My Trip to Adele

R.I. Alyaseer
A.I. Alyaseer
 2
 About the Novel
f
As the title suggests, the two co-authors of this book (who
just happen to be siblings) love Adele.
Long story short, we were obsessed with her latest album, 25,
so we went to her concert in Verona and were inspired to
write this novel.
We had subsequently written a novel in 2011 and another in
2014, both of them in Arabic. However, neither was accepted
by a traditional publisher. Instead of giving up on our dream
of becoming authors we decided it was time to translate this
one into English and self-publish it. Who cares if it attracts a
traditional publisher or not? All we want is for people to read
it and fall in love with it!
If you enjoy it, share your opinion by adding a review on
Goodreads, Amazon, Our Facebook Page or on Twitter.
Alternatively, you can let the world know about it using the
hashtag #MyTripToAdele.
Your support is appreciated. Enjoy reading.

Ahmad & Rana

3
 1
Hometown Glory
f

Rome, Italy
They say that Rome can evoke a million memories, and that
its sprawling alleys refresh the soul. You cannot escape the
beauty of the city, and you could never get bored of it. But
despite the fact that I was physically there, my mind was
wandering somewhere else; somewhere far, far away from
Rome.
Nostalgia had captivated me. On this calm evening – with
the streets gradually emptying as the night approached its
zenith – the soft roar of passing cars, the music of amateur
street performers and Veronica’s chatter were unable to hold
my attention.
“Elias, are you listening to me?” Veronica asked, though
she already knew the answer.
“Oh yes, I am,” I answered in a vain attempt to convince
her.
“How come you left her?” she asked curiously, wrapping
her arms around mine.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, since you loved her so much, why did you leave
her?”
The problem was, I couldn’t confess why I had left her.
There was a valid reason, but there was something that still
drew me to her. Was it the mysterious love hidden between
the walls of the glorious old city of Marrakesh? Or was it the

4
contagious absurdity of the city’s famous El-Fnaa Square? I
couldn’t honestly determine why. All I knew was that I had
been unable to let go of her. I could still hear her gentle
whispers in my ear and smell her sweet scent, which
surrounded me wherever I went.
Jasmine had been her favorite fragrance. Although it was
nothing more than a mixture of essential oils perfectly
concocted by Marrakesh’s skilled perfumers, her fragrance
had been more alluring than any fancy French scent.
Veronica’s question had ignited some complex emotions
within me that I hadn’t dared to face all this time. The
turmoil within me reflected the mood in the crowded
Pantheon Square, which we passed as we headed home. My
mind was floating in an ocean of confusion. If I genuinely
loved Malika, why had I left her the way I did?
I knew that I had lacked the courage to face up to the
obstacles that stood in the way of my crazy love for her. At
the end of the day, I knew that love and sacrifice were two
branches of the same tree.
Veronica knew me so well. She knew all the paradoxes I
carried within me. She knew how tender my heart was,
despite the strong, masculine Middle Eastern image I
pretended to convey.
Breaking into my flow of thoughts, she smiled and said: “I
didn’t realize my question would puzzle you to this extent.
We’ve arrived at my place without you even noticing.”
I smiled back at her. “I was busy thinking. I just left her, I
guess. We don’t always have a justification for the goodbyes
we say, my dear.”

5
 “Take care of yourself.”
“I will. You too.”
As she turned to open her front door, I added: “You’re
amazing, Veronica.”
She turned to face me with such grace that she looked as
ravishing as Rome first thing in the morning. “And you’re
crazy!” she said, laughing.
With a smile on my face, I continued my way through
Rome’s alleys; the alleys that had once witnessed the
emperors’ desire for love and blood all at once. On nights like
these, the sidewalks reminded everyone who traversed them
to begin their search again; whether it was a search for love,
oblivion, a new opportunity or even money. Whichever it
was, there was an urge to fill each individual’s personal void.
There was an artist on one of the sidewalks trying his best
to attract passersby with his paint palette and canvas. His
hands and eyes might have been focused on the painting he
was trying to perfect, but he was clearly concerned by the
empty hat laid out on the ground in front of him. He had
hoped it would attract a few cents before he headed home,
but these passersby were too cheap to give.
I walked past this scene, which had become a familiar part
of everyday life here in Rome. On my way home I saw
something I hadn’t expected to see anywhere but in El-Fnaa
Square in Marrakesh. She looked like a typical shawafa in her
gipsy garments; occasional threads of silver hair visible
beneath her scarf, and heavy, pendant-laden chains dangling
across her chest.

6
 She was a fortuneteller, or shawafa, as she would have
been called in Morocco. Her game was to gamble with the
emotions of the many strangers that approached her, who
would pin their hopes on her predictions. Back in El-Fnaa
Square, visitors of all nationalities and ethnicities would
crowd around the shawafa to catch a glimpse of their present
or future, or even to retrieve buried moments from the past.
Some of these visitors sought magic spells that would
dramatically change their lives through the interference of a
sorcerer’s powers. They would return home feeling younger,
healed from an illness, or hoping to gain a long-awaited
opportunity. In the shawafa’s territory, anything was possible.
Interrupting the flow of memories running through my
mind, she approached me. “You are from my home country,
in spite of your foreign tongue,” she whispered to me in
Arabic, although I hadn’t uttered a word in either language.
I couldn’t hide my smile. “Yes, I am...”
“Give me your hand.”
Everyone around us was gawping, as though they were
watching the final twist of an exciting film.
“Will you read my palm or my cards?” I asked.
“Your palm.”
“All right, there you go,” I said, thrusting out my right
hand.
She studied the lines on my palm with her wrinkled fingers
and said: “Your heart is still attached to her, despite your sin.”
I instantly pulled my hand away and said: “I’m not one of
these Europeans to believe your fraudulent claims, old lady!”

7
 She replied in a whisper: “Even if I told you that I saw her
in your palm?”
“You may have seen them all,” I said.
She came closer, oblivious to the crowd of onlookers, who
continued to stare cluelessly. To them, our foreign words
were just like the talismans displayed on a piece of cloth that
had been tossed onto the ground nearby.
Then she added: “No, I only saw her. Kanza Malawi…”
I felt a quiver in every nerve of my body and exclaimed:
“Who are you?!”
“You should know that she is the reason the solo bird has
flown away from the flock.”
“How did you know her name?” I yelled, partly in fear and
partly in surprise.
The spectators observed the terror on my pale face. Their
curiosity sharpened and tainted by fear, they followed every
sound and move she made with grave attention.
“It’s the lines on your palm. They say everything. They
narrate your past and present.”
“Liar! There can be no doubt that you know her.”
“But I’m not from Marrakesh, my dear,” she said. “If you
still carry this deep love within you, go to El-Fnaa Square and
look for her, and you shall find what you are looking for. It
was there that your fortune was sealed and only there can it
be unsealed. Sidi-Mawla-Hasib will help you. Just tell him that
Hafiza sends you her greetings and tells you that beneath the
soil of Diyar lie the burned papers and a black-magic break-

8
up spell cast by Kanza Malawi. Do this and he will guide
you.”
I stood, transfixed, as if I had heard the whisper of an
angel of death. As she walked away, the crowd followed
closely behind her. Apparently, my reaction had given them
the green light to believe whatever she had to say. They had
realized that she and her mysterious charm could revive the
hope in their souls, provide a long-lost resolution or satisfy
their ears with a story they would be pleased to hear.
From that moment on, I stumbled all the way home.
I couldn’t get her voice out of my head. “I only saw her.
Kanza Malawi.”
Kanza Malawi, El-Fnaa Square and a black-magic break-up
spell cast with talismans and burned papers. How had all this
happened in one night?
Rome’s ancient buildings did nothing to soothe my
burdened heart as I walked the streets.
I overheard a street performer singing Adele’s ‘Hometown
Glory’, with his violin on his shoulder:
“I’ve been walking in the same way as I did
Missing out the cracks in the pavement
And tutting my heel and strutting my feet
“Is there anything I can do for you dear?
Is there anyone I could call?”
“No and thank you, please Madam.
I ain’t lost, just wandering.”
Round my hometown
Memories are fresh
Round my hometown
Oh the people I’ve met
Are the wonders of my world…”

9
 2
Don’t You Remember?
f

Las Vegas, USA

“I think the two of you need to try something new.”
“Like what, Dr. Brown?” I asked, trying to show a little
enthusiasm.
“What do you both suggest?”
“Maybe we should try to listen to each other more,” my
wife said.
“No, Mariam. It’s time to take action. The time for words
has passed,” Dr. Brown demurred.
“Please give us your suggestions then, Dr. Brown,”
Mariam responded with a gloomy sigh.
“Actually, I think today’s session is almost over. Before
the next one I want you to think back to a moment of
affection you once shared so we can work on reviving that
spark between you,” he said, standing up and walking towards
us.
Mariam and I stared at him, puzzled, and then I exclaimed:
“Okay, and…”
He interrupted me: “Yaser, you and Mariam have to
remember and agree upon this special moment together.
Once you find it, you must think of a way to revive it and feel
it again.”
After we left Dr. Brown’s office, the usual silence crawled
back between us. It was a prevailing silence; one that had

10
thwarted our relationship for many years. After our many
failed attempts to deny reality, we had decided to seek help
from Dr. Brown, a well-known marriage counselor.
For a long time we had thought we were simply going
through a normal phase in an eight-year marriage; that we had
reached the typical monotony of life as a couple. However,
we had later realized that our life together amounted to
nothing more than alienation, dispute, and sugar-coated lies.
I had suggested to Mariam that we needed help a few
weeks earlier.
“We should figure our problems out. Let’s go to a
marriage counselor,” I had said.
She had replied in a cold voice: “Really? Now you want to
get counseling? What about the time I asked you to do it and
you refused? What’s changed your mind?”
“I don’t know. I just feel it’s right to take this step now.”
But I did know why I had refused previously. It was
because of the four-hour drive to the counselor Mariam had
suggested. She had naturally wanted to make sure our
neighbors wouldn’t suspect a thing when it came to our
broken marriage. We had created the shell of a perfect family,
with happy photos all over Facebook to prove it. We had to
keep our imperfections and the shattered pieces of our
marriage out of people’s sight so that the unspoiled image
remained intact.
“Well, seeing as you don’t know why, how come you’re
bringing it up again?”
“Because I think it’s our last resort if we want to fix our
relationship,” I had said with a sigh of irritation.

11
 I opened the door for Mariam as we left Dr. Brown’s
office and we sat quietly in the car for a few moments.
As I started to drive away, I murmured: “Which memory
could bring us back together?”
“Are you asking me or just thinking aloud?”
“Ha… what?” I looked straight at Mariam. “No, it was
nothing...”
“Does Dr. Brown really believe it’s that easy to dig out a
loving memory from the past eight years?” Mariam asked,
staring out at the street.
“Why do you think it’s so hard?”
“Can you think of any happy memories we could revive?”
I didn’t say a word as I stopped at a red light on the Las
Vegas Strip. I had never understood why it was nicknamed
Sin City. To my mind, sin wasn’t an act that could be attached
to any particular place or time. I would have gone as far as to
say that it was a city that offered pleasure in abundance,
without any need for sin, if such a thing even existed.
What was the definition of sin, anyhow? Wasn’t the fact
that our marriage had become an aimless excursion, full of
yelling and quarrels, a sin? Wasn’t my dismal failure to recall
one loving memory between me and my wife a sin? What
could the moment Dr. Brown had alluded to possibly be?
Mariam broke the silence. “I can’t remember any happy
memories. I’ve been trying really hard to remember
something that would fit since we left the doctor’s office, but
nothing springs to mind. You know what? Let me scroll
through my Facebook profile. Maybe I’ll find some
inspiration there.”

12
 I watched her as she looked through her phone.
Then she said: “Do you think my last birthday would
work? Or maybe our trip to Hawaii last year? Or maybe…
wait… there are some really nice photos of us at Eid Al-Fitr...
Ummm… no, not those…”
She paused and then said: “What do you think? Could the
Hawaii memory work?”
“I don’t know. Is that a memory we want to revive? What
do you think?” I asked.
“Actually, it was a nice trip. We enjoyed our time there.”
“I remember we had a fight on that trip, though. Don’t
you remember that you insisted on your parents coming with
us but refused to invite my parents?” I reasoned.
“Why would you bring that up? It has nothing to do with
the fact that we had a great time there. That’s what matters.”
“But I wished my parents could have accompanied us just
like as parents did.”
Mariam was starting to get irritated. “Why do your parents
have to be part of every moment of my life?”
“For the same reason I didn’t mind your parents coming
with us. Isn’t it as fair for my parents to join us as for yours?”
“See! You always compare the two. You want me to give
your parents as much as I give my own. You need to
understand that our families need privacy, and my parents
have their right to privacy. They don’t have to include your
parents in everything they do and take them everywhere they
go. We could have taken your parents on another trip and the
issue would have been resolved!”

13
 As usual, it was my mistake and I was the one to blame,
according to Mariam. But weren’t most women a bit like that?
I thought to myself. I had always struggled to grasp the
mentality of the fairer sex. I had even tried to read Men Are
from Mars, Women Are from Venus in an attempt to
comprehend the complex relationship between the sexes, but
I had failed to find the answers to my questions. Were all
women ungrateful? Was it always our fault?
“I’m not implying that they shouldn’t have any privacy! All
I’m saying is that the Hawaii trip isn’t our best memory.” I
continued to drive quietly through the neat streets of Las
Vegas.
“You spend all your time and energy trying to please
others, but you never take the time to think about our
problems or to figure out a path we can take to find each
other again,” Mariam said drily.
“How did you come to that conclusion?” I replied.
“You’re never prepared to listen to me!”
“Really? Then what am I doing right now?”
“You’re trying to start another fight.”
It was at that moment that I started to get really pissed off.
“Me?”
“Yes, you! I had great memories from that trip and you’re
trying to ruin them.”
“That wasn’t my intention. It just obviously wasn’t as great
for me as it was for you.”
“And why’s that? Because your parents didn’t come with
us? Look at you… you’re holding yourself back from

14
enjoying anything and looking for ridiculous reasons to ruin
all the good moments we’ve shared,” she said angrily.
“What moments? Do you think if we’d shared any good
moments we’d have ended up in Dr. Brown’s clinic?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mariam exclaimed.
“I mean that we’re trying to water a barren land!”
“You’re the one who’s responsible for this drought!”
Mariam fired back at me. “You don’t understand my needs.”
She took a deep breath and continued. “All I want is to lean
on you when I’m in need of someone.”
“And all I need is for you to argue without raising your
voice at me, and to stop changing the subject based on your
false, exaggerated interpretations of my words,” I raged.
“I don’t do that! It’s always you who provokes the fight.
Don’t you remember what you did on our engagement day
when my father asked you for my dowry?”
“What did I do? Is it because I didn’t pay all the money at
once? $10,000 isn’t easy to find, you know! I paid what I
could afford at the time.”
“But you disgraced me in front of my relatives when you
haggled over the dowry. We only asked for $50,000!”
On hearing those words, I instantly pulled the car over.
“And why would the fact that I didn’t have that much money
disgrace you?”
“It’s the deferred dowry we were talking about, not the
paid one! You knew you wouldn’t have to pay it unless you
had undisclosed intentions that would result in you having to
do so!” Mariam retaliated.

15
 The dowry is the most crucial step before we sign the
marriage contract. It signifies the value of and the honor you
bestow upon your wife. There should be no negotiations and
no haggling, otherwise the wife becomes like a piece of
merchandise. The dowry is split into two payments: the paid
dowry, which is settled in advance when the marriage
contract is signed; and the deferred dowry, which is paid to
the wife if the marriage ends in divorce, preserving her rights
and her financial equity. So the higher the deferred dowry, the
more secure the wife is. But was the deferred dowry so
important that she was still reproaching me over it after eight
years of marriage?
“And what might these intentions be, dear Mariam, seeing
as I’m the one who suggested marriage counseling?”
“I don’t know, but I can see that you’re changing a lot,”
Mariam said, gazing out of the window.
I stared at her, speechless. There was nothing I could say
to defend myself. The pallor and sharpness of her facial
features stirred a strange feeling within me, causing me to
wonder how I had ever fallen in love with her. How had she
become my wife? I didn’t have the answers, and I still
couldn’t recall a single happy memory.
She turned to me suddenly and said: “Let’s go home.
We’re going to be late for the kids.”
I started the car and drove, overwhelmed by all that had
been said. Was it so impossible to recall a single loving
memory? If so, what were we still doing together? Why
hadn’t I put an end to this ice-cold marriage?

16
 The road that led us home was deadly silent until Mariam
aimlessly turned the radio on just in time to hear Adele
singing the words of ‘Don’t You Remember’:
“Don’t you remember?
The reason you loved me before,
Baby, please remember me once more,
When was the last time you thought of me?
Or have you completely erased me from your memory?
I often think about where I went wrong,
The more I do, the less I know.”

17
 3
Take It All
f

Amman, Jordan
I tried my best to control my nerves while my eyes followed
my manager as he shuffled around and reorganized the
papers on his desk.
My face turned red as I exclaimed: “Is it really this
dramatic and complicated to get someone to sign my request
for unpaid leave?”
He looked me directly in the eye, but I couldn’t tell
whether he was angry or embarrassed.
Then he said: “These are the rules, Nadia. There’s nothing
I can do about it. Now could you please calm down so I can
tell you exactly what we need from you?”
I tried to keep calm as I asked: “What is it that you want
from me, Mr. Omar?” but I couldn’t hold it in any longer and
my words burst out at him. “Wait, I know what you want
from me. You want me to write down every single detail of
my personal life before my unpaid leave will be granted! Isn’t
that just a bit absurd?”
“Why do you consider it absurd?”
“Why should I justify myself when I’m obtaining my legal
right? And why should I provide justifications to the board
since the time I take off will be deducted from my salary?”
“Because the board has a legal right to know the reason
for your week of absence. It makes sense, don’t you agree?”

18
 “All right, all right. Just give me the papers to fill in.”
“There you go, but make sure you provide convincing
reasons this time if you want to guarantee their approval.”
“Yes, I know.”
I furiously filled in the papers and signed them before
handing them over to my manager. “I hope they don’t decline
it this time,” I said, walking out of his office without waiting
for a response.
I left work early that day. The streets were overflowing
with people who were chasing after time without realizing
they could never catch it. The rapid pace of modern life had
taught us to rush everything. We had forgotten to slow down;
to contemplate and appreciate what we had. I believe there
will come a moment when we are struck with regret over
what we have missed amid all this hustle and bustle.
I didn’t want the management board to know why I had
requested this leave. I really wanted to take my only son to
Verona to attend Adele’s upcoming concert. Waleed adored
her in spite of his tender years, so I knew it would be the best
gift I could possibly give him for his tenth birthday.
There was no reason why I couldn’t have mentioned this
in my request for unpaid leave. I had just wanted to make a
stand; to show that it was my right to leave without divulging
details of my personal life.
The board would never have understood how challenging
it had been to book and arrange such a trip, or that the salary
they paid hadn’t covered half of the expenses. They would
never know that I had saved most of my salary, only spending
a very small amount of it on essentials – food, school supplies

19
for Waleed and enough gas to get me to work – so that I
would be able to afford this vacation.
They didn’t know that I no longer cared about their salary
deductions so long as we could make it to Verona to see
Adele perform. No one could ever have understood what this
experience meant to me: not the manager, not the board, and
not even you. I would have been willing to quit my job if it
had come to that.
They have to approve it! I thought to myself.
My phone’s loud ringtone interrupted my thoughts.
“Hi Lara,” I said as I picked it up. “How are you? No, I’m
not at the office; I’m on my way home. Is everything okay?
Yeah, sure. I’ll meet you there.”
Lara was my lifelong best friend and we had been through
a lot together. When we were younger, she had always said to
me: “Let’s laugh as much as we possibly can! Life lets us
enjoy laughter, but it always demands something in return.
We might as well enjoy it while it lasts.”
So we had always laughed together as much as we could.
Back in those days, Amman hadn’t been so crowded, and
it certainly hadn’t had as many selfish drivers, like the driver
just in front of me who was blocking the entire road.
On rainy days, Lara and I had roamed the streets of
Amman, singing and enjoying the rain. We used to love how
the rain washed everything – the streets and our hearts –
clean and breathed life into them again. We innocently
thought that it would also wash away our misdeeds. Little did
we know that we were at our purest back then. Our most

20
pressing concern had been trying to avoid gossiping about
our friends behind their backs.
During our rain-filled tours, we had always stopped by
Abu Al-Abed’s coffee kiosk; the first kiosk to take freshly
ground Turkish coffee onto the street. The aroma of his
coffee had convinced anyone passing that they adored coffee,
even if they usually didn’t.
After that delicious cup of coffee, we would continue our
walk. Lara would always be the one to start singing, her
graceful voice in perfect harmony with the falling rain. She
had persuaded me to sing along with her every time.
Despite the fact that Abu Al-Abed’s kiosk was still holding
its own in the crowded city, it had become almost impossible
to spot due to all the new stores and the busy traffic blocking
the view. But who cared, anyway? I didn’t feel so excited
about that cup of coffee any more, or about anything else for
that matter. I was no longer so fond of Abu Al-Abed’s coffee.
To me, everything tasted and smelt the same.
I called Lara back. “Hey Lara. I’m stuck in traffic and I
might be a bit late. Is everything okay?”
“I had a fight with Kamal.”
“So what’s new?”
“Don’t even start, Nadia!”
“I’m serious, you always quarrel with Kamal. Is it different
this time?”
“Okay, never mind. I’m going home. Don’t bother
coming, I can’t wait any longer.” Lara was making an effort to
sound reassuring rather than angry.

21
 “Are you mad at me?”
“No, but I have to go now.”
“I’ll be there in a minute. Wait for me.”
“Kamal told me that he doesn’t feel any love between us
any more.” Lara burst into tears.
I felt really bad for her. She had always tried her best to
make him happy.
“Okay, try to calm down. I’ll see you in a minute.”
“No, Nadia, I’m leaving. I’ll call you later.” She hung up.
Her phone call had left me pondering the eternal dispute
about relationships between men and women. Lara’s life
revolved around Kamal. Everyone knew that he loved her,
but every week they would fight over something or other. So
did he really love her? I wondered. Or was he just used to
having her in his life? Was this type of routine – being used to
having someone close by – the reason why we were prepared
to bear the flaws of our significant others?
Lara’s case was just one of many unhappy stories I came
across every day of women trying their best to please their
men. Whether it was a husband or a lover, that was all their
lives revolved around.
I was so fed up with hearing it that it made me wonder,
why should I ever have to please a man? Why should the
relationship between a man and a woman be based on
satisfaction and control? When a man depletes a woman’s
emotions with all his needs, demands and insatiable lust, what
does he expect from her? Could she ever be the same lively
woman who fell in love with him at the beginning? Or would

22
she always become quieter and more obedient just to please
him?
Why did men so arrogantly believe it was their right to act
recklessly in their forties, while a woman of the same age
must be a loyal wife and a caring mother? Why did Kamal,
just like all men, expect his wife to love him despite his
numerous mistakes, humiliations and weaknesses? Why
should she always regard him as the best, strongest and most
handsome of all men, even though, if she happened to praise
someone else, he would immediately accuse her of infidelity?
Wasn’t he the one who wore her out with his criticisms of her
looks and her body every single day? And then he wondered
why their love had faded!
Every woman wants to experience love; to melt into the
arms of the man she adores. But it was important that the
man in question understood that love wasn’t a manipulation
tool. Love shouldn’t take advantage of her weaknesses. It
wasn’t a justification to drain the best of her and then walk
away claiming that she had changed and that the love that had
brought them together no longer existed.
Nothing stays the same! Why couldn’t Kamal just realize
that? Abu Al-Abed’s coffee wasn’t the same and neither was
Lara’s voice, which had become increasingly husky due to her
high blood pressure. Neither were the streets of Amman,
which used to be empty save for a handful of cars and
pedestrians.
I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I grabbed my phone and
called him.
“Hi Kamal. How are you?”

