Tag Archives: Morocco

Excerpt from Soco Chico – a novel by Greg Swimelar

When Ali had a serious decision to make, he usually went to the alcove where he spent most nights.  He had only been kicked out of the alcove two or three times in the last couple of years.  For him, it was a safe, secure, and personal place – the closest thing he knew to what a home might be.    

 When he was about to leave Taieb’s shop, Taieb stopped him and said, “Wait a minute – you can’t go out like that – people are looking for you!”

 “Yes, but I know some short cuts,” said Ali.

 With that, Ali took off like a jackrabbit, heading up one of the narrow alleys and down another, keeping his eyes open for anyone who might do him harm.  When he got to the lane that led to the Gran Teatro Cervantes – there were many people, so he hid behind a fat lady who was selling melons, until he felt it was safe – then he ran as fast as he could to a point across the way from the alcove to make sure no one was following him – then made a mad dash for the alcove. 

After he caught his breath, he checked to see if anyone had disrupted the few items he cherished.  His most valuable possession was an empty Michael Jackson CD case with Michael Jackson’s picture on the front.  He held the CD case in his hand for a long time – just admiring the photo, and then he sat down on a piece of cardboard and started to think about his big decision.  

 He realized if he helped Bahia, everyone in Tangier would hear about it and he would be a public disgrace – going against God like that.  He’d have to walk down the street feeling shameful – and he’d never have a chance to become a shoeshine boy, or a bartender, or play football for the national team.  All of this was weighing on his conscience.  He was feeling depressed, which was unusual for him.  He had been able to keep his spirits up even when he didn’t even have a centime in his pocket – and when he lost his sandals and had to go barefoot for two weeks.

 Then he told himself that it wasn’t really his fault about going against God because he never had anybody to bring him up right and teach him about religious things, and never had the chance to go to a Koranic school and learn about God’s rules.

 Then he realized that he was just making an excuse because he had heard men talk about these things in front of the mosque, or when he was begging in sidewalk cafes, or late at night asking for handouts in bars.  He often heard men talking about the finer points of Islam and what ladies were supposed to do and not do.  He figured that he knew enough of the rules that would qualify him for hell’s fire if he didn’t make the right decision.

 He was so scared he started to sweat, so he got down on his knees and touched his forehead to the ground as he had seen men do when they pray.  He started to ask God to give him the courage to go back to Hakim and help him find Bahia and the others – but the words wouldn’t come out.  He wanted to tell God that he was going to do the right thing – but deep inside he didn’t think he could do it.  He felt stuck between two walls and the sides were closing in on him.

 Finally, he made a decision to write a note to Hakim to let him know that he would help him separate Bahia from Jack.  Although he didn’t know how to write, he figured he could find a scribe that would write it for him.  He felt good about this decision because it meant he would not have to go to hell – and he was relieved.  He shivered when he thought about how close he had come to going to hell.  Finally at peace, he fell asleep in the alcove.

He had a dream.  He was with Bahia and Jack.  Bahia was hugging him and Jack was teaching him how to wrestle.  They went together to visit Si Taieb’s family and he got his hands washed, and then they ate couscous, and he took a nice bath every day, and knew how to wash his hair.  When he woke up he was disappointed that it was just a dream. He thought about the football uniform and the football shoes – but what he really wanted was a warm family that cared for him.  He knew that Hakim and Mustapha would never care for him and Hakim was probably lying about the football uniform.  His heart was with Jack and Bahia, Troy, and Taieb’s family.  He decided that if Jack and Bahia were going to hell – he would go with them, and since he was going to do such a bad thing, there was nothing more to lose — so he decided to become an outlaw and join up with Jack, Bahia, and Troy – if he could only find them. 

Morocco: My Peace Corps Experience

My 1st month In Morocco I was in a car accident.  We flew over a cliff and landed in a tree.  My two companions were hospitalized.  I was lucky.

 The 2nd month I was in a train accident.  We hit a dump truck that was stalled at a crossing.  Three people were killed.  Everyone on the train was lucky.  The train did not leave the rails.

The 3rd month I wrestled in a professional match at the Teatro de Cervantes in Tangier against The Hope of Tangier.   It was fixed, except when my opponent thought I hit him too hard.  Then it was real.  I won.  I was lucky.

The 4th month I received an order to report for induction into to the US Army. The notice said it was the greatest fighting force in the world and I would join 3 million others.  My induction was postponed so I could complete my two year Peace Corps commitment.  I was lucky.

The 5th month I met fellow teachers Abdu and Jaowad — whom I called Abby Hoffman and Jerry Rubin.  They got me into all kinds of trouble but luckily I was never detained by any security agencies.

The 6th month the students at Abdu’s, Jaowad’s, and my school went on strike and we had to hang out in the teacher’s lounge and drink mint tea.  It was a nice break.

The 7th month our students called off their strike because they were tired of being beaten by the police, so we had to go back to work.  It was good to see the kids again.

The 8th month the flag ship of the 6th Fleet pulled into Casablanca and I gave 170 sailors a guided tour of Casablanca.  I was authorized eight Moroccan military trucks with drivers.  The sailors were happy.

The 9th month I fell into a forbidden relationship with a Moroccan girl who convinced me to caste our fate to the wind and thumb our noses at the authorities.  We were in love.

The 10th month the Moroccan Army attacked the King’s birthday celebration even before he had a chance to blow out the candles.

