Home again...after a long trip, to the land of magic, I'm home again...enriched, equipped with new strength, I'm sitting on the floor, and my vision is swallowed by the red light my goat skin lamp is radiating.
It's strange, because it's raining lightly outside, the city has wrapped itself in mist to prevent the autumn creeping underneath. I hear the cars splashing as they enter a little pot filled with water, I feel the cold, the shivering leaves of the trees...I sense the melancholy hiding in the pores of every grey coat passing by me on the street....but I smile inside. Why? Because upon entering my flat, I sit down, put a candle to lit the goat skin lamp and my journey begins.
This magic lamp encloses in itself the heart-felt, intimate atmosphere of the shop where it was made. The touch of rough hands that dried the skin, the gentle caress of the woman who painted the geccos with henna on it. It is a piece from a world, where my senses came alive. Its red, mysterious light is a link to Seherezade, telling me a tale every night, filling my heart with dreams of a distant land, where the muezzin calls the people to pray early in the morning, with a song so ancient, so pure, that even if you have been brought up in a different religion, you feel a sort of rush inside to kneel down and give thanks to the mighty God who is with you in all of your battles, fears, and doubts, supporting you, loving you. This lamp has been born in a land, where many live from little, where people travel on the back of donkeys, where taking your good to the market can be a major portion of your income, where shepherds watching over their sheep and goats bend their knees, join their hands in awe, place their forehead on the ground and pray when they hear the call their heart. As my eyes focus more and more on the lamp, I feel it opening up for me, trusting me, and sharing more and more of its secrets with me.
It shows me the old medina of Fez, with its narrow streets, guarded by thick walls on each side, a little path only enough for one person to pass..shadowy in the daytime..and pitch black in the nighttime...it is as if time has picked you up, and made you land in an age, where this city was flourishing, its passageways were loud of the travellers, merchants and peasants bargaining. You feel like you are in the times, when Jesus could be found just on the next corner sharing wisdom, and spreading the words of love. You can feel the ancient dust and sand, stirred up by the thousands of babouches hurrying up and down the alleys. You touch the walls, and hear the multitude of stories they have to tell upon finding an ear willing to listen. They are so keen on sharing! They've seen kingdoms rise and fall, conquerors come and go, heard whispers of love and betray. They have felt the touch of death's cloak on their surface as it walked across the gateway, invisibly leaving nothing but cries and despair behind.
It shows me the crowded market of Marrakech, it enriches my senses, paints a forever changing picture coloured by vivid scarves of silk, carpets of cotton, with patterns of the East, craftworks, slippers, golden and silver shining masterpieces of jewelry, nuts, chickpeas, bananas, mangos, lichis, leather bags and belts, necklaces, ornated figurines of camels... and if that is not overwhelming enough, it picks on your nose as next, it fills it with a mixture of thousands smells: myrrh, sweet perfumes, freshly cooking tagines, fruits, vegetables, livestock, fish, sweat, sugarcoated sweets, raw meat, and the smell of the Sahara that traveled on the back of camels whose eyes are lost in infinity. The market does not leave you get away with invading only your eyes and nose, it wants your ears as well. There's such a festival of sounds, your thoughts get pushed far behind. All you hear is the dissonance of people speaking a language that is broken every now and then with a strong "ch" sound, then it gets swallowed by the snake charming music spiced a bit with some drums and modern upbeat pouring out across the doorsteps of the shops you pass by. Then this already serious orchestral adventure gets added the flavour of arguing cats, squawking chickens, and giggling children...and there you have it. Your ability to separate is lost..all you see, smell and hear is a blur of the bubbling life, vibrating all around you, taking you in, filling you up...enchanting you completely.
It shows me the shores of Essaouira. Calmed down, exhausted after the long journey, it carries me to the shore of the ocean..where laying down on the hot sand I may hear the roaring of the waves as they approach the beach. They are like the wildest and strongest of white horses..unstoppable, dignified and royal. They hit their feet to the ground, and the soft sands gives in to the pressure, as the horses make their ways out..carrying starfishes, and little shells with themselves. It shows me the distant island, where the people infected with leprosy have been sent to, let alone themselves, to wait for the unavoidable.....(I imagined how sad it had to be for them to stand on the cliffs there, being able to see the mainland, where maybe their families were living, to see it, to feel the breeze coming from that direction, and knowing that they would never be able to embarque on those shores again, reuniting with their loved ones, setting foot on the land they called their home)......it takes me to the port, where numerous blue boats are swaying softly waiting for the dawn, when their owners set off to deal with the majestic lord, the ocean, and the riches it has to offer, in exchange for the fishermen's hard work.
Maybe by now you understand why I call it a magic lamp..it is filled with all the memories I collected in the past 9 days and more. It melted into itself the heat of the Sahara, the honest and kind smiles of the people I met, the success of all the bargaining I made, the lengthy miles I traveled, the stars I counted while laying on the top terrace of the riads, where I was accomodated. It consists of a world, that opened new gates in front of me...gates that could only be opened by exposing me to a culture, a world, a place, a climate that was yet unknown to me..... I shall always be thankful to God and those who shared this journey with me.
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