23
 “Oh, hi Nadia. I’m good. I haven’t seen you in ages. How
is everything?”
“I’ve been a little busy with work.”
“I know what you mean, everybody’s so busy these days.
You should come and visit sometime.”
“Kamal, Lara…”
“She called you, didn’t she?”
“Who else would she go to?”
“Your friend…” Kamal started in a reproachful tone.
I interrupted him. “I no longer recognize my friend,
Kamal! Don’t burden her with more than she’s already
struggling with. Please, she’s exhausted, and you know that
her blood pressure’s unstable. If you’re angry with her, sit
down together like grown-ups and settle the matter, without
any yelling!”
“I can’t take it any more, Nadia. Lara’s changed so much.”
“Haven’t you changed as well, Kamal?” I asked.
Kamal didn’t reply, but I could hear his stilted breath at
the other end of the line. He sighed and said: “I have got to
go, Nadia. Thanks for calling.”
I hung up the phone and threw it onto the empty seat
beside me.
Still driving aimlessly, not knowing where to go, I gazed at
the steering wheel and smiled. I remembered how challenging
it had been to buy my humble Mitsubishi. I had been forced
to buy it in installments, and it had taught me that possessing
something of value items wasn’t always easy. However, once

24
you possessed something it could bring with it happiness and
power. The danger was, those feelings sometimes turned into
greed and conceit, and a tendency to belittle others and try to
dominate them could easily be the end result.
The moment I had noticed this sense of ownership in my
husband’s eyes eight years earlier, I had decided that
something drastic had to change between us, even though we
had a son. I had refused to be a piece of property tied to and
restricted by a marriage contract. Now I was just Nadia: an
independent woman driving freely around the streets with no
expectations, no reproaches and no accountability.
Adele had been my constant companion on the road for
the past eight years. The moment I first heard her majestic
voice I had fallen in love with it, and her lyrics related to me
perfectly. Today was no different. I turned up the volume and
enjoyed the sound of ‘Take It All’:

“Didn’t I give it all?

Tried my best
Gave you everything I had
Everything and no less
Didn’t I do it right?
Did I let you down?”

25
 4
Chasing Pavements
f

Marrakesh, Morocco
As I stepped out of the airport I was immediately accosted by
Marrakesh’s bitterly cold wind; a wind that carries with it the
cruelty of the desert and the harshness of the snow that
summits the Atlas Mountains. These mountains, which
surround the town, embracing it, give Marrakesh a sense of
paradox that is influenced not only by the geography, but also
by the vibrancy of life created by its residents and visitors,
and even by the food, which ranges from roasted animal
heads to tiny shellfish.
These delicacies can be found in the many restaurants of
El-Fnaa Square; a square that swirled up a storm of nostalgia
within me the moment I stepped foot inside it. Its charm
captivates the souls of tourists, and somehow maintains its
hold on the souls of the square’s current and former
residents.
Once used as a court to display the might of armed troops
and the fierceness of the enemy, it had become a yard for
entertainers, storytellers and comedians, each presenting their
own satirical narratives. These narratives swung between
sorrow and laughter as they expressed the facts of daily life in
this magical city.
Arabs and foreigners alike flocked here to enjoy the
diverse stories, despite the fact that they often didn’t quite
understand them due to the local dialect or the context of the
stories, which was unique to Marrakesh’s ancient traditions

26
and modern perspectives. The halaiqa (storyteller) kept his
spirits up by trying his best to entertain the crowd, hoping to
fill his hat with a few dirhams.
However, while these visitors’ pockets were just as well
lined as those found on the streets of Rome, they gripped
their coins equally tightly, reluctant to drop them into the hat
of an unknown street performer.
Meanwhile, the scents of traditional food emanating from
the restaurants surrounding the square enticed visitors to
sample the many local delicacies. There were few fancy
restaurants with formal arrangements of chairs and tables but
the greatest joy was to be found in grabbing whatever could
be sampled straight from the food wagons.
The tantalizing smoke produced by these culinary delights
gave the square an added layer of mystery, slightly obscuring
the bodies of the street dancers as they swayed to the sound
of the flute and hand drums played by the talented locals. As
visitors moved closer to these dancers with their dazzling
veils and enchanting belly dance moves, they soon discovered
that they were actually men, known locally as shattah. They
had been forced to learn to dance this way simply to put
bread on the table for their families each day.
It was against the backdrop of these swaying bodies that
my story with Malika began. I had seen her for the very first
time as she tried to hide behind the spectators gathered
expectantly in a circle to watch the show.
Her beauty had been undeniable. Doe-eyed, her skin had
been tanned to a dark brown by the sun as she had spent so
many hours standing around the square. She had attempted,

27
unsuccessfully, to tame her thick, black, wavy hair with a little
scarf.
She had bumped into me as she tried to dodge between
members of the crowd. Almost out of breath, she had briefly
apologized before quickly scurrying away. That moment
remains as vivid in my memory as if had happened yesterday.
As soon as the music stopped, the crowd scattered. I
reached for the only shattah I recognized and said: “Saeed!
How are you?”
Still wearing his dancing gear, with a hip scarf concealing
his slim figure, he exposed a little of his face under the veil
and said, in his usual raspy voice, “Who are you?”
“It’s me. Don’t you remember me?”
He came a little closer, lifting his veil so that it rested on
top of his head, and exclaimed: “Elias! What are you doing
here?”
“I came…” I began, but I couldn’t find the right words.
What could I tell him? That I had come to look for a break-
up spell cast by his wife and buried here in El-Fnaa Square?
“I’m here on a business trip.”
Saeed sighed and gathered up his belongings. “Come on,
son. You’ve been gone for so long! What brings you back?”
“Yes, I have.” I was suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of
nostalgia.
“How is Malika?”
“Malika?”

28
 The tone of Saeed’s voice swept a thousand conflicted
emotions of fear and love into my heart.
“Yes, Malika,” I finally managed to reply.
“Didn’t you know that Malika has moved away?”
“What? What are you talking about, Saeed?” I felt a pang
of disappointment, struggling to believe she had really left.
“Yes, Elias, it’s true.”
“But…”
He stepped closer to me, an anguished smile on his face.
“But what? Malika couldn’t handle her heartbreak or the
disgrace of my job. These two misfortunes forced her to
leave.”
“Where did she go?”
“I don’t know. They told me she left on a big ship to sail
the seas.”
“But how come…” Again I was unable to finish my
sentence, but this time it was due to the noisy crowd that had
formed a circle once again.
New faces had gathered to listen to the traditional
melodies and watch the dancers. Saeed, Malika’s father, was
almost fifty and he had been dancing to entertain these
crowds since he was a young boy.
As the music started, Saeed fixed his veil back over his
face and I retreated, dodging through the crowd. I couldn’t
block out the scent of Malika’s jasmine scent, which
somehow permeated the square’s smoke-saturated air.
How was that possible when Malika was gone?

29
 I turned around to find Kanza Malawi standing in front of
me. She hadn’t changed at all, despite the eight years that had
passed. Her grace and beauty were timeless. However, a few
scattered wrinkles on her face bore testament to the many
sorrows she had experienced.
“Elias!” she exclaimed apprehensively.
“Kanza...”
“What are you doing here? Malika’s gone!” She spoke
hurriedly and was clearly hoping to make a quick exit.
“I came to meet Sidi-Malwa-Hasib.”
“Who?”
Kanza was obviously rattled.
“Sidi-Malwa-Hasib. Do you know where I can find him?”
I tried to interpret her body language and facial expressions as
I spoke.
“No, I don’t… I don’t know.” She took a few steps away
from me as she answered and then faded into the crowd.
“Don’t dig up the past, Elias!” she shouted. “Leave
everything the way it is. It’s better for everybody…”
I quickly ran after her and was just able to grab her arm.
“Why did you do all this, Kanza?”
“Do what?”
“You know perfectly well what you’ve done!”
“I didn’t do anything!”
“Then why did you panic when I mentioned Sidi-Mawla-
Hasib’s name?”
“I didn’t. I have no idea who he is.”

30
 “Yes you do. And you know the Diyar ground,” I said as I
stepped closer to her.
I could see that she was struggling to breathe.
“What do you want, Elias? Why did you decide to come
back now?” Kanza asked after a moment of reflection.
“I came to find out why you did what you did! Why did
you want to come between me and Malika?”
She stuttered. “Me?”
“Yes, you. Go ahead, tell me.”
She stuttered again. “Elias, stop! It’s been such a long time
since all that happened.”
“So you used black magic to break us apart?”
She replied, trying to justify her actions. “I bewitched you
so that you would love me.”
“Do you really think I could ever love you when I’m in
love with your daughter?!”
She pulled her arm out of my grip and suddenly
disappeared.
I couldn’t even catch a glimpse of her; she had completely
vanished. For a moment I wondered whether I had been
talking to some sort of apparition.
A few moments later I felt a hand tapping my shoulder.
“Are you looking for Sidi-Mawla-Hasib?”
“Yes,” I answered hesitantly, staring into the man’s eyes,
which were hidden beneath his veil.
“You’ll find him in the mellah, the Jewish quarter. Ask for
him there.”

31
 The man returned to the circle, leaving me overwhelmed
by all that had happened in such a short space of time.
An amateur playing Western music on his guitar inside one
of the square’s new tents brought me back to the real world.
He reminded me of Rome, where Veronica was. She didn’t
even know that I was in Marrakesh. Through his rendition of
Adele’s ‘Chasing Pavements’, he had soothed the pain of
many burdened souls, just like mine and Malika’s:
“Should I give up?
Or should I just keep chasin’ pavements
Even if it leads nowhere?
Or would it be a waste
Even if I knew my place?
Should I leave it there?”

32
 5
My Same
f

Las Vegas, USA

The short space of time we spent watching TV after the kids
fell asleep was what Mariam considered to be ‘couple time’.
Maybe it was another illusion we used to convince ourselves
that we spent time together. We usually watched an episode
or two of Grey’s Anatomy, my favorite show. I enjoyed it even
though I knew it was very overdramatized and unrealistic. I
knew first-hand that emergency rooms don’t even come close
to anything they show in the series.
Some people believed they might experience love, fear or
even infatuation in the emergency room as a result of these
shows. Little did they realize that in the urgency and the
chaos of critical cases, doctors often forgot to even take a sip
of water to get them through the toughest, most fearful
moments.
It was during the chaos of such a critical incident that I
had met Mariam. Yes, during a moment of great fear!
It all started when a little boy, Michael, lay on his deathbed
waiting to be admitted for surgery in a final attempt to
remove his brain tumor and save his life.
While I was scrubbing in, I saw her in the corridor,
murmuring, “I can’t do it… I can’t… I just can’t… My hands
won’t stop shaking… How can I operate like that? It’s
impossible…”
It was easy to see how nervous she was as she paced back
and forth across the corridor. I watched her the whole time.

33
Then, as she tried to walk her anxiety off with her head bent
down, unaware of anybody around her, she bumped into me,
despite my best efforts to avoid her.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you.” She had lifted her head up
as she apologized.
“That’s okay. Are you all right, though?”
“What?” she said abstractedly. “No… I mean yes,
everything’s fine.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but it doesn’t look like you’re
fine.”
“Actually, you’re right. I’m not really feeling well. It’s my
first time…” she said in a shaky voice.
“Your first surgery?”
“No, my first operation on a child!”
“Don’t worry, you’ll do a great job and everything will be
okay.”
“Yes, but still…”
“Try to calm down,” I said, interrupting her and taking
her hand to reassure her. “Everything will be fine.”
She gazed at me and asked: “Do you think I can do it?”
“If you can’t do it, tell your boss… It’s okay if you don’t
feel up to it.”
“No, I would never do that…”
At the time I thought Mariam’s persistence had come
from her commitment to her duty as a surgeon, but I realized
later that this was just her nature. She never gave up on a
mission she knew she could complete. She was a strong

34
woman and this strength gave her the confidence to fulfill
anything she put her mind to. Once engaged, nothing could
shake it off.
That was the first and last time I ever saw fear in Mariam’s
eyes. It was this fear that had triggered my affection for her,
which eventually led to us becoming a married couple.
“Are you serious? You want to get married?” my friend
and fellow surgeon Gilbert had exclaimed between sips of
coffee in the hospital cafeteria when I broke the news just
months later.
“Yes, I am.”
“You must have lost you mind! You barely know her.
How do you know she’s the one for you?”
“Come on, Gilbert, don’t you know Mariam? She’s been
working here for two years now, and I’ve got to know her
really well.”
“Yes, she’s been with us for two years, but you only got to
know her six months ago. Do you think that’s long enough?”
“Yes. I found what I’ve been looking for in her.”
“And what is that exactly?”
“Faith.”
“Faith?” Gilbert yelled in surprise.
Mariam’s convictions and faith had made me feel secure
around her. I had been convinced that she would be the best
wife; a wife who could support me through times of distress
and bless me with a comfortable home.

35
 What sort of faith had I been looking for in Mariam’s
heart? Was it the convictions she held or my false expectation
that whoever had faith would be a person who lived in peace
and happiness? I had assumed that committing to a woman
of faith would guarantee me a happy married life.
How naïve and judgmental I had been back then, thinking
that faith was restricted to certain fundamental ideas. Faith
was a difficult word to describe; a vague, unidentifiable
concept that I had thought Mariam carried in her heart. So
many thoughts raced through my head when Gilbert asked
me why Mariam’s faith had motivated me to ask for her hand
in marriage.
“I don’t know,” I had replied, “but an indescribable
feeling touched my soul that day, when, despite her intense
fear, she said to me…”
“Said what?”
“What…?” I mumbled.
Gilbert had laughed at me. “No way! You do love her!”
“I do…” I paused and then continued, explaining the
exact moment I had fallen for this deep faith; the very day of
Michael’s surgery. “She said: ‘At certain times in our lives we
lose control, yielding to the power of our creator. Regardless
of my fear, fate will decide what happens to Michael.’”
I hadn’t known then whether fate really played such an
influential role in people’s lives or whether it was merely a
scapegoat we used to blame for our failures. Since I was
certainly no longer a fatalist, this had often caused me to
wonder whether marrying Mariam had been my preordained
fate or my own choice.

36
 I tried to convince myself that I had met her by fate, and
that fate had also provoked Gilbert’s response that day when
he laughed and concluded: “Well it certainly seems as though
fate is bringing you two together now!”
“Seems that way,” I had replied with a smile.
The memory faded and I stared at Mariam as she ate
handfuls of popcorn beside me on the couch and flicked
between the TV channels.
Then I got up. “I have some errands to run,” I said.
“Yaser…”
“Yes?”
“We have our appointment with Dr. Brown tomorrow.
What are we going to tell him?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t thought of anything suitable to fit
his request.”
“Me neither,” Mariam replied. Then she grabbed her
phone to respond to a message she had received, or maybe to
shuffle through the pictures again in the hope of finding that
all-important missing memory.
The realization that we couldn’t remember a single happy,
loving memory between us was agonizing. Why couldn’t I
remember anything beautiful about our relationship even
though I remembered the very moment I had fallen in love
with her? Was it because the life we had shared was so
hollow? Had our choices been wrong in the first place, and
were our attempts at redemption simply a denial of the reality
of our hopeless marriage? Was it because our lives were torn
between work and our attempts to build a family? Was it
because we had got used to our life here in Vegas, which flew

37
by like lightning, leaving us caught up in the moment with no
space for memories?
As I walked upstairs, I remembered the day I proposed to
Mariam. It had been a long hectic day as we had carried out a
difficult operation. I had walked Mariam out of the hospital
after the procedure and invited her to join me for a coffee, a
habit that had become increasingly frequent during the
preceding months.
“Thank you so much. I really need a coffee after that
difficult operation,” she said, taking my arm as she always did.
“I feel you. Let’s get a breath of fresh air.”
We sat on a bench in the rain, hoping it would wash away
some of our exhaustion. I watched as she sipped her coffee.
I remember pulling out my phone to read a message
Gilbert had sent me just as she was about to finish her drink.
I had asked him to recommend a popular romantic song and
he had sent me a link to ‘My Same’ by Adele.
The music started playing out loud, and then suddenly
Mariam coughed hard. She spat a mouthful of coffee over her
white lab coat, and as she did so something fell to the ground
with a jingle.
“Oh! It’s the ring!” I said, pointing towards the floor. I
had been so distracted that I hadn’t spotted the immediate
danger.
Mariam stared into my eyes, half-choked and still
coughing. “What is it? I almost swallowed it!”
I quickly stood and picked the ring up off the ground.

38
 “What’s going on? They can’t do that! I’m going back to
that coffee shop to...” She paused for a moment. “What was
that in the cup, Yaser? Give it to me, please!” she said firmly.
I remember feeling so embarrassed. “I’m sorry… I wanted
to surprise you…”
“Surprise me with what?”
“I thought you would notice it in the cup.”
“Notice what?”
I opened the hand that held the ring. “Notice this…”
“How would I notice a ring in a paper cup filled with
black coffee?”
“I thought you would feel an unusual weight at the bottom
of the cup when you reached the end of it.”
Mariam looked surprised. “A weight in the cup?”
“Exactly…”
She stared at me for some time and then laughed. “Oh,
Yaser.”
I moved closer to her, holding up the ring and laughing.
“Will you marry me, Mariam?” I asked gently.
Adele was still singing ‘My Same’ in the background.
After a pause, she said: “Yes, Yaser. I will.”
I happily placed the ring on her finger. “I love you,” I said.
Mariam had still seemed a little surprised as she looked
down at her new diamond ring. She laughed again and said:
“This Adele song isn’t the best choice for a marriage
proposal.”

39
 In the moment of realization that followed I remember
really laughing. I hadn’t paid attention to the lyrics before and
I realized they didn’t fit the occasion at all.
“You’re right! I hadn’t noticed the lyrics before. I was just
looking for a popular romantic song. I didn’t want to propose
to you without any music playing.”
Mariam laughed. “I love you, Yaser. This must be the first
time a girl choked her way into a marriage!”
Then we laughed together; at the coffee cup, the ring and
the incongruous music. It was a beautiful moment.
Mariam had been well aware then that she was marrying a
man who was not endowed with a discreet, romantic spirit, or
even a man who was skilled at carrying out a marriage
proposal, but she had still accepted. So why all this
estrangement now? Why weren’t we still laughing the way we
had back then? Why had we lost sight of our pursuits, and of
what we enjoyed doing together?
I realized that marriage wasn’t about finding the best way
to approach your lover and offer that ring as if it were the
only sign of the holy bind of marriage. The decision should
be based on much deeper and stronger foundations.
On what grounds should a marriage be based? Should it
be based on a wife who was a lover beforehand? Or should it
be based on a passionate impulse that would vanish at some
point in the future? Should a wife be the perfect example of
morality and discipline as she would raise her children to
understand ethics and principles? Should a man choose a wife
who is very different from him or should he choose a woman
who is so similar she feels like a soulmate? Could a family be
built on difference, or would this become a destructive factor

40
that ruined the union through constant conflict? Did those
differences account for the sugar-coated lies and pretentions
often used to protect the family’s image?
Mariam’s faith was truly what had attracted me to her, but
now it was the thing that was causing us to drift apart. My
skepticism regarding faith had culminated in outright atheism
and a rejection of everything Mariam believed in. I no longer
believed. I didn’t believe in her or in us, but mostly I didn’t
believe in God. I couldn’t believe in a God who would give
me a wife I couldn’t communicate with and didn’t feel happy
being around.
I had begged him and prayed so hard that he would give
me a righteous wife and grant us happiness. So could there
really be a God? If he did exist, there could be no doubt that
he was unjust!
I stopped for a moment on the stairs and looked down at
Mariam, who still believed I was following her religion. She
was still searching for that memory, not knowing that I had
found it amid all the chaos. I was determined to revive it as
Dr. Brown had asked.
I entered the bedroom, switched on the laptop, and
searched for the Adele song I had played that day, ‘My Same’.
It hadn’t been suitable for the proposal, but it perfectly suited
our current situation:
“You said I’m stubborn and I never give in
I think you’re stubborn ’cept you’re always softening
You say I’m selfish, I agree with you on that
I think you’re giving out way too much in fact
I say we’ve only known each other a year
You say I’ve known you longer my dear
You like to be so close, I like to be alone
I like to sit on chairs and you prefer the floor
Walking with each other, think we’ll never match at all.”