The 11th month my Moroccan girlfriend and I were stopped at the border and had to sneak into a hotel, concealing our differing religious backgrounds.  We were allowed to stay as long as we agreed to quietly leave the hotel before sunrise.

The 12th month the secret police at my neighborhood cafe accused me of being a spy.  I told them that “at least we are in the same business.”  They said, “Yeah, but we are in our own country.”

The 13th month my girl friend and I crossed the strait and got married in Gibraltar.

The 14th month the Peace Corps transferred me from Casablanca to a small city where my wife had to pretend she was from the Caribbean — and refrain from speaking Arabic.

The 15th month I went to Fes to visit my in-laws and to meet my mother-in-law for the first time.

The 16th month I bought a 1952 BMW police motorcycle — and my wife and I cruised the coast.

The 17th month we went to Tangier and sipped wine on John Brugger’s roof as my wife sipped on Oranjina.  We also visited the man with the red fez who ran the Mobil Station.

The 18th month I went to Marrakesh to give the baccalaureate exam to students and to see the snake charmers at the Square of the Dead.

The 19th month we got sunburned on the beach at Mohammedia and had to scrap tar from our toes.

The 20th month we danced half the night at one of Driss Alaoui’s famous parties.

The 21st month I helped the Moroccan National Wrestling Coach teach children from a shanty town how to wrestle.

The 22nd month my wife got pregnant and we took many walks in the park and ate wild cherries.

The 23rd month my wife and I decided to call our baby Safia if a girl, and Michael if a boy.

The 24th month Jaowad took us to the airport so that my wife could get through immigration to leave the country.  He served as her “older brother.” We flew to Paris and spent four nights at the Paris Hilton overlooking the Eiffel Tower before flying to New York.

Watermelon Conversations – Chapter 8 from the book: Soco Chico by G. Swimelar

When Jack and Troy arrived at the beach they found Lalla Khadija placing a large serving dish with watermelon on a small table in the middle of everyone seated. “You’ve arrived just in time,” she said.

Taieb said, “Jack and Troy, I would like to introduce my family… this is my daughter, Souad. These are my sons, Said, Hamid, and Abdelhaq.”

Jack and Troy shook each of their hands, and then sat down on portable folding chairs that were next to the small table.

Hamid said, “We’ve been playing some soccer and hope to work you into a game.”

Troy said, “We’re not that good.”

“Good, then we have a better chance to beat you,” said a smiling Hamid.

Souad asked, “Where are you guys staying?”

Jack said, “At the Waikiki Pension – it’s not far from here.”

“Oh, you’re staying in the old medina. That must be fun,” said Souad.

“Yes, it’s actually quite interesting. We’ve never seen anything like it – the narrow, winding streets – no cars – pretty amazing.”

Souad said, “If you think this old medina is interesting, you must see the ones in Fes and Marrakesh. More than 100,000 people live inside the old medina in Fes.”

Troy said, “You must be kidding.”

Taieb said, “No she’s not. You really must see it. How long are you staying? Abdelhaq works in Fes and you could stay with him if you go there.”

Abdelhaq said, “Yeah, for sure – you are always welcome – and my wife’s a great cook. Do you like Moroccan food?”

Jack said, “Well, actually, I am a little embarrassed to say we really haven’t had any yet.”

“Oh, that’s a shame, stated Lalla Khadija – we will take care of that – we are having couscous a little bit later, at the house. You must come. I’ll also make you my special tajine of chicken, prunes, and honey.”

Troy asked, “What’s a tajine?”

Souad said, “Well, it’s a dish that… well, maybe a bit like a stew – but different. There are many types and we make them in a special kind of dish or pot that we call a tajine. I suppose what is important to know is that there are many kinds of tajines and the best feature is always the taste. Moroccans know how to mix spices together to bring out tastes that you can easily get addicted to.”

“Really?” asked Troy? “I am not sure I like spicy food.”

Souad added with a smile, “I think you are thinking about spicy hot food. Moroccan food is not spicy hot like Thai or Mexican food – it’s spicy tasty.”

“Well, I’d like to try it,” said Jack.

“One thing you must know is that we eat fresh food. Like this watermelon. We don’t eat food that comes out of a can or a box!” exclaimed Taieb. Everyone laughed.

Later Troy played soccer with Said, Hamid, and Abdelhaq and some pickup players that came along the beach, while Jack chatted with Taieb, Lalla Khadija, and Souad under the big umbrella.

“So what are you going to be doing, Jack?” Asked Taieb.

“Well, we are going to go to a professional wrestling match Saturday night. One of the wrestlers invited us. Troy and I wrestled in the States but it was Olympic style wrestling. We are going to go see the professional matches just for fun.”

As the sun was about to set, Jack and Troy helped Taieb’s family gather everything together and they headed to Tahiti Beach where they had some mint tea while waiting for each other to take a shower and change into their street clothes. Jack was disappointed that Bahia was no longer working at the drink stand.

When Jack came out of the cabinee and gave the key to Driss, Driss gave Jack a small envelope and said, “Bahia asked me to give this to you.”

Jack excused himself and went to the restroom where he could read the note in private. It said, “Jack, if you have time I will be at the Aziza Tea Shop and Bakery on Boulevard Pasteur tomorrow around 2 pm. It’s near Café Mauritania.” It was signed “Bahia,” and a smiley face was drawn next to her name.