Thirty-fourth

By late morning the following day, or perhaps it was the same day, we had arrived on an empty beach somewhere east of Tangier. The weather was rather overcast, but at least the sea looked reasonably calm. Omar’s eyes betrayed his utter exhaustion, and we didn’t feel much better after very little sleep.


‘My brother will come later, we must wait again till dark.’

‘Thank you, Omar’ Jess said warmly.

‘You are extremely kind’ I added.

‘Not kind. I am always seeing my first born’s face drained of all colour, and that fat pig laughing.’

He left us alone again to fetch some food and water for the crossing to Spain.

‘I hope this brother knows what he’s doing.’

‘We don’t have much choice’ I replied.

‘It’s not too late to get a ferry from Tangier.’

‘We can’t risk it, they could be on to us by now.’

‘We’ve done nothing wrong !’

‘I don’t fancy trying to explain what’s happened.’

Jess lapsed into silence, and I could see that all confidence in our ‘escape’, which sounded like an overly dramatic description, had been lost due to overwhelming tiredness and anxiety. I gazed into the murky distance, attempting to gain some solace from the gentle movement and sound of the waves.

After about an hour Omar returned with some fresh bread, cheese and olives, along with some fruit juice and water. He looked remarkably cheerful and calm, as if we were just a couple of tourists on a day trip from Tangier.

‘Please, don’t worry, my brother knows a quiet place near Algeciras; no patrol there, you can land with no trouble.’

We were both cheered by Omar’s positive attitude, and the food that tasted so wonderful after a long and uncomfortable night. It was not far across to Spain, and I didn’t know whether you could see the other side on a clear day, but it felt as though the gap was wider than the Atlantic.

‘Put your faith in God and the Prophet’ Omar said, with a big smile that showed his crooked and stained teeth.

It was still just about light when Jess woke me hours later from a deep sleep, and I immediately saw the blue fishing boat, which was quite large and not unlike the open fishing cobles at Filey.

‘We’re off soon’ she said, with a faint smile.

I watched Omar talking to his brother, and they were even laughing and joking, which seemed extraordinary in the circumstances. I realised just how large the gulf was between their simple faith and the complicated neurosis of my own troubled mind; despite the murder of his son, Omar had somehow retained so much joy.

‘Come now’ he said.

We walked forward down the gently sloping, warm sand, and his brother just smiled and nodded as we clambered aboard.

‘Thank you so much’ said Jess, but we were already leaving Morocco behind as the powerful engine gained speed.

‘Put your faith in God and the Prophet’ Omar shouted after us.


THE END.

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Thirty-third

The most obvious route north from Marrakech might have taken us via Casablanca and Rabat, but Omar was keen to utilise his knowledge of the back roads, and to complete most of our four hundred mile journey in the dark. He made us extra nervous by saying that it was legal for vehicles to drive in Morocco with no headlights after nightfall, so long as they maintained a low speed !
I have a very clear image of the spectacular red sunset slowly colouring the tall tower of the mosque adjacent to the main square as we said goodbye to Marrakech. Despite the long journey ahead we were hopeful that we would soon be bidding farewell to Morocco and Africa as well.

‘Try to get some sleep’ our driver suggested.

‘Which way are we going ?’ I asked.

‘Towards Fez or Meknes, but don’t worry, I know these roads very well.’

Jess had her eyes closed, but I wasn’t sure if she was really getting any rest, and I found it very difficult not to succumb to my neurotic nature. Omar just appeared quietly determined, driving fast where he was able to make uninterrupted progress, and more slowly on the very minor routes. As it became properly dark the outer world became no more than a blur; occasionally we passed through a small town with a shop or cafe open late, but as we got well beyond Marrakech there was not much visible, though still an awareness of the vast Atlas mountains to the east.

I was most fearful about the sea crossing to Spain, and prayed for a calm and clear passage, despite the fact I had no sympathy for most forms of religious worship. Omar had tried to reassure us further by saying that his brother would raise both a Spanish and European Union flag as we approached the other side, but surely there would be many patrols waiting for all those fleeing Africa and hoping for a better life in Europe – so tantalisingly close across the Strait of Gibraltar.

‘What was that ?’ said Jess suddenly.

‘Nothing, just a hole in the road, go back to sleep.’

‘I can’t seem to relax.’

‘I will stop in another hour or so, I must rest for a while’ Omar said.

I did not envy him the many hours of driving; but the bitterness he felt for the man who had killed his first son was literally driving him on through the black Moroccan night. We had unintentionally provided some kind of brutal justice, and the emptiness Omar still felt in his life encouraged him to risk being arrested by helping foreigners to leave the country without the usual forms being filled-in.

He pulled off the road somewhere near Azrou, south east of Meknes, and offered a flask of coffee and some biscuits.

‘You are very kind’ said Jess wearily.

‘That policeman was very bad; I will get you home safely.’

It was almost as if he was planning to drive us all the way to York, which might have impressed friends and family – taking a Mercedes taxi the entire route from Morocco to England. He went off for a cigarette, leaving the two of us alone, with hardly a clue as to our location in the featureless landscape of darkness.

‘I love you Jess.’

‘Love you.’

Thirty-second

We sat close to the giant cacti in the Jardin Majorelle, though not too close, because a blue fountain was spraying water high into the air of another very hot day in Marrakech. The delightful garden of abundant greenery and water features offered a similar escape to the oasis near Taroudannt, yet this place was designed and created by a French painter.

I thought about the modest garden at the Treasurer’s House in York, where the fountain wasn’t always working, though England didn’t normally have such high temperatures to contend with. If only we had been back there already, it wouldn’t have mattered if it had been pissing down with rain, because we would have felt safe behind those walls.

The main square of Marrakech was a few miles distant, but in the daytime it was not the lively pantomime of every bustling evening, where a shy English person might feel intimidated by all the unfamiliar and thrilling activity.

‘Will we make it back ?’ Jess asked.

‘I trust Omar; but I’m most worried about crossing to Spain in a fishing boat. I just hope the sea is calm, and we’re not arrested along with all the other refugees trying to escape Africa.’

‘I wonder what happened to his son ?’

‘Sounds like he was just another unfortunate victim of that bloody policeman.’

Jess went for a look round the Museum of Islamic Art, which formed part of the garden, but I preferred to remain outside in the shade. There were quite a few tourists, but it was by no means busy, which allowed one to be mostly undisturbed in contemplation, forgetting about the harsh realities that lay beyond the small oasis.

It was only midday, and it felt like a long time until Omar would collect us from the riad, as though time had come to a standstill, and we would always be trapped in a strange country of both beauty and pain. I laughed to myself, thinking about all the newspaper adverts saying that Morocco was a country that ‘nurtured the soul’, which you couldn’t argue with if all one’s time was spent in surroundings like the Jardin Majorelle.

‘There’s some wonderful jewellery in there.’

‘Fascinating.’

‘I know such things are not your cup of tea.’

‘It’s not that, I’m just so happy sitting in this tranquil garden.’

‘I think we will get back.’

‘What’s the worst that can happen ?’