41
 6
Million Years Ago
f

Amman, Jordan
“Mom, I’ve got to go now. Bye.”
Waleed kissed me goodbye on his way out to meet his
father. Every weekend he went to visit his grandparents and
when his father was in the country the four of them would
spent the whole day together. I didn’t have a problem with
that; on the contrary, I wanted him to live a balanced life with
both me and his father so he wouldn’t be negatively affected
by our divorce. I had considered this the best way to help him
cope with our separation in a healthy way, so for the three
months of the year his father was in Jordan my son saw him
every week.
One time during a parents’ evening at my son’s school, his
teacher had revealed how impressed she was with his
development. “I didn’t know that you and his father were
divorced,” she said. “His emotional and psychological health
is great compared with other kids in similar situations.”
I had responded with a smile, while in my head I was
thinking about the price I had paid to give him such stability
and rationality. It had been a long, emotional, roller coaster
filled with quarrels and court cases. It had worn me out at the
age of twenty-six and still burdened me now at thirty-four.
I popped out that morning to run some errands, since I
had some free time with Waleed gone. The streets were half-
empty, with only a few people performing the traditional
Friday morning practices. Some were carrying home plates

42
and bowls, heading to the nearest restaurant to fill them with
the typical Friday breakfast ingredients: hummus, fool (red
fava beans) and falafel. Others were looking for manakish (a
type of pastry) and tannour (a traditional bread).
Friday is a special day for Jordanian families. It’s the only
real weekend day for many employees, enabling them to
spend time with their families away from their demanding
jobs. Each family member knows his or her role on that day;
especially when it comes to preparing the breakfast feast. The
mother wakes up early and starts to wake the lazy sleepers.
The son heads out to one of the traditional restaurants, while
the daughter makes tea using a few stems of home-grown
mint. The father takes his seat at the head of the table.
Then they all gather around the table to eat together. A
few hours later Friday prayers start, when the males, and
sometimes the females, go to the one of the mosques to say
their prayers and to ask for both forgiveness and reward.
Following that the streets are flooded with pedestrians and
cars buzzing around the mosques.
Jordan has always been a humble country. It may not be
considered a place of myth and magic, but its people are rich
in love and compassion. The generosity and hospitality of its
citizens were the most difficult things for me to leave behind
when I married eight years ago and had to leave my country.
Every time I came back to Amman on vacation during that
period I had carried within my heart the deepest and purest
love for its soil and its people. Even its breeze, which may
not be different from any other, had been drenched, for me,
with the presence of my family, friends and even the
neighbors I barely knew. Knowing all that, I had still chosen
to leave for the sake of love. Although we didn’t live too far

43
away, I had missed that comforting breeze and all that it
signified to me.
I had pledged to live for that love. I had convinced myself
that being away from my home country was merely a matter
of sacrifice for the sake of my lover; the same lover who had
caused me to lose faith in love.
As I drove around the streets of my old neighborhood,
where I now dwelt again, Adele accompanied me, as always. I
listened to her music all the time. It caused me to shed tears
like no other music could; not even the songs of the iconic
Umm Kulthum or Abdel Halim Hafez. Over time I had
become more attached to her songs, especially when I heard
her latest album, 25.
I can still remember the first time I listened to ‘Million
Years Ago’. It had made me cry really hard. I don’t know
whether I cried for the whole night or longer than that, but I
certainly cried. I cried for the eight years of my life that I had
spent drowning in work and all of life’s other demands to
give my son a dignified life. I cried for the memories of the
childhood I had enjoyed with Lara and many other friends,
and for the youth I had spent dreaming about the rosy,
romantic poems of Nizar Qabbani, which had fooled me into
believing that all men were like the sensitive poet.
I cried over the house I had yearned to call home, which
ultimately I had paid for with my freedom. Realizing that, I
had chosen liberty over stability. Now I was in a better
position to understand and feel proud of my decision,
because my freedom deserved to be fought for, regardless of
the many obstacles I would have to face as a result.
I had suddenly felt that every single detail of my life was a
choice I could make. I had chosen to move on with my life
and to stop believing in love. I had chosen not to like Abu

44
Al-Abed’s coffee any more. But most of all, I had chosen to
sacrifice spending that special Friday morning breakfast
routine with my son the moment I filed for divorce. I had
made all of these choices because I wanted to be free.
Freedom is the crown of the liberated, after all.
Amid all these thoughts, I played ‘Million Years Ago’ once
again and fixed my eyes on the empty street in front of me,
seeking some clarity:
“I know I’m not the only one
Who regrets the things they’ve done
Sometimes I just feel it’s only me
Who can’t stand the reflection that they see
I wish I could live a little more
Look up to the sky not just the floor
I feel like my life is flashing by
And all I can do is watch and cry
I miss the air I miss my friends
I miss my mother I miss it when
Life was a party to be thrown
But that was a million years ago.”

After a while, I remembered the earlier phone call with Lara

and decided to check on her. She was still crying when I did
and complaining that Kamal didn’t empathize with her; that
he was always complaining that she had changed.
“But I love him, Nadia,” she said tearfully.
“So how are you going to fix this? You need to sit down
together and discuss these matters. You’re not teenagers any
more, Lara!”
“We’re not grown up either! He’s dating another woman,”
Lara murmured.
“Are you sure about that?”

45
 “I can feel it. No man stays the same when he gets
involved with another woman.”
I didn’t know how to respond. Absent-mindedly, I said:
“Yes, maybe. But don’t worry, Lara, there’s a solution for
everything.”
“But not everything can be fixed.”
“Don’t say that. I’m sure you’ll find a way out of this,” I
said, trying to reassure her.
“After having these blood pressure issues, I’ve realized
that not everything has a solution, and sometimes you have to
face painful facts. Some things remain broken no matter how
much of an optimist you are.” Lara said this in a voice that
sounded strange to me; the voice of a burdened woman who
was still trying her best to remain positive and full of life.
“You know what you’re in desperate need of now?”
“What?”
“For me to come over so we can spend time like we used
to; singing, talking, laughing and just having fun. Then you’ll
forget everything and we’ll sort it out, I promise.”
I couldn’t work out why this conversation with Lara
distracted me so much after we ended the call. Neither did I
understand why I couldn’t tell her what I was really thinking,
even though she was my best friend.
Being divorced, I have always been worried that I
wouldn’t be fair with the advice I gave her, or anyone else for
that matter. I had always avoided saying anything that could
plant seeds of discord in a family’s life. Nonetheless, I was
also worried that Kamal’s infidelity had proved my opinion of
men. They can never be faithful!

46
 Although my husband and I had loved one another, that
hadn’t stopped him dating other women. The day I found out
about it, I felt humiliated and angry because I had been
cheated on. I didn’t blame my husband or the other woman;
instead I questioned what I had done wrong. I was so naïve
back then. Why do we blame ourselves as if it’s our fault?
How could it be my fault? Why had I allowed myself to be
the victim in such a relationship?
It wasn’t my fault; his waywardness had nothing to do
with my imperfections. He had allowed himself to be drifted
along by a whim; not because he didn’t know how to love,
but because he didn’t know how to be faithful. I refused to
fall for the illusion of faithfulness my grandmother had kept
up for my grandfather. She had allowed him to bring his
mistress into her home and eventually accepted her as his
second wife!
Regardless of everything, I blamed Lara for not trying to
solve her problems with her husband. Nothing would ever
change unless they were prepared to work at changing it. Lara
had to make a decision at this point and do something about
it. Since when did love became an excuse for infidelity and
silence a sign of loyalty?
My phone rang again, interrupting the thoughts and
memories that had flooded into my head after the phone call
with Lara.
“Mom?” said Waleed.
“Yes, honey. How are you?”
“I’m good. I’m going to a wedding with Dad so I might be
home late.”

47
 “Do you want to go? If you don’t, tell your dad not to take
you.”
“It’s fine, Mom. I want to go.”
“Okay. Take care of yourself.”
“I will. By the way, Dad says I should stop loving Adele so
much, and that I need to become more masculine.”
I laughed to hide the distress I felt when I heard these
words coming from my ten-year-old son. “Do you love her?”
“Yes, I love her a lot.”
“Then do whatever you love, my dear.”
I sensed my son’s smile without even seeing his face.
“Okay, I will,” he replied.
I arrived home with the groceries and fresh bread I had
bought. Then I lay on the couch to watch some TV. I
switched between channels but couldn’t find anything
interesting to watch.
Later that evening Waleed sent me a video of himself at
the party. “Mom I’m here at the ceremony. Look…”
He was recording the action inside the wedding tent,
where a large group of men sat celebrating with the groom,
obscuring him from view. Waleed showed me the flashing
lights, the decorations and the band performing the
traditional dabke and dahiye dances.
The men were inside the tent, while the women had gone
to the groom’s house, where they had been celebrating since
the night before.

48
 This was the traditional pre-wedding party to say farewell
to the groom; to celebrate his last night as a free man,
because everyone recognized that marriage was a type of
confinement. After a long night of dancing and socializing,
dinner would be served.
If the groom or his family were wealthy enough the dinner
would be mansaf; the most traditional Jordanian dish. Mansaf
is best enjoyed during a large family gathering. It is served
from large dishes, which the men gather around to eat from
together, while the women eat from separate dishes.
It consists of a thin layer of traditional bread spread across
the bottom of a serving dish, with rice, meat and a special
yoghurt made solely for this dish, which is poured over the
rice. On top of the pile of rice, the sheep’s head is given pride
of place. The head is a symbol of respect and pride, and only
the elders of the family have the honor of eating it.
Waleed kept me updated with videos of the guests singing
and dancing throughout the evening. I could tell he was
enjoying himself.
However, the last one he sent filled me with horror. It was
almost unintelligible as loud gun shots rang out in the
background.
I could hear my son screaming: “Dad, I’m hurt…”
Then the phone fell to the ground and all I could see were
the feet of the men covering the shaking lens as they ran. The
screams echoed in my ears, and I could hear a voice yelling at
the others to move away because someone was injured, and
another yelling louder, urging someone to call an ambulance.

49
 Then there was another voice that I couldn’t fail to
recognize, despite all the time that had passed since the
separation. “There’s no time to wait for an ambulance! Let’s
get my son to the hospital now!”
The video stream was suddenly switched off, taking my
breath away with it. I tried to call Waleed’s number, but no
one answered.
I called his father, but with no luck. No one was
answering. I ran towards the door and grabbed my keys on
the way out.
I wished the distance between the street we lived on and
the hospital would somehow shrink beneath the tires of my
car. I struggled to comprehend that my son had been shot at
a wedding and was on his way to the hospital.

50
 7
One and Only
f

Marrakesh, Morocco
The moment my feet had touched the ground in Marrakesh,
the shadow of Malika had begun to haunt me. The familiar
spiral of questions hit me again in the room I had rented in
the hope of enjoying some peace and quiet. Why had I left
her? Had the spell really been the reason? Was Kanza to
blame? Or had I drawn away from her due to my Arab
chivalry, which could never have allowed me to take
advantage of her in any way?
A lot of people think I’m exaggerating when I explain the
extent to which I believe in black magic and its power. Some
think it’s a subconscious fear because I grew up in a culture in
which most women have practiced black magic and
fortunetelling all their lives.
Where I grew up, if a woman suspected there was another
woman in her man’s life, she would do anything to get him
back and protect him, even if it meant resorting to a curse.
Malika was the only mystery I couldn’t unlock. I still felt
her presence and smelt her jasmine-scented gypsy hair. Her
crazy hair was the most vivid memory I had of her and it was
the first thing I visualized whenever I thought about her.
The phone rang, bringing me back from the realm of my
imagination. It was Veronica calling from Rome.
“Elias, where have you been? I’ve been looking
everywhere for you!” She sounded worried.

51
 “I’m in Marrakesh.”
“What? Marrakesh? When did you leave? And why didn’t
you tell me?”
“It was a sudden decision.”
“Why did you go?” Veronica asked.
“I just felt homesick, so I came over for a short visit.”
“When will you be back?”
“I don’t know, but it won’t be long.”
“Okay, tell me when you’re coming back so I can pick you
up from the airport.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“If you’d told me, I would’ve come with you. I’ve never
been to Marrakesh.”
“I’ll bring you here one day.”
“I’ll take that as a promise,” she said, her voice brimming
with excitement.
“By all means!”
“Okay, see you later then.”
“Bye.”
Veronica’s call had energized me a little, despite how tired
I had felt beforehand, so I got dressed and left the room.
As the darkness was starting to sneak in, the circles
surrounding the street performers had diminished and the
smoke from the restaurants had almost faded.

52
 Someone approached me, and I could instantly tell what
he was going to say before he spoke. “Are you looking for
some pleasure?”
“No.”
“I can give you whatever you want: young, old, man or
woman.”
He was starting to get on my nerves. “I told you I don’t
want anything from you!”
“Okay…”
He walked away, but my eyes followed his unsteady steps
as he searched for clients from all over the world who came
to this country for exactly the type of pleasure he was selling.
It was becoming more and more common in and around El-
Fnaa Square. The night heralded the closure of the markets
and shops, and opened the doors for the filthy pleasures that
took place in the old city’s squalid alleyways.
It was here that I had encountered Malika the second time.
I don’t know whether I should admit to that, but I have never
claimed to be a prophet or a saint. I had been just like
everybody else during my late twenties – twenty-eight at this
point, to be specific – driven by my lustful desires.
“I have a delight that will bring you joy all night long,” a
man had said to me; a man not dissimilar to the stranger who
had just approached me. They’re all the same, regardless of
when they show up. They run after us, thirsty for a client who
will pay them well.
“Let me see her first,” I had said that fateful night.
“Come with me.”

53
 We had walked towards a back alley beyond El-Fnaa
Square, passing the few people who had remained there
longer than the others. We eventually arrived at a little house
in the old neighborhood.
He knocked on the door and shouted: “Open the door, I
have a client.”
She opened the door sluggishly and examined me closely
with her eyes. That was the first time Kanza ever saw me, and
how I wished it had been the last!
Then she called out to her daughter: “Malika, come out
here. You have a client.”
The moment she appeared I realized she was the girl with
the wild hair I had bumped into earlier that morning.
Malika was wearing an old dress. “Where are we going?”
she asked her mother.
“Go with him and he’ll take you wherever he wants.”
“How much is it for a night?” I asked.
“Four hundred dirhams.”
Malika fixed her clothes and hair, and then walked straight
outside.
She directed her speech at her mother. “I’m off. Give me
my share of the money.”
Malika took her money and walked off ahead of me
without saying a word. Even then I hadn’t been able to work
out why I felt such great joy and desire for her whenever my
eyes encountered her sculpted face.
“So your name is Malika?”

54
 “Why would you care about my name? This is only for
one night.”
Her snappy reply provoked me to anger, albeit tinged with
longing. I quickened my pace towards my room. When we
arrived, Malika started to get herself ready for the night. She
immediately started to take off her clothes. But at that
moment I hadn’t yearned to throw her onto the bed; I had
just wanted to chat with her.
I didn’t know at the time why I refused to let her become
my bedmate. All I wanted to do at that moment was hold her.
I leaned in towards her half-naked body and hugged her
gently. Her cold body gave me chills and a sense of fear ran
through my veins. I remember running my fingers through
her tangled hair, then bending down and picking her old
dress up off the floor. I put it on her, zipped it up and told
her: “Let’s go out for a bit.”
My words were like thunder to her; fast and destructive.
She was puzzled and I saw that her mind was filled with many
conflicting thoughts that I tried to access but couldn’t. She
didn’t say anything until she realized I had been examining
her. Then she cleared her throat and tried her best to sound
cool and confident.
“Okay, but you won’t get your money back.”
“Yes, I know that. I paid to spend my night with you
however I want to.”
“As you wish.”
I held her hand, which was warmer by this point.
“Let’s take a walk across the square,” I said. “The sun’s
about to rise and it will still be quiet and empty.”

55
 She gazed into my eyes, captivating me in a way that I still
feel and remember now.
“As you wish,” she had said again.
Back then I wondered why I hadn’t been able to touch
Malika and why I hadn’t felt a burning desire for her that
night. What had driven me to pay four hundred dirhams for a
walk with a girl at dawn rather than reveling in her sweet,
curvaceous body? Why had my only desire been to hold her
in my arms as we walked around, surrounded by the cool
breeze of dawn, and to witness the break of sunlight with her,
which would spark into life the hustle and bustle of the
square?
As the sun rose, an urge had driven me to draw her close
to me and whisper: “It’s been a beautiful night. Thank you,
Malika.”
I hugged her and touched her exotic face. “You are very
beautiful.”
Having remained quiet for a long time, she said: “I don’t
know your name yet.”
“Elias.”
It felt as though her voice was echoing against the vast
mountains on the horizon when she said: “Elias, would you
like to meet me again?”
I hadn’t had a chance to answer as she threw the question
out as she was walking away. She quickly added: “Meet me
tomorrow at this time.”
I can still hear Malika’s voice in my head as if it were
yesterday. I knew that I couldn’t go on like this; I would lose

56
my sanity! I needed to go back to Rome, but first I wanted to
get a few things off my chest.
My phone rang again, but I didn’t want to talk to anyone,
even if it was Veronica. I rushed out of the hotel directly into
the mellah to look for Sidi-Mawla-Hasib.
The moment you see balconies outside the buildings you
know you’ve reached the mellah. Muslims tended to have
open courtyards set back from the road, but these balconies
protruded outwards, overlooking the street in the traditional
Jewish style.
I approached a man who was sitting on the sidewalk. “Do
you know where I can find Sidi-Mawla-Hasib?”
“Turn right at the corner ahead. You’ll find him next to
the perfume shop.”
“Thank you.”
The scents from the city’s perfumeries, especially those in
the mellah, could be smelt from miles away. Perfume, leather
goods and spices had been the prevailing trades for many
years, although the products weren’t always as genuine as they
seemed.
As I got closer to the perfumery, weaving my way through
the ancient alleys, a man called out to me from a distance.
“Are you looking for Sidi-Mawla-Hasib?”
“Yes.”
“He’s in there.”
This stranger guided me, without knowing where I had
come from and without me having to tell him who I was
looking for. My considerable experience with these narrow,

57
ancient alleys had made me aware that their residents were
very alert monitors. They watched anyone who came into
their territory, trying to work out the newcomer’s purpose
and destination. Then they would either help you or try to
guide you to one of the shops, enticing you to buy some of
the artificial perfumes, oils or spices they made.
As I walked towards the narrow end of an alley, I reached
an old, brown, mud hut with high arcs.
A voice from inside called, “Come in!”
I replied: “Hafiza sent me, and I carry her greetings to
Sidi-Mawla-Hasib.”
“Okay, wait a moment…”
I waited for a few minutes until the boy who had spoken
came out to tell me that Sidi-Mawla-Hasib was ready to see
me.
I walked into a humble room, which contained several
mattresses on the floor and a round table, behind which an
old man was sitting. He was wearing his djellaba, the
traditional Moroccan robe, and was holding a string of rosary
beads between his fingers.
He looked at me curiously. “You say Hafiza sent you.
Where did you see her?”
“In Rome.”
“She sends her greetings from there?”
“Yes, and she guided me to you so you could tell me about
a black-magic break-up spell buried beneath the Diyar
ground.”

58
 The old man stared at me and then said, “And have you
found Malika?”
I felt every nerve in my body quiver as he asked the
question. “No I haven’t,” I replied.
“You may never find her. You must go to the beach and
wash yourself with sea water. That way the curse will be
rinsed away.”
“But won’t you guide me to the buried talisman?”
“Didn’t Hafiza tell you that it’s buried in Diyar ground?”
“Yes, but what is Diyar ground?”
“The land where Malika lived; where you took your first
steps together.”
I was suddenly speechless; unable to utter a word.
He gestured to me to leave, so I did, still dumbstruck. My
feet took me back to El-Fnaa Square, where the Koutoubia
Mosque can be found. The irony was that the square that
contained the largest mosque was the same square in which
pleasure was sold. Everything lay under the same sky.
The shattah and halaiqa were still bargaining with the
tourists, and the smoke from the restaurants was blurring my
view of the locals in the background, burdened as they were
with all sorts of agonies, hallucinations and even
bewitchments.
The snake charmer always won the hearts of the visitors
with his thrilling and dangerous shows, especially when he
revealed that he could speak to the snakes. The visitors’
hearts were stabbed with fear at that moment!

59
 They were openly curious about the way these snakes were
compelled to follow the orders they couldn’t hear, and to
know why they didn’t spread their poison by biting the man
who had wrapped them around his neck.
But the charmer believed his snakes would never betray
him. Although a similar cobra had taken the life of its owner
at one of the shows, in front of a large crowd, the other men
in the business still believed it had been a one-off and that the
deceased was simply unfortunate.
The only poisonous bite I had ever felt were the words
Sidi-Mawla Hasib had just spoken.
Had Kanza really cursed me? Or was it just the mysticism
of Marrakesh getting under my skin again? How could I
believe all that stuff? Maybe I had been crazy to travel from
Rome to look for a long-lost love I had buried eight years
earlier.
I was thirty-six now and fast approaching my forties. Over
the years, Rome had changed my skin, or so I thought. I had
become an Italian with Moroccan origins rather than a
Moroccan with Italian citizenship.
Rome had enchanted me from the moment I laid eyes on
the city, and the modern European mindset had refined my
mentality to the extent that Marrakesh and its chaos no
longer affected me. At least, that’s what I had believed until
my feet had traversed El-Fnaa Square once again. Since then
it had dragged me back down into its black-magic spells and
mythical fallacies, even though I knew many of them weren’t
true.
I knocked on the door. She opened it and exclaimed,
“Elias!”

60
 “Yes, Kanza, it’s me.”
“What do you want?”
“I want to know what you did to me eight years ago.”
“And since when do you believe in Moroccan spells?
Haven’t you adopted a European mentality? It seems you still
can’t let go of the Arab psyche. Haven’t you been immersed
in secular Western thinking? How could you still believe in
black magic?” she asked as she lit a cigarette.
“Since I met Sidi-Mawla-Hasib.”
I could visibly see Kanza’s anxiety as she asked, “And
what did he tell you?”
“He told me the spell is here, in your house.”
“That’s not possible!”
I decided to take advantage of Kanza’s weakness regarding
religious leaders and their insights and blessings. “He is
Mawlana Sidi-Hasib, Kanza! A religious leader! You don’t
want his wrath to fall upon you.”
“Sidi-Mawla-Hasib would never have said it was me who
did it,” she replied, her voice shaking.
“That’s exactly what he told me, and he told me I would
find the talisman buried somewhere close to your house. Dig
it up, Kanza! It’s pointless now and Malika has already left.
Why all this stubbornness?”
“Because I love you…”
Whenever Kanza said those words so vehemently I felt my
heart pounding relentlessly in my chest, like a man with
vertigo standing at the top of a mountain peak. Her

61
professions of love caused me great distress. How could a
mother be jealous of her own daughter?
“And I loved Malika!”
“But it was you who decided to leave.”
“But wasn’t it you who decided to separate us?”
“No, I decided to make you love me.” She paused and
puffed smoke into the air. “But you didn’t love me and you
haven’t found Malika. She left, Elias. Let her go.”
Kanza walked into her room as she was finishing her
sentence. She was gone for a long time; so long that I thought
for a moment she had gone out the back door and left me
standing there.
Then she came back and put her hand in mine. “You’re
right, she’s gone, so this doesn’t matter any more.”
I gazed down at my hand, which held a small, well-
wrapped, square-shaped talisman. It was covered in freshly
dug soil. I left the house with it still in my hand. I walked
across the square once again, dodging absent-mindedly
through the crowd, looking at the item in my hand every once
in a while.
I wanted to blame Kanza and the talisman I was carrying,
but I knew that it wasn’t her fault. I couldn’t blame her for
the decision I had made to leave Malika. It had been a well-
considered choice on my part. Through all this, I had
discovered that we humans always look for an excuse to hold
others responsible for our misdeeds and wrong decisions,
although often we made them during rational moments. I
sometimes wished I hadn’t been so rational back then.

62
 I was hungry. That’s what I felt. I put the talisman in my
pocket and took a seat in one of the local restaurants, tucked
away in a corner of the square. There was everything
imaginable there to satisfy my hunger: from fresh juice to
ghoulal (snail soup).
I ordered one of Marrakesh’s famous tagines and drank
some mint tea after I had eaten. Then I dipped into the life of
the square once again. When UNESCO had announced this
square to be a Masterpiece of the Oral and Intangible
Heritage of Humanity, it must have been well aware that the
spoken language here involved gestures, dancing, songs,
rituals and even the smoke and the food that permeate the
sixty food courts around the square. It had its own spoken
language without anyone uttering a word.
The henna tattoos on the hands and arms of the tourists
represented the type of self-documentation the city’s visitors
pursued. They waited for neither time nor history to record
their journeys through life. At such moments, in spite of its
paradoxes, I felt as though El-Fnaa Square was unique due to
the simplicity and kind hearts of its people, who lived
according to the mindset they were raised with rather than for
show.
As I walked through the square, I noticed a woman
standing in the shade in an isolated corner. “Give me what
you are carrying,” she instructed.
“What do you mean? I’m not carrying anything.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll bring you back the person you have lost.
Just give me the talisman that is in your pocket.”
I looked at her, astonished, and gave it to her without
saying a word. As she tore it open, I could see that my name

63
was clearly written on it with some burnt hair and black sand,
which looked more like coal, and various written talismans
and complex drawings. I stood there, puzzled, watching the
shawafa practice her bizarre rituals.
I didn’t know exactly how I felt. Did I genuinely want her
to bring back the person I had lost? Did I really want Malika
to come back? Or was I just confused about what I did and
didn’t want?
I felt as though I wanted to erase all my memories of the
past and the present, so Adele was my temporary remedy. I
put my headphones on and listened to ‘One and Only’:
“You’ve been on my mind
I grow fonder every day,
Lose myself in time
Just thinking of your face
God only knows
Why it’s taken me so long
To let my doubts go
You’re the only one that I want
I don’t know why I’m scared,
I’ve been here before
Every feeling, every word,
I’ve imagined it all,
You never know if you never try
To forgive your past and simply be mine”

64
 8
Turning Tables
f

Las Vegas, USA

“So, have you managed to find a memory you want to bring
back to life?” Dr. Brown asked towards the end of our
session.
“Dr. Brown, I feel as though you’re treating us like a
couple of children you’re persuading to walk into a candy
shop,” Mariam said.
Dr. Brown laughed and replied: “Even if that’s the case,
what’s the problem with that, Mariam?”
In full seriousness, Mariam continued: “The problem is
that this approach doesn’t work for two surgeons like us!”
“Maybe, but you have to give yourselves some space for
less seriousness in your life together.”
I interrupted by standing up and handing him an envelope.
“This is the memory we want to revive.”
As Dr. Brown took the envelope from me, I could see that
Mariam was astonished and a little angry.
He opened the envelope and exclaimed: “An Adele
concert?”
“Yes, doctor. This is the memory.”
“What’s the memory you shared at an Adele concert?” he
asked, smiling.

