to the tent, I changed to swim. I was lying on the white blanket with the sleeve of biscuits and my book when A appeared. He looked as bedraggled as I had two hours before.
We cannot stay here- is what he said to me.
I was very happy to hear it.
While he collected wood to make a fire for our breakfast, I looked up a few accommodations for us to sleep. He offered to leave for Marrakesh, where my home is for the time being, though I wanted to be with him a little longer at the beach.
This is how we ended up at the Sunset Villa. It is a hotel overlooking the small cafe where I've been walking to get my morning cappuccino. There is WiFi, breakfast, and laundry available. I booked two nights.
When A returned, he made a fire and I prepared the tea and eggs. We had bread and cheese side by side and then the police appeared and asked us to take our tent down. We were going to, anyway, though A was a bit annoyed. While he pulled apart what had been our tiny home for five days, I packed our bags and folded the sandy blankets and gear. It was quick work. Zak arrived and we took our things to the water, swam for a few hours, and shared the rest of the biscuits and tea while we waited for the afternoon to arrive so we could check in to the Villa.
This is how I have arrived to where I am right now, overlooking the beach with a few boiled eggs, marmalade, and bread. A is still sleeping and I am watching the little pod of surfers practice standing up on their boards in the sand before they greet the waves.
The Villa is pink and coated in flowers on the outside. The owner is German, Renata, who splits her time between Germany and Morocco. They took our filthy clothes and bedding when we arrived and A, Zak, and I all showered separately and used the coconut lotion I purchased so each of us smelled nice and a little similar. That was yesterday, and the boys left to prepare the evening meal while I worked for a little bit and then we met up on the beach to watch the sunset and the stars appeared and A gave me a few more Arabic words to carry with me.
Najma = star.
Alnujum = stars.
Ana Dhahib = I am going.
Ghrub Alshams = sunset.
Shuruq Alshams = sunrise.
Nahn = we.
There is no rational cadence to the words he teaches me. I ask and he responds and it usually has to do with what we are eating or looking at.
He told me a story before bed the other night and I understood the meal and the sky and he laughed many times and I joined him without knowing why we were laughing.
It feels really good to laugh with someone.
Photo source.