65
 “I was playing an Adele song when I proposed to Mariam.
She almost choked that day.”
“Really? How did that happen?” he asked, still smiling.
I looked at Mariam, directing my speech at her. “Do you
remember, Mariam?”
“Yes I do… I almost swallowed the ring my husband hid
inside my coffee cup as a surprise.”
“Coffee cup!” Dr. Brown laughed. “That’s good… So
now you should go and prepare yourselves for the Adele
concert. It might just be the missing link.”
We were walking side by side on our way to the car when
Mariam stopped and looked at me.
“You didn’t tell me about the concert.”
“I wanted to show it to Dr. Brown first to see if it
matched his request.”
“And is it your decision alone to choose a memory and
settle on it?”
“What’s wrong with that, Mariam? It’s a lovely memory.
Neither of us can argue with that.”
“It’s not the memory that’s the problem, Yaser, it’s your
approach.”
“What do you mean? Is it because I didn’t tell you about
the concert?”
“Yes! Since when is traveling a decision for you to make
on your own?” Mariam yelled.
“Since I found out that the concert happens to be on the
day of our eighth wedding anniversary. I decided this would

66
be my gift to you,” I said. “As well as wanting to find a
memory, as Dr. Brown had asked.”
I hadn’t wanted to reveal to Mariam that the Adele concert
was to be my gift to her, but as usual she had started a fight
based on the tiniest of details and was trying to turn it into a
much bigger problem.
She responded in a fidgety tone. “Didn’t it cross your
mind that I might not have wanted to share that memory
with Dr. Brown?”
This question irked me. “Is the memory of my proposal
something you didn’t want to share with Dr. Brown? What
other memories should we have shared, Mariam? Have you
found any loving memories frozen in the pictures on
Facebook or Instagram that our own memories can’t
remember?”
“Is it me who erased those memories or is it your constant
busyness and your failure to recognize my needs? You always
blame me without paying any attention to your own actions.
Remember when I wanted to choose a gift for myself on our
third wedding anniversary but you insisted on a surprise, and
it was a trip to Florida? As if I had any interest in going there
at that time!”
“And what did you want? A shopping trip to Paris? Is that
what you had in mind for our third anniversary?” I asked,
feeling perplexed.
“You know the destination wasn’t the point. The issue is
you always do whatever you want. You never ask me what I
want.”

67
 “How can you say that when I always try to give you
everything you want, even my time?”
“What time are you talking about? The few hours you sit
beside me on the couch when we watch TV?” she said
mockingly.
“Regardless! That’s still my time.”
Mariam didn’t know that I spent that time with her
because I chose to, not because I was obliged to. She hadn’t
realized that our marriage had become a routine that we
simply followed. We had both been raised with the pressure
of getting married at a certain age and building a family,
regardless of whether we wanted that or not. In our culture, if
two people got to know and liked one another, they had to
get married for everything else to fall into place. So we had
married and then ended up at Dr. Brown’s to try to fix our
relationship.
Mariam interrupted my thoughts. “Who says the Adele
concert will help us revive the memory we had? And by the
way, the song you played when you proposed to me isn’t even
on the set list. All the songs will be from her most recent
album.”
My eyes were fixed on the road, but when I heard her
words, I pulled the car over once again. “What do you mean?
What does the song have to do with anything?”
“Of course it does! Didn’t you choose to go to the concert
because of the song, ‘My Same’, which didn’t even match the
occasion in the first place? Isn’t that the memory you chose?”

68
 “Yes, but my intention was to go there, hoping that her
voice would stimulate the memory of the proposal,” I
explained.
“So what’s the point if the memory could be revived
without going all the way to the concert?”
“The concert is in Italy. It will be a great opportunity for
us both to let go of some of our burdens and
responsibilities.” I sighed heavily, feeling exasperated.
“I don’t think it’s necessary for us to go. The kids need
us.”
“Don’t you think that every song could create a new
memory for us? Let’s not waste this opportunity.”
“I’m not going to the concert and leaving the kids, Yaser.
Discussion over!”
I remained silent. I couldn’t keep going with the argument.
She always knew how to have the last word, and as long as
the kids were in the middle my opinion was irrelevant.
I started to believe that my suggestion of going to the
concert had been a mistake. I shouldn’t have booked the
tickets. Maybe she was right and the kids needed her, but
wasn’t saving our marriage also a pressing need? What was I
supposed to do?
As Mariam stepped out of the car I told her I had some
work to do at the hospital.
“Okay,” she said, shutting the door.
The moment I turned the steering wheel, I grabbed my
phone. “Isabelle, I want you now!”

69
 I pulled the car over so that it was tucked away from the
main road, and spoke out every emotion of anger and love to
Isabelle, who whispered back sensually from the other end of
the line. As I listened to Isabelle’s arousing voice, I saw
Mariam in front of me like a cracked mirror. The cracks kept
appearing with every second I spent on the phone. My
feelings grew more intense, and my heart was pounding with
pleasure until I reached a point when I could no longer hear
Isabelle or see the trees in front of me, yet I could still hear
the cracks coming thick and fast. As I reached the moment of
release and moaned out loud, the mirror smashed violently,
shattering into pieces and leaving the image of Mariam far
behind.
In the wake of the relaxation that followed this moment of
heated desire, I stepped on every bit of that shattered mirror,
hearing the sound of broken glass and seeing my own
reflection in the shards: a distorted, out-of-proportion version
of myself.
I hung up the phone and took a long, deep breath. Amid
these turbulent emotions, Adele’s ‘Turning Tables’ filled the
air around me as I sat in my car among the trees.
“Close enough to start a war
All that I have is on the floor
God only knows what we’re fighting for
All that I say, you always say more
I can’t keep up with your turning tables
Under your thumb I can’t breathe”

70
 9
Sweetest Devotion
f

Amman, Jordan
Still not fully comprehending what had happened, I ran
anxiously through the hospital corridors. I looked for my
son’s face in every countenance I passed. I looked for him
beneath the hands of the doctors and nurses in the
emergency room.
A nurse told me Waleed was in surgery, but that he would
be okay. I rushed to the minor surgeries’ room but couldn’t
see my son. Besides, I hadn’t dared to look at him even when
he was getting his vaccinations, so how would I have had the
strength to see him being treated for a gunshot wound?
His father was standing a little way away, talking on the
phone. I walked towards him and told him: “Just so you
know, the police are on their way and I’m going to tell this
was a gunshot wound.” I hadn’t actually called them, but I
wanted to frighten him.
He hung up the call. “He’s okay; the doctors have assured
me of that.”
“You know full well that I didn’t leave my son with you
for the day so you could bring him back to me injured!”
“How could I have known that he would be shot?”
“You know that the old traditions haven’t changed. Why
did you take him there?”
“Because I’m his father and it’s my right to introduce him
to my family, even if you don’t like our traditions!”

71
 “Fine, you can tell the police that.”
I left him in a state of confusion. When I walked into the
waiting room I saw one of my uncles standing just across
from me. He had come to check on Waleed. My mother and
siblings were also there.
I was just starting to calm down when my uncle said to
me: “Your father-in-law asked me not to inform the police
about what happened. As you know, the groom will be
arrested if they find out.”
“I don’t care!”
“Nadia, your father-in-law told me they have already held
a tribal reconciliation.”
“And who told them I care about their tribal rituals?”
“I’m just telling you that this is the custom. Don’t worry,
our tribe will defend your son’s rights.”
Our tribes are very similar to the clans of ancient times.
Each family has a chief, who judges over disputes and solves
the family’s problems. Sometimes the tribal decision is more
powerful than the law itself. This is certainly the case in
Jordan. When the heads and elders of the families gather
together during either happy or sad occasions, they act upon
judgments based on these tribal rituals.
As a result of these proceedings, a murderer could be
declared innocent or a whole extended family could be
banished in order to penalize the descendants of a
grandfather who had committed an infraction five
generations earlier. Even if the family members didn’t know
anyone who was related to that grandfather, the penalty still

72
affected the descendants, despite the fact that their only crime
had been to share the same last name.
According to tribal rule, my son could justifiably be shot at
a wedding seeing as the celebrations were measured by the
number of gunshots fired into the air in the groom’s honor!
The more gunshots fired, the more celebratory people felt
towards the groom, and the more masculine the shooter
seemed. But Waleed’s injury couldn’t be compensated with a
cup of coffee and a fine paid at the end of the assembly when
the two families came together to negotiate.
“I won’t settle for a cup of coffee as a resolution to this,
uncle.”
“But we had an agreement and it’s settled. You can’t break
the words of the tribal leaders.”
“And who allowed you to agree upon a matter that
concerns my son without my consent?”
“Do you think the men of the family would wait for a
woman to consent to a conciliatory meeting between their
tribes?”
“Yes, when the woman in question is me!”
I could see that my uncle was becoming infuriated. “We
are your uncles and you won’t undermine our respect or
break our words. It’s over with, Nadia. Your eldest uncle met
theirs and they made the decision. Take your son and go
home. Thank God he is fine.”
My uncle moved closer to me and said in a lower tone: “If
you make a mistake here, my dear, you could drag our sons
into more serious matters. So go now and take your boy
home.”

73
 I was furious as I stood there staring at my uncle, but the
sound of Waleed’s voice immediately washed away my anger
as he entered the waiting room in a wheelchair. I felt like a
revolution had ended peacefully in my head the moment I
heard him calling out for me.
“Mom!”
I ran towards him and hugged him tightly as my tears fell.
I wiped them away instantly. “How are you, honey? Are you
okay?”
“Yes Mom. The doctor gave me an injection. Why weren’t
you in there with me?”
I kissed him. “Forgive me, darling… I was…”
He interrupted me. “Mom, I was in pain but the doctor
told me it’ll go away.”
“Yes, honey, it’ll go away.”
“You know, Mom, it was a huge celebration, and there
were so many fireworks…” He started narrating the details
with great enthusiasm, completely neglecting his wounds.
I became distracted as I looked at his face, trying to
comprehend what had happened. Nobody could ever know
what that face meant to me, and nobody knew how
important it was for me to hear that voice every day. Nobody
understood the pain I had carried inside me. Nobody knew
how many times I had cried in the car on my way back and
forth to face the court judges and argue against my ex-
husband’s false claims before returning home with a smile on
my face so my son wouldn’t know where I had been.
They didn’t realize that their whole tribe counted as
nothing to me compared with a tiny wound on his little body.

74
Waleed wasn’t just a little kid; he was my whole life. He was
what my life was and always would be about.
“I’d gone looking for Dad, but Grandpa told me Dad was
the groom so he couldn’t be around me all the time,” he said
on our way to the car.
I paused and looked at him, taken aback. “What?” I yelled.
“Dad was the groom. That’s what Grandpa said,” Waleed
explained, realizing too late that this had been a dangerous
slip of the tongue.
I wheeled him back into the waiting area and walked
towards my uncle. “Who was the groom at this wedding,
Uncle?”
He stuttered. “It was… It was your ex-husband, Nadia.
That’s why we had to conciliate. We can’t send your son’s
father to jail.”
I looked at my uncle, speechless with rage. Who ever said
that I had a level of dignity that would stop me imprisoning
the father of my son? Who decided that for me? Why did I
feel such a strong urge to see him behind bars, begging? Yes,
maybe I felt as though this was my chance to get payback for
all those years of suffering.
I couldn’t believe he was getting married for the third
time, or that he had taken his son to see him being honored
as the groom. I couldn’t believe that, after all these years, he
was still searching for himself through the false masculinity
he had threatened me with during our marriage. That
masculinity had been summed up in a series of humiliations
and quarrels that had ended up being expressed in physical

75
violence every time; to the extent that I used to have to cover
the bruises with make-up every day.
One time he had nearly ended my life when he wrapped
his hands around my throat and almost strangled me to death.
My screams – “I can’t breathe, let me go” – had begun to
fade, but still he hadn’t let go. I remember falling to the
ground, unaware of anything going on around me.
Another time I had been forced to call for the maid to
rescue me from his brutality. I hadn’t been able to stand up
for myself any longer. I remember feeling so humiliated. His
violent behavior forced me to reject a reality imposed upon
me in the form of blind love. No dignity should be wiped
away and no freedom should be stolen under the guise of
love! So I had filed for a divorce and hadn’t felt even a flicker
of jealousy when he married the second time. I felt only pity
for his third wife.
I put Waleed in the car and let him sleep for a while as we
drove home. I allowed my mind to indulge in an impulsive
flow of flashbacks relating to love and marriage and disputes.
My life, with its series of nightmarish fluctuations, had
been a real roller coaster. It had pushed me upwards to
dizzying heights only to throw me headlong into
unfathomable depths. In such a world, everything but me and
my son had ceased to exist.
Everything else had faded away and I had always stood
tall. No customs or laws or tribes could define me. I was free!
I had been free for eight years and I always would be.
I picked up my phone and called the police. “I want to
report a shooting at a wedding.”

76
 I couldn’t explain why I felt such a surge of happiness
when I hung up the phone, having given the police all the
details. I was just happy; I didn’t dwell on the reasons. I
didn’t want to lose the bliss of the moment, so I reached my
hand towards the CD player and listened to my usual driving
companion, Adele.
While she was singing, I realized that my revolution hadn’t
just been empty words. It was a living reality I had created the
moment I became a single mother. All I had in the world was
my beloved son, who was lying across the back seat. I glanced
at him in the rear-view mirror to wash away any doubt. My
love for him was greater than any tribe or law.
“With your loving
There ain’t nothing
That I can’t adore
The way I’m running with you honey
Means we can break every law
I find it funny that you’re the only
One I never looked for
There is something in your loving
That tears down my walls”

77
 10
Hello
f

Marrakesh, Morocco
Malika’s words still rang out in my head.
“Take me to Moulay Brahim,” she had said when I met
her the morning after we parted from our night walk. We
were already on our way to the Atlas Mountains when she
presented her request.
Before we left, she had asked me to pay her mother for
more than one night so we could spend more time together.
It had confused me that she wanted to spend the whole time
with me when she could have divided her time between
clients to earn more money. I couldn’t understand why, but I
hadn’t spent too long thinking about it. Instead, I paid Kanza
thirteen hundred dirhams for three nights.
“I’ll take Malika for three nights,” I said. “Here’s the
money.”
“Why would you take Malika for more than one night
when you could have other women and enjoy new
experiences?” Kanza replied, her eyes fixed on mine.
I answered her in a gentle tone. “Malika is enough for
me.”
“Malika told me your name is Elias.”
“Yes.”
“Okay then, Elias. If you got bored with Malika, I can
provide you with someone new.”

78
 “Yes, all right. I’ll come to you if I want someone else.”
As I drove the rental car to Moulay Brahim over the
unpaved road, Malika had let the wind blow through her hair.
“At Moulay Brahim every dream comes true,” she said,
her voice impeded by the wind.
“What do you mean?”
She moved closer and said: “Moulay Brahim gives
everyone who walks on his land his blessings. So whoever
dreams about getting married will, and whoever wishes to get
pregnant will, even if she’s sterile. And the sick will be
healed.”
That hadn’t sounded bizarre to me, because in countless
villages across Morocco shrines had been established to
honor such righteous forefathers. These shrines were a
comfort for many shattered souls in this exhausting life.
Through the ages, the hopeless had sought these tombs
and found satisfaction and comfort in whatever blessings the
dead saints had conferred upon them. People had always
believed the death of a saint was a blessing that would grant
them long life!
Paradoxes can be found everywhere in my home country.
From east to west, among every family and tribe,
superstitions dominate, regardless of the age of the shrine’s
visitors.
Malika had been full of life that day. She had looked like a
young child enjoying an old swing on a sunny day. She had
brought a smile to my face whenever I looked at her. I hadn’t
been able to work out why she had such an uplifting effect on

79
me, but I was well aware that she was beautiful. Her spirit was
radiant and delightful, and it equaled her stunning looks.
“This is Moulay Brahim,” she said as we drew closer.
Standing just outside the Tamazight village at the summit
of the mountain, I had felt the rumors in the air. From the
first glance at this village, a sense of mystery, simplicity and
religiosity captivated all visitors. The crowds, who came from
all around, were quite remarkable. They stood in line waiting
for their turn to offer gifts and donations on that shrine of
Moulay Brahim, a well-known Moroccan Sufi, eager for
blessings that would help solve their complicated dilemmas
and help them realize their seemingly unattainable dreams.
When the visit to the graves came to an end, the pleasure
market would begin. This market paralleled a larger market;
the black magic market. At Moulay Brahim’s shrine, the more
money you paid, the more likely it was that the dilemma
would be resolved; either through a customized talisman or
through the services a girl to fulfill a man’s desire. The land
was similar to El-Fnaa Square around the Koutoubia Mosque,
and perhaps to everywhere else. Wherever there were pious
people worshipping the deity there were hidden sins
committed in the shade of night. Desire envelops the human
soul, and despite our attempts to fight it, it soils the purity of
the entire universe.
This was why Malika and so many others could be found
in the back alleys of El-Fnaa Square selling themselves for
other people’s ‘pleasure’. Cheap motels were also scattered
around the land of Moulay Brahim; where procuring a girl
came at a price, as did receiving a blessing.

80
 Why did we look for blessings in stony chambers and
among the dead when the sky, in its great breadth, had been
presented to us and its God was listening to our most fervent
prayers?
I had looked for an answer to this question throughout the
village, but it was Malika who led me to the truth when she
held my hand and said to me: “I’m done with my visit to the
shrine. Aren’t you going to ask for any blessings?”
“I already did.” I smiled and looked up at the sky.
We had been walking along the narrow roads of the
village, which were bursting with traditional rituals, when a
woman called out to us: “Here you will both know love, and
you will also lose it. But maybe life will bring you together
again.”
Malika approached her and asked, “Will I ever leave?”
“You will leave, and you will come back, but you won’t
settle in one place.”
“I don’t believe you,” Malika said angrily.
She had taken my hand again, leading me on the rest of
the tour between the alleys, which she knew like the back of
her hand. Then she said, “Let’s take this road.”
We got back in the car and drove between the mountains.
When we arrived she almost jumped out of her seat. “Here!
Stop here!”
I had stopped the engine and stepped out next to a very
old, simple motel built of clay. Its rooms comprised ground-
level living rooms and double beds. The moment we walked
into our room, Malika opened the balcony door so the sun

81
that embraced the Atlas Mountains could also grace us with
its presence.
“This is one of the few motels in Moulay Brahim that
doesn’t sell pleasure,” she said.
“Why did you pick it, then?”
“Because I don’t feel as though I’m being sold tonight,
although I know you paid for my company.”
I drew a little closer to her, running my fingers down her
soft neck and then her sun-kissed face. She took a deep
breath in response to my touch.
“Yes, tonight you won’t be sold like all the other nights,
Malika.”
I wanted to hug her and throw her onto the worn-out bed,
but there was an incomprehensible mystery about Malika that
stopped me every time the thought crossed my mind. Was it
the blessing of Moulay Brahim, as she had said? What had she
asked for at that shrine that would have prevented me from
kissing her, even though I had paid a significant price to
spend the night with her?
Her voice blocked the flow of my thoughts. “Have you
ever seen my father in the square?”
“Which one is your father?”
“He’s one of the shattah you saw in the circle the other
day.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” She had paused. “I agreed to sell myself so he
could quit his embarrassing job, but it didn’t work.”

82
 “Do you hate what he does?”
“I just wish he wasn’t a shattah. People treat him like he’s
less of a man, despite his obvious masculinity.”
“Do you think masculinity is measured by the job a man
does?” I asked.
“I don’t care how it’s measured. It would just be nice to
see people respect my father.”
“Is your job any more respectable, Malika?” I threw out
the question without realizing it might hurt her.
“And when you paid to have me tonight, was that an act
of respect?” she replied promptly, her gaze piercing into my
soul.
She hadn’t given me time to reply. “I’m working to save
up the money I need to pursue an education and get a good
job so I can leave this place: the market, the alleys and even
El-Fnaa Square. I’ll never come back to the place where
anything and everything can be sold, including my body.”
“Where will you go?”
“I don’t know… Europe perhaps. Or maybe I’ll stay here
and get a decent job that guarantees me a solid future. I don’t
want to be a pimp like my mom or a dancer like my dad.”
She had reflected for a moment, sighed and then
continued. “I want to see the other side of Morocco, away
from our ancient neighborhoods. I want to see it from a
broader perspective that transcends its borders; to go beyond
the myopic internal perspective.”
“Would you really travel if you had the chance?”

83
 She had become excited when I asked this question. “Yes
of course. If I ever can I will.”
“And what will you do there?”
“I’ll find a job that gives me a fresh start in life.”
“And what if you can’t find anything?”
“Who says I won’t? I’ll find everything there. I’ll find life
and love.”
“Love?”
“Yes, love! I’ll find love. Maybe I’ll encounter it at work,
or on a sidewalk, or even on a bus. I’ll love him and he’ll love
me and then we’ll get married,” she said as she looked out at
the view from the balcony.
She had been certain that, if she left, everything she had
dreamed of would be fulfilled.
I smiled and said, “Would you like to have kids when you
find a husband?”
“Definitely. I’ll start a family and maybe have four kids:
two boys and two girls.”
I had seen the blooming season of spring on her face.
That night, Malika hadn’t been a prostitute who gave away
her body to whoever paid for it, but a girl who didn’t perceive
her job as shameful. She saw it as the only way to secure a
future for herself and her children.
Unlike her parents, who had surrendered to a reality she
had rejected, she was working to change her situation; even if
she had taken the wrong approach. She hadn’t despaired and
wasn’t simply binding her future to a man and a house.
Although marriage was one of her future plans, she wanted to

84
love and live her life before she got married. She even wanted
to build a future for her kids so they wouldn’t end up in one
of those ancient alleys.
If you had heard her speak at that moment, you would
have heard the sound of life coming out through her words,
and you would have felt the passion she exuded. The future
was so bright before her eyes, as if she had never spent any
time in El-Fnaa Square.
“You know what? I came here with one of my clients
once, and I didn’t know then about the blessings of Moulay
Brahim. A lady at the motel told me all about them. I rushed
straight out of the room while the client was asleep so I could
obtain these blessings. Since then, I’ve been coming here as
often as I can.”
“Do your parents know about this?”
“It doesn’t matter to them as long as there’s a client who
pays. I ask the clients to come here when they don’t have a
place we can go to.”
I wondered at the time why Malika asked for blessings in a
place where sin was committed. Didn’t she know that sin and
blessing don’t mix? How could a combination of love and
happiness fulfill her dreams when her life was so heavily
burdened with insurmountable difficulties? The way she
revealed her feelings in such a simple yet detailed way had
been hard for me to fathom. It was harder still to understand
the motivating force behind her lengthy chatter. She
elaborated on her dreams to such an extent that I could
visualize them all as if they were drawn out in front of me; as
though they were her present rather than her future.

85
 “Has it ever crossed your mind that you might not be able
to travel?” I asked.
“Yes… maybe I won’t be able to, but until then I’ll spend
my time looking for a decent job.”
“Will you stay in Marrakesh?”
“No, I’ll go to Casablanca or Rabat.”
“Really? Why those two cities?”
“Because they’re the capital cities. Rabat is our capital city
and Casablanca is the economic capital, so there must be a
job for me there.”
I had found it surprising that a girl like Malika was aware
of the economic benefits of these two cities, but she seemed
to have it all planned out.
She had been genuinely looking for a future away from her
ancient neighborhood and its traditions. She had been
looking for a path that would grant her a fresh start;
something different from anything she knew.
She responded instantly when I asked her: “Do you think
you could travel to Europe?”
“Maybe yes, maybe no, but as long as I try I’ll find a way.”
“Why Europe? Why haven’t you thought about other
places, like Canada or America or the Middle East?”
She had spoken fast, filled with pure excitement. “I don’t
know. Once I watched a movie set in Austria. It was about a
young couple who met at a railway station and spent a long
day together. At sunset they exchanged promises to meet
again at the same spot on the same date the following year.”

86
 She had paused and smiled with joy as she turned her face
toward me, daydreaming about all the possibilities a
European country could offer her.
Then she said: “Love and madness can be found together
in Austria!”
“Are you talking about Before Sunrise?” I asked, still gazing
at her shining face in the setting sun.
She jumped up enthusiastically. “Wait, what did you say?
Say that again!”
I stared at her. “What do you mean?”
She held my hand passionately, dragging me over to the
chair on the balcony. Then she sat in front of me. “Repeat
what you just said. Is it the name of the movie in English? Do
you speak English? Aren’t you Moroccan? Are you educated?
Repeat what you said!”
She fired these questions at me without even giving me
time to answer. I was so surprised that it took me some time
to respond. “Yes, I’m Moroccan, but I live in Italy. I only
came here for a visit.”
She jumped again and then remained quiet for some time
as she floated around the room like a butterfly.
Then she said, “Oh, Rome!”
She had come closer and dragged me towards her again.
“Tell me about Rome. What’s it like? How did you learn
English? Do they speak English there? Or do they only speak
Italian? How can I learn it?”

87
 She paused for breath. “Wait… Tell me the name of the
movie again. In English, please. I tried so hard to memorize
it, but it was difficult for me.”
As soon as my lips started to move, she put her fingers
over them and said, “Wait, I’ll try. Bafor sanreez…”
I smiled on hearing her pronounce it like a baby learning
its first words.
“No, repeat after me: be…”
“Beee…”
“For…”
“Fooor”
I adjusted my posture. “Before.”
“Beefooor.”
“Good.”
“Good,” she repeated after me.
We had laughed hard and she had thrown herself into my
arms. “Keep going… Beeeefooor”
“Sun,” I said.
“Saaan.”
I shook my head as she sat on my lap. “No! Say sun.”
“Saan.”
“No, sun.”
“Sun.”
“Yes! Sun rise.”
“San reiz.”

88
 “No. Sun rise.”
“Ss..sun rrr…rise.”
I clapped my hands and kissed her on the cheek. She
hugged me tight and repeated, while looking directly into my
eyes, “Beeefooor sssun rrise.”
“Great job, Malika. You said it exactly right.”
She stood up and started dancing around the room,
chanting, “I will learn English, I will learn English.”
“You will, don’t worry.”
“Yes I will! And then I’ll leave.”
“You will learn it and leave, my love.”
I had paused, staring at her as she stood there looking
absent-minded. Perhaps she had been imagining herself
speaking English in a European country.
Then I asked: “But if you did travel, what do you think
you would find there?”
“Security. Just like right now.”
As she uttered these words, she was blissfully unaware of
how mesmerized I was by the sensuous curves of her lips. I
had longed for them.
She was unaware that beneath the apparent calm of my
fixed gaze lay the flames of desire that consumed my heart.
She had certainly been deluded by the sense of security she
felt in my presence.
Malika had no idea that the thought of sleeping with her in
front of those Atlas Mountains had pervaded my mind every
single moment she stood in front of me. Yet that sense of

89
security she had felt built a protective shield around her that
kept me at a distance and prevented me from placing my
hands anywhere but around her slim waist.
Despite her profession, she obviously had a rather
innocent view of men, failing to realize that a man was simply
a vessel of burning desire; unlike her, who believed love was a
moment of security that transcended her shamelessly sold
body, which was inevitably hidden behind a sloppy dress.
She probably thought I hadn’t touched her out of decency,
but she had no idea that the reason was entirely different. I
hadn’t even understood it myself. How innocent she had
been to misread my intentions and fail to realize that all I had
hoped for was to ravish her body, to discover and to dwell on
every inch of it just as I had explored every inch of Moulay
Brahim that day.
She had repeatedly failed to read the thinly disguised
feelings displayed on my face. Unlike her, I had read her
bright, glowing eyes clearly as she drew closer and kissed me.
The sunset was fading and dusk had begun to set in.
Her kiss was full of respect and innocence rather than
enthusiasm or desire. I felt myself sinking in a vast ocean of
darkness, my desire defeated by her spontaneity. My mind
had been left in a continual torment that day: had I fallen in
love with Malika?
My phone rang, recalling me to the present. It was
Veronica. “Elias, how are you?”
“Good, and you?”
“Good. Alberto asked me to pass on a message. You have
a business meeting in Milan next week.”

90
 “Did he tell you which day?”
“No, he didn’t. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“Okay, I’ve got to go now. The metro just arrived.”
“Okay, bye.”
“Bye.”
I hung up and put the phone down on the table next to
me. The melody of flutes announced the awakening of the
square after a short nap. As soon as I walked towards the
door and opened it, I saw her standing there.
“Kanza!”
The second I spoke her name, I saw her torment and
thought back over the previous eight years. I saw in my mind
that Malika’s dreams had been crushed by her mother. Malika
still lingered in my memory like a butterfly that had fallen,
defeated, in the burning glow of my memories of Kanza.
Had Malika fulfilled her dreams? Had she found love and
life? Had she got married and had four children, as she had
wished? Had she learnt English before she left? Had she
taken the first step of her long, ambitious journey by leaving
Marrakesh?
I didn’t look for any answers in Kanza’s face. Instead, I
listened carefully as one of the hotel’s residents walked down
the hallway outside my room, singing Adele’s ‘Hello’, with his
arm around his girlfriend:
“I hope that you’re well
Did you ever make it out of that town
where nothing ever happened?
It’s no secret that the both of us
are running out of time”

91
 11
Tired
f

Las Vegas, USA

Although the operation hadn’t been critical, the patient’s
family wouldn’t stop shedding tears. Bitter cries like these
were a familiar aspect of my career. It acted as an added
motivation to finish all my operations successfully.
I came out of the operating room and assured them that
their son was doing better.
Gilbert grabbed my arm as we left the surgery department.
“Let’s go have coffee. I’m exhausted and it looks like you
have a lot to tell me.”
Gilbert could always read my face without me saying a
word. Although he had been against my marriage, he had
always tried to find middle ground between me and Mariam;
hoping to help us work our problems out.
He sat down on the bench as I carried the coffee over.
“You look really exhausted,” I said.
He sipped his coffee before answering. “Yes, I’m very
tired.”
“Sounds like your Vegas night was a long one,” I said.
He smiled. “It’s the casinos. I won some money last night,
so when I felt a bit of luck coming my way I played a few
more rounds and then I lost it all again.”
“Can’t you just stop, Gilbert? You lose your money the
same way every weekend!”

92
 He laughed. “I only lose what I gain. What’s the problem
with that?”
“But…” I began.
He interrupted me. “Tell me what’s up with you. You’re
obviously tired yourself.”
“I didn’t sleep well last night,” I said in a tired voice.
“That’s clear to see, but why not?”
“Oh, the usual…”
“Mariam?” Gilbert asked.
“Yes, Mariam.”
“You and Mariam still push and pull like you’re on the
battlefield! Aren’t you both sick of these constant
arguments?”
“What can I do, Gilbert?”
“You two have to figure something out! It’s wearing you
out.”
“Actually…” I began, but then fell silent.
“Actually what?” Gilbert exclaimed. “Tell me!”
“Nothing, forget it.”
I was very hesitant. I didn’t know if I should tell Gilbert
about Dr. Brown. I hadn’t told anybody about it out of
respect for Mariam’s feelings. She didn’t want anyone to
know, but I felt so stressed by everything that was going on
around me. Maybe I needed to talk about it.
“I’ll tell you, but you have to promise me you won’t tell
anybody else.”

93
 “Of course, you have my word.”
“Especially Mariam.”
“That’s a given, Yaser. I won’t tell anyone, don’t worry
about it.”
“Mariam and I are seeing a marriage counselor,” I
whispered.
Gilbert stared at me for some time and then burst out
laughing.
“What’s funny about that?” I hissed, feeling irritated.
“Is this the secret you’ve been hiding?”
“Of course! Mariam chose a counselor in Los Angeles so
no one would ever find out.”
“What? L.A.? Are you both crazy?” Gilbert yelled in
surprise.
“Keep your voice down! What’s wrong with you?”
He drew closer to me and whispered, “Okay, I’ll keep it
down, but are you guys crazy?”
“It was her choice.”
“Oh my God! And you wonder why I live my life in the
dark shadows of Vegas!”
I remained silent as I watched Gilbert sip his coffee
slowly. I didn’t know why I was staring at him; I had always
wanted to live his life. Gilbert had a wild life, full of
adventures among the casinos and bars and women of Vegas.
He didn’t believe in anything but pleasure. He always used to
tell me, “My friend, Vegas is the city of pleasure, not sin; and
anyway, sin is nothing but pleasure!”

94
 Maybe he was right. Sin wasn’t a mistake; it was more of a
treat to oneself. Once tasted, it became an inextricable habit.
So Vegas was the City of Pleasure, as Gilbert called it.
Oh how I wished to live out all the types of pleasure that
were prohibited by Mariam’s strict moral code. In Mariam’s
system of morality, everything was bound by restraint: love,
silence and even anger! In her system, I had to pray even
though I was an atheist. I had to fast even though I didn’t
believe in the month of Ramadan, and I had to go on
pilgrimage to Kaaba even though it was only a piece of rock
to me and not a holy land.
Under her commandments, whatever I wanted was
forbidden and whatever I hated was permitted. I had to
become the Yaser she wanted, not who I really was. Having
lived her way, I had come to realize that I didn’t actually want
the faith I had wished for when I met her, neither did I need
to follow these religious ideals to build the ideal family. All I
needed was to be myself, with my own perspectives and my
objections and even my blasphemy.
I didn’t like hiding my real being under the cloak of her
wishes in order to conceal from her the horrible fact that she
was living with an infidel. This would be sufficient cause for a
separation and for her to claim custody of the children.
Therefore, I had no choice but to live according to Mariam’s
rules.
“Hey, Yaser, why are you so absent-minded today? What’s
going on? Tell me.”
I pulled the envelope that contained the tickets out of my
pocket and gave it to him. Isabelle was calling me, so I
snapped up my phone quickly.

95
 “I’ll be right back, Gilbert. I have to take this call.”
I got up instantly but didn’t answer the phone. Instead, I
declined the call and texted her: “Don’t call me when I’m at
the hospital… I’ll call you later.”
I glanced indirectly at the people around me as I typed the
message, worried that someone would notice my strange
behavior and anxiety. But if I wanted to be cautious, what
was Isabelle still doing in my life? Why hadn’t I thought
about breaking up this superficial relationship that brought us
together only through phone calls? I had still never met
Isabelle in person. All we had in common were the whispers
and deep, erotic breaths. Was my relationship with Isabelle
worthy of all this unease in the hospital cafeteria?
I went and sat back down with Gilbert.
“Two tickets to an Adele concert? Unbelievable! What a
surprise! Mariam must have been really amazed. You’re crazy,
man!”
“Yeah, she was so surprised she refused to go to the
concert.”
“What? Refused? No way! Is she insane?” Gilbert yelled in
astonishment.
“I’m the insane one, according to her. The kids can’t stay
on their own, apparently.”
“That’s nonsense! Why would they stay alone? Mariam’s
parents can come over and take care of them like they always
do. What’s the difference this time?”
“She doesn’t want to leave them behind. She only leaves
them when we’re going on a short trip; never when we go
abroad. She’d prefer to take them with us.”

96
 “But it’s Adele! Doesn’t Mariam know it’s the first time
she’s gone on tour since 2011?”
“She doesn’t really care. So there you go. You can have the
tickets and take whoever you want. Enjoy it,” I said.
“Why would I go with someone else?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that if Mariam doesn’t want to go, we should go
together!” He high-fived me and cheered. “We’ll have a blast
in Italy!”
I smiled as I thought about it. How great would it be to go
away without Mariam for once? How great would it be to fly
away from all the weights that burdened me: my patients, my
work, my problems, and even Dr. Brown? What a great idea!
If Mariam didn’t want to go, why couldn’t I? She could stay
and take care of the kids if she wanted to, but I had no reason
to miss out on the opportunity.
“But what would I tell Mariam?”
“Umm, I don’t know. But you paid for the tickets and you
have every right to enjoy what you paid for!”
“Yeah, but…”
“But what, Yaser?”
“It’s our anniversary gift. How can I use it for our
enjoyment?”
“She’s the one who said no,” Gilbert remarked.
“But she said no because of the kids.”

97
 “Don’t blame Mariam for acting the way she does when
you allow her this unrestrained reign, my friend,” Gilbert said
as he stood up.
Allow her unrestrained reign? Was I that submissive to
Mariam and her wishes that I would do anything to please
her? Did all my attempts to avoid quarrels with her lead to
her taking control?
All of our friends envied our little family when they saw
the happy photos of us smiling and hugging all over social
media. Especially on Instagram, where they got a closer look
into our lives, seeing us sitting around the dinner table during
Eid or on our way to the mosque for Friday prayers.
They would comment on them, wishing us a blessed
Friday and for our prayers to be answered, not knowing that I
would accompany Mariam to the ladies’ section of the
mosque and wait for her outside until she was finished. When
she asked me how the prayers had gone, I always answered,
“It was great!” How fake was our existence?
Yes, I needed to start enjoying my life. I didn’t have to
cheat on Mariam and spend my nights the way Gilbert did,
but at least I could enjoy a concert I had already booked.
“Yes, you’re right, Gilbert. I’ll think about it,” I murmured
to myself. I didn’t know why I couldn’t make a final decision.
I picked up my phone and researched the concert. I
shuffled between my favorite songs and then I realized. It
was time to give myself a break away from Mariam. I needed
some peace. Adele’s voice floated into the air around me, the
words of ‘Tired’ echoing in my soul:
“I’m tired of trying
Your teasing ain’t enough
Fed up of biding your time
When I don’t get nothing back
And for what”

98
 12
Send My Love
To Your New Lover
f

Amman, Jordan
Four days after Waleed’s accident my phone rang. It was his
father shouting, “Did you report me, Nadia?”
I replied coldly: “Aren’t you supposed to be in prison
now? Why are you calling me?”
“How could you do that? Have you lost your mind? How
could you ruin my wedding?” he continued, shouting loudly.
“I didn’t ruin anything. I just did what should have been
done in a situation like this.”
“Situation? What situation, Nadia? Is it that hard for you
to forget me? Was it that painful for you to see me get
married again? Do you still love me or something?”
“I can’t forget you. That’s why I chose to help the poor
woman who was set to become your third wife so she
wouldn’t have to go through the same misery!”
“Really?”
“Listen to me carefully. I never thought of hurting you or
any one in your family, in spite of the harm you caused me;
not because I’m afraid or being a coward, but out of human
decency. But you should know that you can approach a lion’s
den with ease, but if you venture too near its cubs the
ferocious lioness will devour you! Do you understand?”

99
 He laughed all of a sudden. “As if he’s your son alone.
Don’t forget that he carries my name!”
“Yes he carries your name, but he carries my heart within
him.” I paused for a moment and then hissed sharply at him:
“Don’t you dare hurt my son again, do you understand?”
“Are you threatening me?” he giggled. “It seems even the
men can’t control you any more, Nadia! You ignored the
decision of the tribe. Anyhow, the matter’s over and done
with. Did you really think your silly report would stop my
marriage?”
“I don’t care about obstructing your marriage! I only care
about my son’s rights.”
“And did you obtain those by giving that report?”
“Yes I did. I realized that when I heard the fear in your
voice. If you ever allow any harm to come to my son again
you’ll be sorry!”
As I hung up the doorbell rang. My uncles were at the
door, their faces full of rage.
“What were you thinking when you did that?” my eldest
uncle began.
“Come inside, Uncle. What have I done?”
“You reported the shooting to the police after we had
reconciled with their tribe. Don’t you have any respect for
your elders and their decisions, Nadia? Don’t you care what
they’ll say about us?”
“With all due respect, Uncle, not when my son’s life is on
the line.”

100
 I looked silently at my uncles, who believed they had the
right to make decisions on behalf of all the women in the
family just because they were men.
They hadn’t realized that a woman who, unaided by any of
her uncles, had drifted from court to court defending her and
her son’s rights, would not allow them to have any control
over her life. They had failed to realize that I wasn’t like any
other woman in the family. I wouldn’t turn a blind eye when
my son had been shot because my ex-husband’s cousins had
decided to congratulate him by using their weapons
recklessly, causing my son to pay the price. They didn’t have
the right to make decisions for me just because they were the
elders and because they were men!
My uncles obviously hadn’t realized that a woman who
had defied all domination and communal traditions to gain
her freedom would pay no attention to whatever gossip might
pass people’s lips, nor would she fear the indignation she
might arouse in people’s hearts.
I wondered how, when I had been tasting the bliss of
freedom for eight years, they had still not understood that
their condescending attitude towards me on account of me
being divorced meant nothing to me, and that after almost a
decade of freedom, communal views and traditions were the
last things on my mind. Even when one of my lifelong
friends had decided to end the friendship on account of me
being divorced, I hadn’t regretted it for a single moment. I
had later discovered that her decision was based on a fear that
I might snatch her husband away. I had simply left her as
prey to her own thoughts.
Didn’t my uncles understand that there had been no
authority but my own over me since I had broken free?

101
Maybe they would come to understand it better now than at
any other time.
“Well, fortunately we managed to interfere in the matter
through our respectable connections. Your ex-husband has
been released, and…”
I interrupted my uncle as I served the tea. “You resolved
the matter and released him through your connections? Isn’t
it a bit strange, dear Uncle, that you’re seeking a resolution
when the casualty is one of your own?”
My uncle replied angrily. “You lost us all our rights
through your foolish behavior. Of course we had to resolve
it. The tribal conciliation can’t be overridden by a woman!”
“A woman who faced her and her son’s lawsuits for eight
years by herself! Where was the tribe back then? Or is a
woman only considered a woman when it serves your
interests?”
My uncle was unable to control his nerves any longer. He
stood up and walked towards the door. “It’s impossible to
converse with you. This was my mistake. That’s what
happens when you try to argue with a woman!”
He left and the others followed suit. I didn’t care about his
reprimands. I shut the door and lay on the couch. I switched
on the TV, looking for something to watch in order to forget
what had just happened, but my preoccupied mind was more
captivating than any TV show.
My phone rang and an unknown number appeared on the
screen. I hesitated, trying to decide whether to answer or not.
I wasn’t in the mood to listen to some salesperson offering

102
me a dishwasher or medical insurance or whatever their
company was selling.
It kept ringing, so I decided to answer. “Hello?”
“Hello. Is that Nadia?”
“Yes, who’s this?”
“It’s Reema.”
Reema was my ex-husband’s second wife. What was the
matter? Was she also calling about the report? What sort of
vicious cycle had I got myself into?
“Yes Reema, what is it?” I said coldly.
“Actually…” she stuttered, “I don’t know why I’m calling
you. I got your number from my husband’s phone behind his
back, so please don’t tell him I called you!”
“Okay…”
“I just called to say thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Reema, but for what?”
She remained silent for a moment and then said, in a
brittle tone, “For everything.”
She hung up, leaving me totally confused. That short call
had triggered so many thoughts in my mind. I looked out of
the window onto the street at the people who were carrying
countless untold stories inside them. There was an absent-
minded man, a girl passionately listening to music, and
another man arguing with his wife beside their car while his
children sat on the back seat staring out of the windows
indifferently.

103
 Despite all this, Reema’s voice echoed in my mind and I
felt pity for her. She was grateful to me for a decision I had
made that she also needed to make. She was thanking me
even though I had done her no personal favors. Yet the
victorious tone behind her sad voice was suffocated by her
intention to seek vengeance for the abysmal mistreatment she
had suffered at the hands of her husband; my ex-husband.
Unable to avenge her own injuries, the vengeance I enacted
had extinguished her anger.
Had I really reported him to the police out of vengeance?
Was that why I felt so elated when I finished that phone call
to the police? Did the ultimate freedom imply a legitimization
of everything? For the sake of freedom I had retaliated and
sought revenge. There were no boundaries or authorities;
whoever had the ultimate freedom imposed his or her own
authority. Ultimate freedom is a flowing river; its banks
sustaining its people with glory and power. It compels them
to extremely reckless actions with rapture, solely to please
their deep, insatiable desires.
It was freedom that had driven the tribe to control its
people with their judgments, and freedom had also been
behind my decision to report my ex-husband on his wedding
night. On the contrary, Reema’s freedom had been to obtain
my phone number behind her husband’s back and to ask me
not to tell him. But I knew that Reema wasn’t really free, even
if she had only obeyed her husband until now for the sake of
love.
I put an end to these thoughts. Nothing mattered now.
Why should I dwell on the past? In the same way I had
decided to be free, Reema and her husband and everyone
around her could have the same freedom if they wanted it.

104
 He had the freedom to take a third wife, and the freedom
to love or hate Reema, and she had the freedom to seek
revenge. What did I have to do with all of that? I only cared
about myself and my son.
The words of Adele’s ‘Send My Love to Your New Lover’
popped into my head:
“I’m giving you up
I’ve forgiven it all
You set me free
Send my love to your new lover
Treat her better
We’ve gotta let go of all of our ghosts
We both know we ain’t kids no more”

105
 13
Cold Shoulder
f

Marrakesh, Morocco
“Kanza! What are you doing here?”
Kanza didn’t give me the chance to ask any further
questions. She barged her way in and shut the door. “Did you
break the spell?”
“Did you really come here to ask me that?”
“No, I came to tell you that you won’t find Malika, no
matter how hard you try.”
“But I didn’t come here looking for Malika.”
“Why did you come, then?” she asked, her face suddenly
brightening up.
“I didn’t come for any reason. I just felt nostalgic for
Marrakesh.”
“And have you fulfilled your nostalgia without visiting its
alleys?”
“Its alleys don’t quench my thirst any more,” I explained.
“How could your thirst be quenched away from the
alleys?” she asked, leaning in closer.
I backed away from her. “Because it’s a thirst for
memories, not lust!”
Her hands were shivering as she pulled a cigarette from
the pocket of her gypsy dress. “How long are you planning to

106
quench your thirst with memories when the present is right
here in your hands, my dear Elias?”
“As long as Malika remains in my memory.”
“But she’s gone.”
“I still hear her voice in my head.”
“What about me?” Kanza whispered in despair, drawing
closer to me once again. “Me, Elias,” she said, taking short,
sharp breaths and wrapping her arms around my back like a
slithering snake, ready to bite. “Don’t I get a chance to
quench your thirst?”
“Who told you I’m feeling thirsty?”
“No one can resist the heat of the red city: Marrakesh.”
“But I no longer feel its heat.”
She drew closer and closer, but I kept my cold demeanor
despite her soft touches, which I felt beneath my skin. “How
is that possible when you’re wandering through its land?”
“I wander it exploring, not craving after lust, Kanza.”
“While I wander it craving a buried desire, Elias.”
As soon as she ran her fingers through my hair, I grabbed
her wrist firmly and pushed it away. “You wander it craving
another man while your husband wanders it dancing to meet
your needs.”
“Who told you he’s a husband? Or that he’s even a man?”
she yelled.
“How dare you say that about the man who’s spent his life
hanging around in those circles to meet your daily demands?”

107
 She lit another cigarette and puffed away at it in a failed
attempt to cover her agony. “How can I respect his
masculinity when he wraps a shimmering scarf around his
waist and covers his face with a veil? Do you really think he
can satisfy me when I’ve seen him that way?”
She put out her cigarette abruptly and approached me
again, running her fingers across my lips. “Only you can
satisfy me… but…”
“But what?”
“But you preferred to satisfy Malika’s desires over mine.”
She disgusted me and I pushed her hand away. “I loved
Malika!”
“I wanted you to love me, not her. I sold her to you so she
would fulfill your desire, not capture your heart.”
“But she did fill the void in my heart, Kanza.”
She came over to me, shivering. “I can fulfill your heart
and your desires at the same time, Elias. Don’t push me
away.”
She embraced me passionately and allowed her dry lips to
touch mine.
I pushed her away and shouted: “Stop it!”
She was taken aback for a second, but then she fixed her
sharp, lustful eyes on mine. She pushed me backwards until
my body hit the wall, and then whispered, “Why do you want
me to stop? What does Malika have that I don’t? What has
Malika offered you other than her consumed body? What did
she ever give you that I can’t? Tell me, you devoted lover.”
“She granted me a blessing amid a swamp of sin.”

108
 “What do you mean?” she asked, looking surprised.
“I never touched Malika, Kanza!”
“What are you saying?” Her jaw dropped and her mouth
hung open like a cave, abandoned by words.
“I didn’t touch her, but I loved her.”
Kanza fell onto the old, copper bed. She hid her face with
her arms and wept. I wasn’t mad; I pitied her. In her misery,
there was a bleeding wound craving the masculinity that had
been ripped away by the dancing circles and the shattah of
El-Fnaa square. She carried the pain of a mother who had
sold her daughter as a prostitute to provide for herself and to
occupy her lonely nights. I made no attempt to console her.
I hadn’t noticed that Adele was playing on my laptop the
whole time we had been talking, but when last song, ‘Cold
Shoulder’, started, her voice was clear and loud in my head:
“You grace me with your cold shoulder
Whenever you look at me I wish I was her
You shower me with words made of knives
Whenever you look at me I wish I was her”

109
 14
Lay Me Down
f

Las Vegas, USA

I had been collecting up the scattered papers in my home
office, which filled the desk in front of me, so that Mariam
wouldn’t mess them up. I stared at my laptop for a while,
trying to decide whether to take the trip with Gilbert. It was
supposed to be my gift to Mariam. How could I go without
her now? I was caught between the idea of travelling and
staying put.
My life with Mariam had become monotonous.
Nonetheless, I still remembered our honeymoon to the
Caribbean islands. Mariam had danced for me, although she
didn’t really know how to dance, and I had carried her onto
the beach, sneaking a few kisses, which had transported us to
another world, wrapped up in the sunset.
These memories had awakened possibilities in me. I had
thought that being in Italy might have given me the chance to
hold Mariam in my arms like that again. But did I really want
to hold her and embrace her? Did my heart still harbor those
feelings for her? If it did, why were we still visiting Dr.
Brown?
Every day I asked myself these questions and looked for
the answers.
I was once told that marriage is the deathbed of love.
That’s why most of my friends didn’t get married but had
experienced love, even if they were having multiple affairs. I,
on the other hand, was devoted to one woman but still

110
couldn’t find love. Apparently, love had become a transient
feeling, experienced during moments of ecstasy. It had been
reimagined to fit the relentless pace of our time.
Mariam interrupted my thoughts as she walked into the
room to tell me her parents were coming to stay for the
weekend.
“Really? That’s good.”
It seemed as though circumstances were boosting my
chances of going to the concert. Her parents’ visit would
allow me to travel without Mariam suspecting anything.
Should I call Gilbert and tell him I would go with him?
Mariam disrupted my distracted thoughts. “What are you
thinking about?”
“Huh? Oh, nothing. I have a critical operation, that’s all.
Do you remember Michael?”
“Michael who?” She paused, then added: “That kid we
operated on together?”
“Yes, him.”
“No way! Has the cancer come back?”
“Yes, but it’s in his intestines this time.”
Mariam stood beside the window, watching the kids
playing outside. “Sometimes circumstances force us to ask
difficult questions.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why? Why do things like this happen to innocent people?
But we shake off this question because we know God has a
purpose that hasn’t been revealed to us and that it is beyond

111
our comprehension. In his wisdom, he has the measure of the
universe. How could our simple, limited intellect compare
with his almighty capabilities? So we suppress the question
and don’t allow it to occupy our minds.”
I gazed at her in amazement. Mariam had doubts? That
was impossible! Had she contravened any of the tenets? Why
did she resist these thoughts if her brain was tackling them
with logic? Why didn’t she try to find answers instead of
suppressing the questions? Or are all humans designed that
way; finding comfort only when we push away our doubts
and live according to principles that may or not be true.
Then we can throw our burdens onto faith, believing that
the creator wants it that way. How comforting it is to find a
higher entity to throw our weighs onto, eliminating our
worries because he is responsible for whatever happens, even
when we fail ourselves! But why did this type of analysis
differ between people? How had I addressed the same
question she had in her mind and come to the conclusion
that no God would allow his created beings to live in such
pain?
“What’s the matter?” asked Mariam, interrupting my
thoughts once again.
“Nothing.”
“What are you thinking about?”
“Why would God put Michael through the same painful
experience twice when he’s just a kid and has no sins to atone
for?”
“Does everything we go through have to be connected to
washing away our sins? Of course not! God isn’t just a creator

112
we can’t see; he is a deep certainty. You can feel his existence
in your veins and, despite your strengths, weaknesses and
pain, he remains merciful.”
“But…”
“But what? What is it?” she asked, interrupting me a third
time.
“Nothing.” I remained silent, thinking about the concept
she had just described. What was the definition of this mercy
that was inseparable from pain? I didn’t know and I didn’t
want to know. It didn’t matter to me.
When Mariam walked out of the room, I picked up the
phone and called Gilbert to give him the good news.
“Yes, I’ll go with you, Gilbert,” I said, laughing. “We’re
gonna have so much fun, man!”
The moment I hung up, the phone rang again.
“Mom, how are you?” I said.
My mother’s relationship with Mariam had become tense;
it was impossible for me to keep the balance between them. I
didn’t know why I always made excuses for Mariam.
I regularly had to convince my mother that Mariam didn’t
mean to ignore the messages she sent her every now and then
to check on me and the kids. Mariam had been very busy
lately due to her career change, I explained. She had joined
the research department, giving up the practical part of her
job. But did that justify her in not replying to my mother’s
messages?
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience, Mom. Okay, bye.”

113
 I hung up and went to sit at the dinner table when Mariam
called. The children were already seated. Gathering around
the table had been our daily routine for the previous eight
years and Mariam always made sure that the table
arrangements followed her precise system.
The plates were placed about twenty centimeters from the
edge of the table. On the right-hand side would be a fork, a
knife and a spoon. The knife blade always faced the plate. A
small fork and spoon – either for dessert or salad – were
placed above the plate. A cup of water was placed on the left-
hand side and for a cup of juice was placed on the right. Two-
thirds of the paper napkin was tucked beneath the juice cup
while the rest lay beneath the plate. I didn’t know why, but I
felt bored just looking at the table.
Had Mariam ever thought about changing that
arrangement just once? I didn’t think so. She never even
thought about changing her haircut or the way she tied her
scarf. Although she always said she was trying to follow the
latest fashion, I only ever saw the same style and colors.
“Women think they can change their looks if they have
their hair trimmed,” Gilbert had told me once. “They don’t
realize that men don’t notice things like that at all. They’d
need to dye their hair blue if they wanted us to notice!”
Despite the fact that men barely noticed any dramatic
changes, women always did. They even noticed minor
alterations. I always tried my best to compliment Mariam on
the tiniest changes she made, but despite all my attempts to
make her happy, she still couldn’t be bothered to reply to my
mother’s messages.

114
 While I was eating the salad in front of me, which, in spite
of its varied colors, tasted completely bland, I asked: “Why
haven’t you responded to my mother’s messages?”
“Did she call you to complain?”
“She called to make sure everything was okay,” I said,
keeping my eyes fixed on the bowl.
“You know how busy I’ve been with my research the past
few days.”
“Yes, but it’s just a text.”
“Do you answer all the messages my parents send you?”
I was astounded. “What do your parents have to do with
this?”
“Isn’t it the same thing?”
“When have your parents ever sent me a text I haven’t
replied to?” I exclaimed.
“The other day on Facebook! My mom commented on
your photo and you didn’t reply to it.”
I put my spoon down, feeling annoyed. “What? The other
day? A comment on Facebook?”
I remained silent; I simply wasn’t prepared to continue
arguing. How far had Mariam gone to monitor my actions?
She was even monitoring the comments I received on my
Facebook page! Unbelievable! What had happened to us? Our
shared life was becoming so empty apart from the minutiae
of Facebook and its comments. The thought made me laugh;
a satirical, sorrowful laugh. How nonsensical our life had
become. Mariam’s words made me feel like we were still
teenagers.

115
 Mariam looked at me, trying to comprehend my bizarre
laugh. When she couldn’t, she said: “My mother was upset by
it. Can’t you understand that?”
Infuriated, I said: “So you didn’t respond to my mom on
purpose? Have you lost your mind? How can you think like
that?”
I tried to control my nerves, unwilling to accept what was
happening. Mariam didn’t even realize what she was doing
and I was finally starting to rebel against the life I had been
living for so long; a life that was crawling over me like a slow,
painful death. My constant problems with her were smashing
against my chest, suffocating me. I felt as though I couldn’t
catch my breath. I left the table the moment I noticed the
fear on my children’s faces.
“By the way, I’m going to a medical conference next
week,” I said as I walked through the door, shutting it behind
me.
I was longing for those moments of freedom with Gilbert,
and for some much-needed man time. I was a prisoner,
despite the fact that I was supposedly living in the land of the
free. Mariam was a boundary that besieged me in a country
where there were no boundaries to be found. With my
passport I could cross international borders without a visa,
but when it came to Mariam’s boundaries I was powerless
unless she gave me her approval and permission. I wanted to
make my own decisions, but Mariam was suffocating me.
I had enjoyed lying about my trip with Gilbert and
wondered whether that was how thieves felt when they stole
something. I had come to realize why people enjoyed doing
things that were forbidden, like stealing, lying, taking drugs or

116
committing adultery. It was the elation they felt when they
were doing it, fueled by a burning desire to boost their egos
and to feel power, joy and fear all at once.
My desperate urge to break free from Mariam’s cage had
led me to steal our anniversary trip. The bliss I felt when I
made the decision – indifferent to what Mariam did or didn’t
want, even if her wishes were undeclared – was priceless to
me. Saying no to Mariam was enough to make me feel that
happy.
As I drove to the hospital, I put Adele on to fill the silent
boredom during the long ride. The song that came on was
‘Lay Me Down’ and it immediately grabbed my attention:
“I would never lie to you unless you tell me to...
Every part of me
All my words to hold
And hold against me
Why won’t you let it be?”

117
 15
Right as Rain
f

Amman, Jordan
I was at my desk organizing some papers, sending a few
emails and finishing the most important tasks when my
manager called me into his office. I sat down in front of him,
expecting him to give me some new tasks to complete.
I was surprised when he handed me a sheet of paper.
“Here you go, Nadia.”
I took the piece of paper from him and looked at it.
“What does this mean?”
“It means the board has declined your leave request.”
“Does the board have the right to do that?”
“If it will negatively impact the progress of the company,
yes, it does,” my manager replied coldly.
“So there’s nothing I can do about it?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
I walked out without saying anything further, but I didn’t
go back to my office. Instead, I went to the chairman’s office.
The secretary could see from my face that I was filled with
rage, so it didn’t take her long to call the chairman or to tell
me to go on in.
I walked into his fancy office. In the middle there was a
large, wooden desk, which did nothing but indicate how
much of a show-off the person sitting behind it was. To the
right was a conference table with six chairs around it. There

118
was a bookcase in another corner, which held everything but
books: photos, trophies, certificates, statues and works of art.
Considering the atmosphere in the office, I could tell what
type of person I would be talking to even though we had
never met. I walked towards the desk and sat down on one of
the chairs positioned in front of it.
“Hello, Mr. Shawkat,” I said, trying my best to sound calm
and composed.
“Yes, how can I help you?” he said, still flicking through
his papers and not bothering to look up at me.
“I came to discuss this with you.”
I laid the leave document out on the desk in front of him,
which seemed to get his attention.
“What is this?”
“I’ve requested a week’s leave twice now, and both
requests have been declined. Could you please explain why
you have declined it?”
“Isn’t the reason specified on the document?”
“Yes it is, but I would like you to elaborate on how it
constitutes a conflict of interest.”
He smirked. “It means that your leave is in conflict with
the interests of the company.”
“What’s the problem with my five days’ leave, seeing as
the pay will be deducted from my salary?”
“I don’t know. The decision for or against a leave request
is made during board meetings, so there must be a reason
why someone has objected to your request.”

119
 “So you don’t know the reason, but you signed the form
declining it anyway?” I asked.
“Do you think I would remember the reason behind a
leave decision, which was tackled among multiple other
topics, during the last board meeting? Of course not! I just
signed it because there’s a manager in charge of this, and he
knows whether it should be accepted or declined.”
He had simply signed the refusal because there was an
employee on the board who felt my vacation would conflict
with the business’ interests. I had been saving up and
planning the details for two months now: booking hotels,
buying the concert tickets and filling in all the paperwork to
get the visas. And here he was, telling me my leave had been
rejected just because somebody felt I shouldn’t have it.
“But I need those days off,” I said in a nervous tone.
“Have you mentioned your reasons?”
“Yes, but it was still declined.”
“So your reasons must be inadequate,” he said coldly.
“Even if they were, I need that vacation.”
“I can’t approve a leave request without setting up a
meeting.”
“I don’t care whether you set up a meeting or not. I came
to you to tell you that I need this vacation,” I insisted.
“And I told you I can’t approve your request. The
company follows an administrative hierarchy and it can’t be
overruled.”
“But there’s a law that gives me a right to that vacation.”

120
 “What do you mean?”
“I want that vacation,” I reiterated.
He scowled at me, making me realize I had poured out my
anger with no regard for the consequences.
I threw the piece of paper onto his desk again and said
firmly: “My leave request form is right here in front of you.
Whether you approve or decline it, I’m taking that time off.”
“If you do, we have the right to take action against you.
The least you would receive is an administrative warning
notice.”
“I don’t care; do whatever you want. You have your rights
and I have mine. We can take this to court if you like,” I said,
walking towards the door.
I walked out and shut the door behind me without waiting
for his response. I went to my office, collected my belongings
and left without even telling my manager.
I drove my car through the streets of Amman. Then I
found myself pulling over and starting to walk towards Jabal
Al-Weibdeh, where the old coffee shops with their antique
furniture and artistic decor represented the new image of
Amman’s modern youth. This new generation regarded
atheism as cool and unidentified diversity as modernity. They
didn’t see reality as it was; they perceived and comprehended
it based on the haphazard opinions they found on social
media, which swung between truth and lies. To them, I was
as old as the streets around the courtyard of Jabal Al-
Weibdah.
They would interpret my decision to hold on to my beliefs
as traditional conformity and a lack of enlightenment. Had I

121
narrated my story to the people of this generation and told
them that Allah had accompanied me throughout those eight
rough years and that I had witnessed his justice, they would
have considered me to have a traditional mindset that didn’t
measure up to their modern mentality, which sought truth.
Had I told them that God was a consciousness you
experienced if you surrendered yourself to the harmony of
the universe, they would have said that I was delusional. Had
I told them that I had felt God in the tears I had shed as I
was leaving court having won my lawsuit, they would have
said that I had perceived the moment the way I wanted to see
it.
Allah had blessed this generation with knowledge and
enlightenment, allowing them to explore the magnificence of
the universe, but the young had used it to deny his very
existence. Blinded by conceit, they regarded themselves more
highly than anything else in life. They had never experienced
the pleasure of yielding to the creator or the contentment of
faith.
All they knew was rebellion against everything; even
against their God. They knew how to enjoy everything save
for a close relationship with God, who offered repentance
and granted shelter in times of weakness. He was the God
who had granted me the strength I needed while I was
settling my divorce, at court and during all the trials I had
faced, and he had also empowered me to go into the
chairman’s office and throw my leave document in front of
him, unconcerned about his reaction.
I felt at peace due to my firm belief that my provision was
in the hands of God alone. This faith I held comforted me
and taught me not to think anxiously about what the future

122
might hold. It’s such a relief to experience an entity so much
larger than you, whom you don’t see but who sees you. You
can’t comprehend his power, but you can feel it. This is what
God is! So I felt content that I had thrown the document
onto the chairman’s desk. I had simply been fighting for my
rights.
My grandmother always used to tell me: “A sought right is
never a lost right”, so I had been raised to fight.
I answered my phone as I sipped a cup of tea in one of the
coffee shops. “Yes, Lara, I’m going. I’m taking my son to the
Adele concert as I promised him, and no one’s going to stop
me.”
“Has your ex-husband approved Waleed’s travel
documents?”
“Yes he did, that’s why we’re going. I don’t care about the
board’s decision; it’s the first chance I’ve ever had to travel
with my son. Can you understand that? It’s the first time his
father has allowed him to travel with me, so I’m not going to
lose this opportunity, even if they’ve declined my leave
request.”
“But Nadia…”
“It’s done, Lara. I left the letter on the chairman’s desk
and walked out. I don’t care what happens next. The
decision’s mine and nothing’s going to stop me. Not even my
job.”
“Okay, as you wish. I hope you have a great vacation,
Nadia.”
“Thanks Lara.”

123
 I hung up and watched the passersby as I sat in the cafe
on the corner of the street. I knew deep down that I couldn’t
settle for any less when it came to making decisions regarding
my or my son’s life, even if it was just a trip, and even if it
cost me my job. Neither my manager nor the chairman could
deprive me of this opportunity to travel with my son for the
first time in ten years. Nobody could! I had never been, and
never would be, submissive to anyone; not even my
employers.
There was music playing in the cafe and I could just make
out Adele’s sweet voice singing ‘Right as Rain’:
“Who wants to be right as rain
It’s better when something is wrong
You get excitement in your bones
And everything you do’s a game
When night comes and you’re on your own
You can say “I chose to be alone”
Who wants to be right as rain
It’s harder when you’re on top”

124
 16
First Love
f

Marrakesh, Morocco
It wasn’t unusual to hear Adele’s songs every once and a
while in El-Fnaa Square or near the local hotels as so many
foreign tourists listened to her songs.
The upcoming tour was Adele’s first since 2011, and her
fans had been waiting for so long for it, especially seeing as
the lyrics from her latest album had touched on such a mix of
emotions regarding age and time. So many people could
relate to these themes; her fans felt almost as though the
songs had been specially written for them or even about
them.
I was no different. Her songs weren’t just music and lyrics
to me; they were vivid memories in my mind whenever I
imagined Malika on the Atlas Mountains.
One day we had decided to take a walk through the
magnificent landscapes rather than driving through them.
Malika had looked so lively as she wrapped her arms
around mine. “Elias, do you love Marrakesh?”
“Of course. No one can help loving the city once they’ve
seen it!”
“Why don’t I love it, then?” Malika asked.
“Are you sure about that?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t think I’ll miss it when I leave.”
“Maybe that’s because you’ve only seen the old city.”

125
 “But they always say that it’s the old city people miss.”
“Not its own people, darling.”
“Who then?”
“The visitors.”
“Why though?”
“Because they only see its charm. That charm isn’t tainted
by the sweat of the street performers. They only enjoy what
the locals have to offer them, while the performers merely
seek the visitors’ money to feed themselves.”
“You’re right,” she said, sighing.
Malika wrapped her arms around my waist, holding me as
she dodged between the rocks and bushes, trying not to fall.
I grabbed her shoulders and asked her, “What will you do
when I leave?”
“Leave?” She stopped as if she had been bitten by a snake.
“I have to go back. There’s work waiting for me.”
Malika hadn’t seen that coming. Tears dropped onto her
soft cheeks. As I glanced at her, a sudden fear surged through
my veins.
“Why are you crying, Malika?”
“I thought you were going to teach me to speak English!”
I smiled and wiped away her tears. “I’ll teach you until I
have to leave. Deal?”
She clung to my shoulders. “Deal.”
Then she had tiptoed across the ground, walking in front
of me.

126
 “You know, Elias, when I was at school I asked my
teacher to help me learn English, but she told me the most
widely spoken language was French, not English, and that I
shouldn’t bother. So I decided to find another way to learn it,
but I couldn’t figure out how to pronounce the words
properly.”
“If you want to learn a language you have to speak to the
natives.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, the more you talk to native English speakers the
faster you’ll learn it.”
“That’s the technique, then! Okay, I will,” she said,
running off in front of me.
We stopped for a while. We suddenly realized we had been
climbing the mountain without even noticing. We threw
ourselves onto the raw mountain soil and gazed up at the sky.
“Is Rome a beautiful place?” Malika wondered aloud.
“It’s as beautiful as all the other ancient cities.”
“Does it embrace the same sort of pain as other ancient
cities?”
“Since civilization is a human endeavor, it must be tinged
with pain, my love.”
“Why?” Malika asked.
“Because it was built by humans.”
“There are people who contribute to that human
endeavor, yet cause no pain. Moulay Brahim is a good

127
example. He bestows happiness on others even though he’s
dead.”
“Can death offer happiness to the living?”
“The dead people are the ones who give away happiness
because they have known both life and death.”
“Is that what you believe?”
"No, that’s what’s widely known. Moulay Brahim and
Moulay Bouazza are both dead, but their graves still grant
blessings.”
“But these blessings are bestowed upon people by Allah.
They are not a human favor,” I said calmly.
“But it is Allah who granted them these privileges and
blessings.”
“Exactly, you just said it. That means it’s from Allah, not
people,” I said.
“Right,” she replied, as if she were trapped, “but Moulay
Brahim will grant me his blessings and then I can leave!”
I smiled. “Fine, let it be, then.”
Malika stood up and threw herself down over my prostrate
body. Her hair covered my face, shading my face from the
sunlight, and said: “And you? Do you have to leave?”
“Yes I do,” I answered, running my fingers through her
dark hair. She had laid her body over mine without realizing
that I was burning with passion beneath her.
“That’s unfortunate,” she replied.
I hugged her and let my hands run across her body softly.
“Would you come with me?”

128
 She got up suddenly; surprised and excited. “What?”
“Would you like to come with me?”
“Yes! Yes I would!”
She remained silent for a while and then laid her body
over my chest again. “Will they allow me to leave without my
parents when I’m only thirteen?”
She was thirteen! She was just a child. Malika was a thirteen-year-
old child! I wasn’t a pedophile, but… what was going on?
Oh, my head is pounding so much that I can’t continue to
relate my story! I had loved her. I had loved that thirteen-
year-old child even though I had been twenty-eight! There
had been a difference of fifteen years between us; a huge gap
between me and her; between my and her mindset; my world
and her gracefulness.
She had carried all the joy and beauty of life in her voice at
that young age, so I had loved her and I still love her. Maybe
this was the sin I had committed in the land of Marrakesh’s
blessings and righteous men. I still felt sick to my stomach
whenever I remembered that moment.
I needed to wash my face. No, I needed to leave
Marrakesh! I had to leave El-Fnaa Square and its never-fading
smoke, which blurs so many stories with its changing atoms.
Yes, I needed to leave… I needed to call Veronica… I
needed to calm down. That’s what I had to do right now.
I still felt the same shiver that had passed through my
body that day whenever I recall my reaction.
“What? Thirteen?” I had exclaimed.

129
 I felt like I had been stung. I had been unable to move or
speak. How had I fallen in love with a child? How filthy were
the alleys of the old city? Had I bought the body of a child
from her own mother? Had my home country reached such a
degrading level of human trafficking?
It was true what the Italian tourists said: that you could
have sex with people of any age or gender you desired.
Anything and everything was available in El-Fnaa square. I
hadn’t been able to believe that it was possible before that
moment.
The idea had stunned me, drawing me to my feet and
causing me to push Malika aside. I had walked up the
mountain seeking somewhere to catch my breath and process
what I had just heard.
Malika followed me. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” she
asked me apprehensively.
I hadn’t been able to look at her for a while, but when I
did I saw her as a child for the first time.
“Yes, I’m all right.”
It was at that moment that I understood why Malika had
flitted around me like a butterfly, and why she was so excited
about the idea of traveling. I understood why she was so sure
she would find true love at a train station or on the sidewalk.
I fathomed why she loved the way English words sounded
and why she had loved Before Sunrise so much. I finally
realized why I had barely been able to touch her delicate
body.
“What’s going on, Elias?” Malika had leaned in towards
me as she asked the question.

130
 “Nothing, I’m fine. Don’t worry.”
“If you’re thirsty, there’s a water spring at the end of the
road.”
“No, it’s not that, my dear.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I’m fine now.”
She took my hand. “Would you like to continue our
walk?”
“Sure,” I said, smiling at her.
“Okay, let’s go,” she said, grabbing my arm again.
“How long have you been working as a prostitute,
Malika?”
“Ummm, I can’t remember. Maybe a year and a half.”
I had been speechless when I heard that.
As soon as we finished our short tour, I drove her back to
her mother’s house. Just as I was about to drive away, Saeed
knocked on the car window.
I opened it and he said, in a dry tone: “She’s been talking
about you so much I was curious to meet you.”
I hadn’t known what to do. The situation felt so awkward
for me.
“When are you leaving, Elias?” he continued.
“Soon,” I replied.
“That’s for the best. She’s beginning to believe you’re not
like the rest of her customers.”

131
 I had wanted to defend myself, to tell him that I wasn’t
and I never would be, but I heard a bitterness in his voice
that only a helpless father could understand.
I had gone back to my hotel and thrown myself onto the
bed that day, bursting into tears like a little kid. I had cried
because I loved her back then. I still loved her now. I hadn’t
known at the time that I was falling for a child, and even now
I can’t forget that child.
Two days later I had gone back to see Kanza, given her
some money and taken Malika back to the mountain. I no
longer perceived Malika as someone I could share my life
with. Thoughts raced through my mind; the memories of us
flashing before my eyes, but nothing was strong enough to
erase the fact that she was only thirteen.
As we took our time walking through the beautiful
surroundings, I felt the urge to tell her about a decision that
had kept me awake all night long.
I wrapped my arm around her shoulders. “Malika, I’m
leaving tomorrow morning.”
“What? You told me you would stay for a while.”
“I know, but I can’t.”
Her face turned pale and she started reproaching me.
“Didn’t you promise to teach me English? Didn’t you tell me
you would take me to Rome with you?”
“Yes… I did,” I stuttered.
“So why won’t you take me now?”
“I can’t,” I answered, feeling uncomfortable.
“Why? Must I be older to leave without my parents?”

132
 Her question had been like a breeze across the mountain.
She really had just been a child back then. She had known
nothing about life; all she had were her dreams.
“Yes, you can’t leave the country without your parents
when you’re so young.”
“Okay, then we’ll take my parents with us.”
“I wish we could.” I smiled and hugged her.
She pushed me away petulantly. “You lied to me! Go
away!”
“I didn’t lie to you, but I can’t stay. I have to go back.”
“Why did you ask me to come with you when you can’t
make it happen?”
“I thought I could.”
“You’re a liar!”
“Yes, I am…” I murmured.
I pulled out a small, wooden box, which I had brought
from Rome to give one of my friends during my stay.
I stood beside her. “Take this.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Won’t you look at it so you know whether you want it or
not?”
“I don’t want to look at it!”
“But you’ll love it, look.”
She took a sneak peek at it and then instantly looked away.
“No, I don’t want it.”

133
 I opened the box and brought it closer to her. “Look,
Malika, it’s a box that will help you learn English.”
Her face brightened and she inspected the box. Inside it
she saw some papers and discs in plastic wrappers.
“I don’t want it. You promised to teach me English
yourself.”
“But this will help you. You won’t need anybody else.”
“But how will I know if I’m pronouncing the words
properly, like we did before?”
“Look, here…”
She took the box from me and I pulled out the CD player.
“This device will help you listen to these CDs, which have
simple English lessons on them.”
Her eyes glowed in a way that I will never forget. “How?”
I took the device from her and started to teach her how it
worked. She was as happy as a child the night before Eid.
When I had finished showing her, I asked, “Do you think
you can use it now?”
“Yes, look.” She switched it on, placed the CD inside it,
put the headset on, and then smiled beautifully. “Listen! It
says ‘neim’, which means esem in Arabic!”
I laughed and corrected her. “It’s ‘name’.”
“Yes, name… name,” she said coyly.
I remember taking the CD player from her again and
pulling out the Adele CD and some papers. “I brought you
this too. It’s an album from the singer you heard in the car on
our way to Moulay Brahim the other day.”

134
 “Really?” Her eyes sparkled again.
“Yes, I’ve brought it for you to help you learn English.
I’ve written out all the lyrics and translated them into Arabic
so you understand what you’re listening to.”
“For real?” She hugged me tightly and kissed my cheek.
“Thank you!”
Then I handed her some money. “This is for you.”
“What’s this?” she exclaimed, trembling.
“It’s some money so you can leave this place.”
“You’ve already paid for these nights. What’s this for?”
she asked, pushing my hand away.
“I wasn’t paying for the nights. You’re not for sale,
Malika!”
“Of course I’m not for sale! I’m just saving up some
money for when I leave.”
“And this money is for when you leave.”
“But you’ve already paid my mom.”
“And now I want to pay you. Will you please accept it?”
She stared at me, dazzled by the thoughts in her head. I
wish I could have known what she was thinking.
Malika sighed, looking out at the mountain in front of us.
She had taken a few steps on ahead of me and, trying to avoid
eye contact, asked: “What shall I do for you here on the
mountain top?”
I cringed when she said that. “Just walk beside me, as we
are now.”

135
 “Okay,” she said enthusiastically.
She had walked along cheerfully and then, looking taken
aback, she suddenly said: “I’ve been happy with you these
past few days.”
“Me too. You have been my happiness, and I believe you
always will be as long as your memory accompanies me.”
She remained quiet for some time and then asked, “Won’t
you come back again?”
“Maybe I will…”
“How will I see you then?”
“Do you remember the movie?”
“Before Sunrise?”
“Well done! You memorized it well!”
She nodded her head.
I continued. “They agreed to meet at the same place, isn’t
that right?”
“Yes.”
“So I’ll meet you at an Adele concert one day.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Every time you hear her sing, remember that I’ve
promised to meet you there one day.”
“What if there is no concert?”
“There will be.”
“Will I see you then?”

136
 “Yes, and maybe even sooner than that. Just know that I
will see you whenever you’re thinking of me and listening to
these songs.” I hadn’t been sure whether I was reassuring her
or myself when I said that.
“Okay…”
Malika had hugged me one last time. It was painful. Her
arms embraced me tightly, leaving me breathless. I could tell
that she felt safe in my arms and that her worries had
vanished like a fine mist in the morning light. We melted into
each other, unable to hear any noise or even the silence that
prevailed in the mountains. I had felt at peace within her
breaths. I felt no worry and no fear in those moments; only
calm and reassurance.
My heart fluttered as her body pressed against mine. I
hadn’t wanted the moment to end, but it had, just like a
beautiful dream gradually fading away. The more you tried to
hold on to such a dream, the more it floated out of your
grasp. She had looked at me and then left me in the
mountains as she boarded the bus that would take her home.
That was the last time I ever touched her.
That was why leaving Malika had been my decision. It
hadn’t been Kanza’s talisman. I had decided to leave so that
my heart wouldn’t be attached to a poor, unsuspecting child’s.
Eight years had passed, but even now as I listened to
Adele’s ‘First Love’ in my old rental car, I could still hear
Malika crooning along in her attempt to pick up some of the
English words:
“Forgive me first love, but I’m tired
I need to get away to feel again
Try to understand why
Don’t get so close to change my mind
Please wipe that look out of your eyes
It's bribing me to doubt myself
Simply, it’s tiring”

137
 17
Love in the Dark
f

Las Vegas, USA

I had been walking through a long hallway in the hospital,
where doctors, nurses and administrators were walking back
and forth, following up on every detail at a busy pace. The
hospital was like a beehive; it was non-stop hustle. Some
patients were in wheelchairs, while others were transported
on hospital beds towards the operating rooms, preparing for
the possibility that they might never see their loved ones
again.
Death hovered over the hospital like a shadow, waiting to
devour life at any moment. Outside the operating rooms
suspense prevailed, as if its intensity was an antidote to death.
Once the outcome was announced to the relatives, they were
either all smiles or all tears. As surgeons, we were well aware
that death was the last viable antidote in incurable cases.
Everything in life had to have a scientific explanation. A
patient had died because cancer was attacking his body, or
because the tumor hadn’t been removed at the right time, or
because he hadn’t committed to the chemotherapy, which
could have improved his condition.
I didn’t believe in the spiritual explanations, which Mariam
always tried to introduce whenever we got into a discussion,
regardless of what the topic might be. Despite my disbelief
and the fact that I disagreed with her, I always nodded my
head at the end of the conversation; not out of weakness, but
to avoid a quarrel.

138
 In the books I had read, I had learnt that our constant
arguments affected our children’s psychological state, so I
tried not to get drawn into petty squabbles. I had immersed
myself in my work over the years, and had become one of the
best oncologists in the US as a result. Mariam was as good as
I was, perhaps even better.
At college, and later in the hospital, she had always
surpassed me academically, but after giving birth to Tuleen
and Omair she had decided to work in the clinic rather than
at the hospital and had stopped operating so she could spend
more time with them. I had remained at the hospital with
Gilbert and my patients.
“Hey man, we’ll be off to Italy soon, huh?” Gilbert said
cheerfully.
“Yes, we will!” I replied, smiling.
“You’ll find all kinds of pleasure there: music, beauty, art
and women… Everything!”
“But I’m only going for the concert, Gilbert.”
“And for the pleasure…” He drew closer to me. “Don’t
you miss your bachelor lifestyle?”
Of course I did, otherwise I wouldn’t have decided to go. I
was sick of the responsibilities Mariam was always burdening
me with. I had had enough of the endless cycle of blame
between us over what had happened and what was going to
happen. So I would enjoy Italy, even if she didn’t want to go.
It was time for me to make some decisions for myself for
once!
“Oh, by the way, Michael’s in the other unit waiting for
you,” Gilbert told me. ‘I can’t wait to party in Italy!’ he added.

139
 He brought a smile to my face as I headed off to see
Michael, who I had never expected to see again after the
surgery Mariam and I had performed all those years earlier.
He had been five then and now he was thirteen and was
fighting the disease again. I didn’t know how we would save
him a second time. The tumor had attacked broader and
more critical areas.
Intestinal cancer was one of the most critical cases we
surgeons had to deal with. It spread so quickly, to the extent
that we often couldn’t control it. We always felt so sorry for
patients with intestinal cancer.
I was used to all types of cancer. So many patients I met
each day would die the next, so death no longer had such a
major impact on my life.
My desk was filled with letters from patients thanking me
before they passed away, and from others thanking me for
saving their lives. There lay the fine line between life and
death! While death tightened its grip on a soul in one of the
hospital rooms, life crawled in and kissed life into another in
the next. Often I became the hero who had saved a soul from
death. People didn’t realize that I was only practicing the
science I had learnt.
Sometimes I felt conceited, believing that I could defeat
death and that I had the power to stand in its way; to stop it
taking away another soul. I always did my best to treat my
patients, and when they got better I felt invincible. However,
that feeling soon disappeared when another patient died at
my hands. This was my daily life at the hospital: the ups and
downs of life and death; two sides of the same coin.
“Michael!”

140
 “Dr. Yaser!”
“Welcome, big boy.” I could clearly see the anxiety on his
face, so I tried to comfort him. “Don’t worry, buddy, you’ll
be fine.”
“I know that. Because you’re my doctor.” He reached for
my hand and smiled up at me.
Michael didn’t realize that he had just thrown a heavy
burden onto my shoulders, although this would actually drive
me to perform my very best during his surgery the following
day.
I spoke to him for a while and then left the room. After
examining many cases my day had finally ended, so I drove
home late that night. Despite the glamour of the Vegas
nights, which attracted visitors from all over the world, I had
never experienced their joy. I lived a monotonous life. I went
to work, spent time with my kids before they went to bed and
then it was family time, when Mariam and I watched TV
together.
For eight years I had been following the same routine; not
because of Mariam, but on my own account. I simply had a
dull personality that wasn’t used to adventure. Just thinking
about adventure made me worry, even without acting upon it,
so I always preferred to stay at home with my family and
follow a clear set of rules.
This was why I had chosen Mariam as my wife; because
she systemized everything so well. I had always believed that
routine meant security, which was what I wanted to provide
for myself and my family. So why did I suddenly hate it?
Recently I had been keen to seek some sort of reckless action.

141
I wanted to sense fear for a change; to break that deadly
routine I had been living out for so long.
Maybe that was the most reasonable explanation for the
initiation of a secret relationship that carried a momentary,
heated desire that faded away the moment the phone call was
over. That’s what my superficial relationship with Isabelle was
like. I knew almost nothing about her apart from her voice,
and most probably we would never meet. I called her
whenever I felt the need to loosen the chains Mariam
constantly confined me with. Feeling that confinement
acutely, I decided on a whim to walk aimlessly through the
streets of Las Vegas that evening.
Every language was spoken and every civilization had an
imprint on the Strip, apart from the civilization of Vegas
itself, perhaps. The Strip itself was the only true
representative of the native Vegas, upon which the hotels,
with their multicultural layouts, had been built.
The hotel layouts displayed a civilization from every era:
starting from the pharaohs on display at the Luxor Hotel,
which is said to have been built by the Illuminati and
followed their rituals. Along the road, Italy was represented at
The Venetian; a city of water-submerged streets and rivers.
The journey ended with the New York-New York Hotel,
which cloned the actual city of New York: the hustle of
Times Square and the Statue of Liberty, designed to evoke
the American dream.
This dream had become the aspiration of many who had
heard of ‘the country of Uncle Sam’, because it was widely
believed that every dream could come true in America. Many
failed to realize that the statue wasn’t actually American; it
had been a gift from France. But still, America was America!

142
It was the state of law, where the law was above everyone and
everything, even its president. That was why it had become
the land of realized dreams for so many.
As soon as the sun set and darkness crawled in, the
massive Vegas lights were lit, announcing the beginning of
the hubbub and the vice. Gamblers would flood to the
casinos, betting everything they owned; even their wives and
girlfriends.
The charm of Vegas could steal away your money and
your breath, and it did so with your full consent. Gambling
wasn’t just a game played by visitors and tourists; it was a
journey that started with a single step. Once you had taken
that step, you would find yourself slipping down the road as
if you were dehydrated in the middle of the Nevada desert,
running after a mirage in search of water. Just when you
thought you were about to reach an oasis, the reality that it
was just an illusion would strike. That’s why, in Casino, Robert
De Niro wasn’t just acting out his part. He was presenting a
believable image of Vegas for a global audience.
When the merchants and dealers of Vegas discovered that
Vegas didn’t have oil to generate money but had money to
generate money, they had invented the casino culture, where
gamblers strove to achieve their dreams with a strike of luck
by pouring their money onto the roulette and poker tables.
Little did the gamblers know that the only luck they were
likely to find was a foolish elopement based on a drunken
whim!
With this flow of thoughts running through my head, I
found myself walking a long distance. I felt tired, so I stopped
for a while, and almost at the same moment my phone rang
in my pocket. It was Mariam and she sounded really nervous

143
as she interrogated me about where I was and why I was so
late. I didn’t want to argue with her, but I told her that I
would prefer not to come home that night.
“What do you mean you’d prefer not to come home
tonight?” she asked in a stunned tone.
“I need some time alone, Mariam.”
“And since when do we solve our problems apart from
each other like this?”
“Over the past eight years we haven’t found any way to
solve our problems. Maybe that’s because we’ve never had
any distance from each other. Maybe we need to get away
from each other for a while.”
“How can you say that, Yaser?”
I didn’t know myself how I had arrived at that decision so
quickly. I had never slept anywhere but my home during the
previous eight years unless there had been an emergency at
the hospital.
I had never told Mariam that I needed space to sit by
myself and look back on every detail of our dull eight years of
married life. I had never told her that I wanted to break away
from the routine, which might well have been our core
problem. I had never told her that I’d had enough of her
repetitive words and monotonous tone. I had never told her
that I was bored with my perfectly neat bed and its
comfortable mattress with the crimson sheets and the
numerous pillows. I had never even told her that I was bored
with Omair’s cries and Tuleen’s laughs. I couldn’t tell her all
that, so I had simply resorted to saying that I needed some
time by myself.

144
 “Come home, Yaser. Are you leaving your home over a
text I didn’t send your mom? That’s what your mom was
hoping for when she called you. She wanted to cause a
problem between us!”
“My mom has nothing to do with this! Do you think I
don’t have enough trouble to deal that I need my mom to add
more on top?”
“What do you mean?”
“I just mean that my mom’s phone call had nothing to do
with this. I just need some time to myself. And by the way,
I’m not going to a medical conference. I’m going to the Adele
concert you turned down in Italy. With Gilbert.”
I didn’t hear Mariam’s response as I had already hung up.
As I did so, Adele’s ‘Love in the Dark’ enveloped me on the
streets of Vegas:
“Take your eyes off of me so I can leave
I’m far too ashamed to do it with you watching me
This is never ending, we have been here before
But I can’t stay this time because I don’t love you anymore
Please stay where you are
Don’t come any closer
Don’t try to change my mind
I’m being cruel to be kind
I can’t love you in the dark
It feels like we’re oceans apart
There is so much space between us
Maybe we’re already defeated
Ah yeah everything changed me”

I didn’t feel like I needed to hear this song; all I could focus
on were the city’s flickering lights. I laughed out loud. I had

145
found the courage to tell Mariam that I didn’t want to go
home. And that I was off to Italy with Gilbert!
I stepped out of the car and indulged myself in the
sleepless Vegas atmosphere. Still laughing my socks off, I
roamed the streets and delighted in walking among the
people. I felt the city’s fresh night breeze for the first time
and soon I would be breathing in the sweet breeze of Italy,
where Adele, Gilbert and fun were to be had. Yes, Gilbert
and not Mariam!
I picked up my phone and called her. “Isabelle, I want to
see you… Yes, to see you… No, no, I don’t want to see you
right now… Just tell me when and where we can meet…
Okay great, see you there!”

146
 18
River Lea
f

Amman, Jordan
I started to tidy up the house so I could leave it clean and not
have to worry about any mess when I got back. I needed to
do the laundry before we went and clear out the fridge of
anything that would expire within a week.
Just like every Friday, I had plenty of time to kill before
my son returned home from visiting his father and
grandparents, so I occupied myself with cleaning the house
and tidying the mess that had piled up during the week. I was
vacuuming when I came across a pile of bills, work papers
and doodles my son had drawn. I sorted through them and
threw everything I didn’t need in the trash. I was surprised to
find a photo of me and my ex-husband on our honeymoon
among the papers.
“What’s this doing here?” I stared at the photo, recalling
the memories of love, desire and anger we had shared.
The photo had been taken at the hotel we had stayed in.
As I sat on the balcony wearing a straw hat and enjoying the
sun he tried to take a photo of me. I remember smiling and
telling him to come and sit beside me.
I hugged him, not realizing that love stories didn’t always
end in love. I had been raised on happily ever after stories. To
me, Cinderella and Prince Charming hadn’t just been fictional
characters from a fairy tale. They resembled a reality that I
believed everyone could live out until I had been
thunderstruck by my own marriage. I realized later that

147
Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty and even Snow White were just
bedtime stories. We are told these tales so we could sleep and
dream on!
I was so full of dreams back then. I dreamt of having a
husband, a home and a family. I dreamt about becoming a
grandmother. I dreamt that when my grandchildren came to
visit me, I would hold their grandfather in my arms and tell
them our fascinating love story; just as my parents had done
for me. I dreamt about the peace that would fill our life
together.
Now I wondered whether my ex-husband and I had really
fallen in love or whether it was only me trying to live out that
love for the sake of fantasy. I just didn’t know. All I knew
was that I had given all the love I had; body, mind and soul.
All I wanted was for him to be happy. I had done
everything I could to please him. Some nights I would light
candles to give him a romantic, serene night; other times I
would cook dinner all day long to bring him comfort and
delight. And when he simply smiled coldly at me and walked
straight into the bedroom to sleep, I would make excuses for
him and blame myself for making such a lavish dinner on a
work day.
I constantly made excuses for him: maybe he wasn’t used
to married life and having a woman beside him. I had always
tried to understand and support him. Our life together had
grown colder and colder until the eight-month-old baby I
carried inside me was all that had occupied my mind.
I went shopping for my son every day so that he would
come into the world to find everything ready for him. I
bought him clothes, nursery furniture and accessories, toys, a

148
highchair, and everything else he might have needed. Despite
being tired and pregnant, I spent at least six hours a day at the
mall. I shopped like a person who had never shopped before.
I thought at the time that I was doing it for the love of my
baby, only to realize that I was doing it to avoid spending
time with a husband I couldn’t bear.
Time passed by and it had felt as though our life was
slipping away from us. Two years into the marriage my son
became my everything; even before he had seen the light. I
finally understood why my grandmother had loved my
mother so much and why my mother had loved us. I
understood why all my female friends said, “For the sake of
my kids, I’ll tolerate it.”
This was the line every wife used to convince herself that
she was fulfilling her duty as a mother and that she ought to
sacrifice herself for her children, but who ever said children
wanted to live in a house that was devoid of love? Who ever
said children would be happy in a loveless household because
their mother was being patient on their behalf? Who ever said
the kids would realize and appreciate their mother’s tolerance,
or that they wouldn’t blame her for her mistakes because it
had been her life and her choice?
I refused to allow this kind of tolerance to suffocate my
life. I couldn’t handle its flaws and cracks, in spite of the love
I had felt for him at the beginning of our marriage. I couldn’t
tolerate my husband for Waleed’s sake, yet I had tolerated
many lawsuits and court hearings on his behalf. Didn’t that
make me a patient mother?
Was it obligatory to lose one’s dignity along the path of
patience? Should I have stayed with my husband after he
brought another woman into his life, as Lara had done, just

149
because I was supposed to be tolerant for my son’s sake?
How could I ever have taught my son about dignity if he had
seen me so downtrodden?
I had been lying on the couch during the eighth month of
my pregnancy when my husband’s phone buzzed while he
was out at the supermarket buying some groceries. I picked
up the phone to find a text message sent by the other woman.
“I love you,” it said.
I wasn’t mad; I just waited.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” he asked when he
returned.
“You received a text while you were out.” I handed him
the phone as I waddled into my bedroom. During the last few
months of pregnancy it had been difficult to walk or even
breathe.
My husband followed me and grabbed my hand before I
entered the room. “Wait, Nadia, it’s…”
“It’s what?” I asked, interrupting him.
“Actually…” he said.
“Actually, I can’t take it any more. I can’t keep making
excuses for you. I’m leaving.”
“No, wait. It’s not what you think.”
“What is it then? Do you have an explanation?”
“Yes, wait, I…” He paused. “Nadia, I feel as though our
relationship has gone cold. Since you got pregnant I feel like
you’ve become emotionally distant from me.”

150
 “So that’s why you’re looking for warmth somewhere
else?” I replied indifferently.
“No, but…”
I turned to look at him, the rage killing me inside. “But
what? I’m suffering here in the last month of my pregnancy
and you’re blaming that for your lack of affection towards
me, and using it as an excuse to run after another woman.
Are you crazy? How could you do that when we’re expecting
our first baby? Is this the memory you want me to have of my
first pregnancy? Do you want our child to be a witness to this
deceptive love between us?”
“Nadia, I’m a man and I have emotional needs that you’ve
neglected during your pregnancy. You’ve been very
preoccupied with this child.”
“And I have human needs that oblige you to preserve my
dignity whether I’m around or not, but obviously you aren’t
very good at that!”
“What dignity are you talking about? I haven’t insulted you
in any way!”
“Of course, a man who’s used to injuring his wife
physically isn’t going to care too much about humiliating her
emotionally!”
“Don’t make me lose my temper! Watch your words!” He
had moved towards me, a look of fury on his face.
“What are you going to do? Are you going to beat me
again? That wouldn’t be very innovative! Do you know what’s
unprecedented?”
I remember walking towards the three steps in front of
me, turning my back on him, having loosened his grip on my

151
arm. “It’s unprecedented to love without pride. Do you know
why? Because there’s no such thing as love!”
I had taken a few deep breaths and then let it all out. “I’ve
packed my stuff and booked a flight. I’m leaving and you’re
going to give me a divorce. I won’t tolerate this, even for the
sake of my child.”
I had decided at the moment to file for divorce, but he
hadn’t been on the same page, so the process of obtaining it
had been lengthy and was still ongoing. We had taken each
other to court and filed lawsuits regarding the terms of the
divorce, the finances and child custody.
Despite this journey of torment, I felt content that I
hadn’t yielded in the name of patience and that I hadn’t been
humiliated by having to sacrifice myself for my child’s sake.
My dignity was my right to defend. God had created us
dignified and no one could violate that dignity. We, as
individuals, were the ones who allowed others to subjugate us
for all manner of reasons.
My phone rang, stirring me from my thoughts. It was my
brother.
“Hello, how are you? Really? That’s great… Could you
drop by and give it to me? Okay, I’ll be waiting for you…
Bye.”
I collected my papers and tossed the honeymoon photo
into the garbage. It meant nothing to me now. I suddenly
remembered Inside Out, a film I had watched at the movie
theater with my son a week earlier. Despite being an animated
film, it somehow related to me at that moment. I felt that the
‘Love Island’ I had once had for my husband had collapsed
and could never be rebuilt. The Love Island, with all its

152
memories, needed to vanish now, even if the only trace left
was a photo.
The doorbell rang and my brother was at the door. He was
in a hurry.
“Here you go. It’s been with the lawyer for some time.”
“Won’t you come in?”
“No, I’ve got to go.”
“Okay, darling. Thank you.”
I tore open the envelope he had handed me and held my
son’s passport in my hands for the first time. I don’t know
why, but I smiled at first and then cried. It was the first time
my son would be completely free with me. For the first time
we could travel together without any conditions. For the first
time I could hold his little hand on the streets of Italy or
anywhere else; it didn’t matter where.
I looked out of the window and watched the torn-up
streets beneath the feet of the passersby. Nothing mattered to
me now that my son would be travelling to Italy with me.
I put Adele’s ‘River Lea’ on and grabbed my coffee from
the table:
“Everybody tells me it’s ’bout time that I moved on
And I need to learn to lighten up and learn how to be young”

153
 19
Remedy
f

Marrakesh, Morocco
I had made up my mind. I would go out and ask after her.
There must be somebody who knew what had happened to
her and where she might be now. I needed to go straight to
the square. There would be someone there who knew a few
details about Malika. I was sure that I would find someone
now that it was almost dark outside and the smoke from the
restaurants was fading. Someone around here must know
something!
I walked a long way without finding any clues. When I
reached the courtyard of one of the old hotels, a woman
spoke to me. “Are you looking for pleasure?”
“Yes, but I’m looking for Malika.”
“Malika…” she said, becoming distracted for a moment.
“There’s nobody here called Malika.”
“Not in the whole neighborhood?”
“I don’t remember any girl of that name working for me.
But I can offer you someone better than her!”
“No thank you,” I said as I turned to leave.
I roamed the streets again, holding high hopes and looking
out for any clues that could guide me to her. Saeed had told
me she had boarded a ship and left, which meant that she
would not be here, but what if she had never actually left?
What if I found her? Would she be a completely different
person?

154
 She might have found a job in Casablanca or Rabat, and if
I showed up I could potentially shatter her dreams and then
have to leave again. So why was I wandering around the old
back alleys searching for her? There was no need for all this. I
should just go back to the hotel. Yes, I should go back to
where I came from.
“Come on in, I’ll give you all the pleasure you’re looking
for.”
“No thank you.”
“I have something different from all the others. Just come
on in.”
I walked into the hotel, with no clue as to why I had done
so. Was it curiosity, longing or need? Maybe my strong
affection for Malika was a fantasy my ego had created when I
had sensed her need for me; when I had been her anchor
amid all the chaos of her younger days. Maybe that’s why I
couldn’t let go of her and all our memories. I would keep
looking. I had to find Malika.
“Tell me what you’re…”
“Do you know Malika?” I asked, interrupting her.
“Malika?”
“Yes, Malika.”
The woman tried to remember. “I think I’ve heard the
name before, but I’m not sure where.”
I was waiting eagerly to hear what she had to say when I
heard a voice from the back of the room. “I think he means
that lunatic girl who tried to kill Safwan.”
“No, not Safwan,” someone else said.

155
 “Yes, it was Safwan. That’s what I heard,” said another
woman as she crossed the hall in front of us.
“No, it wasn’t Safwan. It was one of the clients who tried
to hurt her that night. They say she grabbed a knife and
attacked everyone with it, and then she ran away.”
I stood there, stunned and speechless. Were they talking
about my Malika? No way! She would never have used a knife
or threatened anybody. “You must be mistaken. I mean
Malika,” I said, my voice shaking in sync with my body.
Someone interrupted me. “Do you speak English?”
“Yes,” I said earnestly.
“Then that explains why you’re looking for her. They must
have told you she only picks clients who speak English.”
“What?” I suddenly felt dizzy. Did Malika really pick out
her clients these days?
“Yes, she only picks out the clients who speak English. If
you want her you can find her at Aziz, the snake charmer’s
place, in El-Fnaa Square.”
“Oh okay, thank you.”
I left the hotel and walked a long way without even
realizing it. All I knew was that dawn was creeping in,
announcing the end of an overwhelming night that I couldn’t
get my head around. Maybe these were just rumors. That
notion brought me some comfort. I went back to my room to
get some rest before I went to meet Aziz.
I struggled to relax after what I had heard so it wasn’t long
before I headed out once again.
“Malika? Of course I know Malika!”

156
 Aziz examined his cobra, which obeyed his gestures like a
household pet. However, he maintained a slight air of
caution, fully aware that it could suddenly betray him.
“You know what? People always wonder how we tame
these snakes. Well, the fact is, no one can tame a snake. It’s
just two souls uniting; intertwining! It was the same with
Malika. She was as untamable as a snake. She was the El-Fnaa
Square snake that shed its skin once a day or once an hour
rather than once a year!”
He paused for a moment. “Everybody thought Malika was
a wild girl with no restraints, but beneath all that chaos she
was just a girl who loved life, nothing more than that.”
“I know,” I murmured.
“She always used to sit beside me to talk to the snakes and
tell them about her day. Do you know why? Because she
knew that snakes were deaf, so they would keep her secrets
forever.”
He played with the cobra for a while and then continued.
“Malika helped me with the foreign tourists, especially the
ones who spoke English. She used to translate what they said
for me, and sometimes she translated things I didn’t even say
to encourage them to give me more money.”
“So she learnt English?”
Aziz laughed. “Learnt English? She was the only one in
the square who could speak English fluently. She became
known as the English Malika. But when clients met her, they
figured out the only English thing about her was her words.”
So Malika had acquired the English language. My mood
brightened on hearing that. Yes, she had fulfilled her dream

157
and learnt the language. She had paved her own way in the
square until she became a local landmark.
Then I asked Aziz, “Did Malika really try to kill a man?”
“Of course she did! And from that moment on, no one
could control her. She became her own master; no one could
buy or sell her. She decided who, when and how much.”
“Is she still working here?”
“Of course not. She left.”
“Where did she go?”
“I don’t know, to be honest, but Saber and Camilia would
know.”
“Who?”
“Camilia, the henna girl, there.” He pointed towards a girl
who was sitting in the corner drawing on the hands of
passersby.
I thanked him and gave him some money before I left, but
as I turned to walk away he called out to me. “Elias…”
I turned back to face him, astonished. How had he known
my name? Had Malika really talked about me? She still
remembered me! I was about to go back and ask him how he
knew my name, but the tourists had crowded around him and
were pushing me away.
I shouted so he would hear me: “What?”
“You were the secret Malika was whispering to the snakes
about,” he called back.
I walked over to Camilia, who was stretching and trying to
get some rest as a couple of tourists left her corner.

158
 “It’s henna art. Would you like me to draw you
something?”
“No, I just want to know where Malika is.”
“Elias!” she gasped, as if she had seen a ghost.
Yes, Malika had definitely been talking about me! I had
occupied her mind, her heart and her memories. I’m not
going to lie; I felt happy when I heard that.
“Yes, I’m Elias,” I answered.
“I thought you were a hallucination. She used to tell me
about you every day, but I thought you were a figment of her
tired imagination.”
“Where is she now?”
“She’s gone…”
“Where though?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she get married?”
She smiled a bitter smile. I couldn’t tell what she was
thinking about, but my question had clearly thrown up
memories of Malika’s hopes and dreams. “Married? Life has
worn her out. It’s aged her soul.”
“So what’s she been doing for the past eight years?”
“She’s done a lot. She was like a butterfly flitting joyfully
around, telling us about your experiences together and about
the life box you gave her.”
The box! Malika still had the box. She had carried a piece
of me inside her heart, just as I had carried her in mine. I was

159
a memory in her mind, and she was the memory that was
brightening up my present.
I suddenly felt exhausted, so I sat down beside Camilia,
took a deep breath and said: “So she still has the box, and all
the tales it bore witness to!”
“Over all those years, the box remained her only tale.”
I smiled. “So why did she leave?”
“I don’t know, but she said you had promised to meet her
one day at the concert of some singer.”
I stood up impulsively. Malika was sticking to my promise!
It seemed impossible that she was still hoping to meet me at
an Adele concert. Had my promise been so genuine that she
had truly believed we would meet again there?
Camilia also stood. “Come with me.”
I followed her without asking any questions. We walked
through the narrow roads of the old city and past the mellah.
When we came to a little house, Camilia knocked on the
door. A young man, who looked to be in his early twenties,
opened it.
“Hi Camilia. Do you need something?”
“No Saber, but I have a guest.”
“Okay, come on in.”
Camilia and I stepped inside the house, which was
completely empty apart from a mattress on the floor.
“What’s the matter?” Saber exclaimed.
“This is Elias.”

160
 Saber stared into my face. “Elias? That’s impossible!”
“It’s true!” Camilia said.
“Oh, Malika. How crazy I thought she was! She told me
you’d come back for her one day, but I thought she was
delusional.”
“Where is she?” I asked Saber impatiently.
“She left. The only thing she wanted from life was to leave
the square and its sorrows to pursue her own plans under her
own conditions. Despite all the offers she had to travel to
Europe, just as she had always dreamt about, she always
refused. She didn’t want to be the same Malika in Europe.
She wanted to be someone else; someone who couldn’t drag
her past and the old city along with her.”
Saber paused. “A man offered to take her to France to
work in a nightclub there. He told her he would pay her
$1,000 a night, but she turned him down. All she wanted was
to learn English and leave, and that’s what she did.”
Saber gazed at me absent-mindedly. He was probably
thinking over what Malika had told him about the week we
had spent together. I could tell he had had a strong friendship
with Malika and that my presence had triggered a sense of
longing in him.
He walked out of the room and then returned with my old
wooden box. He gave it to me, and the moment I looked at it
I had countless flashbacks. It still looked the same. In spite of
the eight years that had passed, there were only a few
scratches on the sides.

161
 “This is where you’ll find Malika, with all her dreams and
episodes. Here you will discover why she refused to leave as
Malika the prostitute, but as Malika: an independent woman.”
It really was the box I had given her! The box that held
her dreams and my memories. I couldn’t believe it! I didn’t
want to open it there. I had to leave.
“Saber, may I…”
“It’s yours,” he said reassuringly.
“Thank you.”
I rushed out of the house with the box in my hands. I
quickened my pace as if I was going to meet Malika for the
first time. I arrived at my room and sat down, staring at the
box. It was right there in front of me and I was incapable of
opening it. All I felt was fear. I was dazed by all my thoughts
and assumptions.
I was dying to know what was in the box, but at the same
time I didn’t want to open it. I was afraid that I might find
scattered pieces in there that would make me blame myself
for betraying her. I was scared that the moment the box
opened my story would end; that this would be the last
chapter. I had never experienced that much anxiety,
apprehension and curiosity all together.
Time had passed so quickly. I had to open the box now; I
couldn’t leave things at a standstill. My hands were shaking,
but it was fine. I could wait until I had taken some deep
breaths. I would open it now. Yes, I had to open it now.
“What have you been doing all these years, Malika?” I said
aloud.

162
 I took out every object I found in the box: the CD player,
which still had Adele’s 19 album inside it, and all the papers
with the lyrics I had written out and their translations. The
box also contained Adele’s other albums, 21 and 25, with
other papers bearing the lyrics, which she had written herself.
“Today I learnt the words ‘Good morning’. It means
‘Sabah al-kheir,” she had written.
“A client told me that ‘sunrise’ means ‘shorouq al-shams’.
I forgot to ask Elias when he was here.”
“Today I whispered to Aziz’s cobra. I told her I was
leaving.”
“Adele, I acquired the English language through your
songs, so thank you.”
“My dear Elias…”
The piece of paper slipped out of my shaky fingers. I
couldn’t read it. Why had she written to me when she knew I
had left for good? Did she know that her charm and her
dazzling looks had been deeply imprinted in my memory?
Was she aware that her beauty, both external and internal,
had a more powerful sway over my life than the whole of
Marrakesh put together?
I bent down and picked the sheet of paper up. I opened it
and folded it back. Why couldn’t I read it? There must have
been something she wanted to tell me. I had to read it! After
hesitating for a moment, I started reading.

My dear Elias

163
 Camilia once told me that you are just an illusion I made up, affected
by the Western tales I used to dream about. She doesn’t know that such
realities cannot be forgotten, and that you are the only reality in my life.
It’s been eight years since we first met, yet I can still remember our
visit to the mountain, Moulay Brahim and every living memory in
between.
I stopped visiting Moulay Brahim shortly after you left. His blessings
didn’t provide me with a decent job, not even money, so I decided to spend
my time in the square trying to earn money and learn English. I learnt it
until people starting calling me the English Malika!
My dear Elias, in the last eight years, I have learnt that ‘sunrise’
means ‘shorouq al-shams’, and that sunset is ‘ghuroob al-shams’.
I also learnt that in the second part of Before Sunrise the hero and
the heroine didn’t meet. It was just a promise that was carried away by a
moment of passion, and it vanished with the smoke of the train. During
these eight years, I realized that the square can never let go of its people,
so the residents of the square can only love, marry and plan their future
within its borders. As a result, I decided not to love!
I pinned all my hopes and dreams on the box of life. That’s what
Saber used to call it. I listened to Adele and learnt the language. I
bought all her albums, wrote out all the lyrics and sang them because you
told me you would see me whenever I listened to her.
I cried listening to 25 because I realized that when we age, time can
never be replaced, and that time and age are a lover’s greatest enemies. I
realized that when you got up to walk further up the mountain, you
weren’t thirsty, you were hurting! I hoped you would come back one day,
but you didn’t, so I gathered up everything I owned and decided to leave.
By the way, I didn’t leave because my father was a shattah. He had
a heart of gold despite that. After all these years, I’ve realized that each

164
one of us is a shattah, only in different attire. Still, being a shattah is an
art that sophisticated people can’t comprehend.
I’m not leaving because my mother is still looking for the love she lost
beneath the veil and the shimmering waist scarf either. No, I won’t go to
Europe to look for a job or for the love that I hoped I would encounter at
a station or on a sidewalk.
I won’t leave because of all that. I will leave because, despite my lack
of faith in the blessings of Moulay Brahim, I still have faith in the
promise you made me when you said you would meet me at the Adele
concert.
The letter fell at my feet and I started to cry. Why was I
crying? Why was I still there? Why do human beings love
such heartbreaking stories?
I still couldn’t figure out how I felt about Malika. I
couldn’t understand the reasons behind the fondness I had
for her, despite only having really known her for a week. I
couldn’t comprehend the idea that I had been carrying this
pain around for eight years for a relationship that had barely
lasted seven days!
My eyes were raining tears and I could see that they had
almost made the words of the letter fade away. I knew that I
hadn’t come back to Marrakesh because of Hafiza and her
predictions, or because of Kanza and her buried talisman. I
had come to find out whether Malika had achieved her
dreams. I had come here to be certain that Malika was real
and not just a figment of my imagination. I had finally found
my answer. She was and always would be a reality. I had
come to discover that I had truly loved Malika and that I still
do.

165
 I opened the last sheet paper I found in the box to find
the lyrics of Adele’s ‘Remedy’, written in Malika’s
handwriting:
“I remember all of the things that I thought I wanted to be
So desperate to find a way out of my world
And finally breathe
Right before my eyes I saw my heart it came to life
This ain’t easy, it’s not meant to be
Every story has its scars”

166
 20
Water Under the Bridge
f

Las Vegas, USA

Vegas was still bouncing through my soul with all of its
mayhem. After spending my first night in its embrace, I woke
up to my alarm; all alone, without Mariam’s voice calling to
me and without the sound of the children playing. It was a
strange feeling. I was happy, but I missed my kids. I decided
to enjoy this happiness for the rest of the day.
Gilbert had called me several times, but I felt as though I
wanted to detach myself from anything that connected me to
my normal life. I put my phone on silent so I wouldn’t hear it
ring.
I walked the streets of Vegas again, where everything was
still new to me: its high buildings and hotels, the flashing
lights that shone all night long, painting a picture of the
world’s great civilizations. There was an Eiffel Tower that
gave the sensation of being in Paris even though the clone
was only half the size of the real thing.
Fairy tales became a reality through the nighttime stories
presented in various live shows at Treasure Island Hotel.
They put on a full show featuring pirates who kidnapped
girls, and it was so captivating you didn’t even think about
saving them when they were drowned in the water. You just
wanted to enjoy the beauty of the show.
Vegas epitomized the American dream because it was
created in the harshest of circumstances. Engineers and
pleasure-makers had built a city that was bursting with life in

167
the middle of a dry desert and it had become one of the top
tourist destinations in the world. Here there was no need for
natural resources or attractions; hotels were its resources. The
numerous rooms in these hotels were clear evidence that
Vegas was a well-spring. Some hotels contained five thousand
rooms and they were fully occupied every night.
I had a meal at one of the restaurants, where live music
was playing in the sunlight by the dancing fountain. During
daylight hours, Vegas declared to its visitors that the
nighttime fun hadn’t yet begun, but that they could still enjoy
their time without all the lights and the dancers.
I enjoyed the warm breeze of the city. Although I lived in
Vegas, I felt as though I was visiting it for the first time and I
was dazzled by it. I walked around until the sun disappeared
and the bright lights took over. The streets were loud and
busy, gamblers and drinkers flooding the streets with their
stuttering words and faltering steps.
I reached the famous Fremont Street mall, where the
ceiling was covered by the largest television screen in the
world, and where the round-the-clock casinos could be
found. Gambling was as readily available as water; you could
even gamble as you walked the streets! That was why Gilbert
hung out here every night.
Everything goes in Vegas: gambling, alcohol and loose
women. At the Fremont Street mall you could find Michael
Jackson dancing in front of you, despite the fact that he had
been dead for many years, and Elvis with his guitar, his white
Charleston jumpsuit and his famous hairstyle. Celebrity
impressionists could be found all over, imitating and even
cloning the celebrities they looked like. I saw Jack Sparrow
and Batman. The city needed its superheroes just in case the

168
Joker invaded it at any unanticipated moment. Here in Vegas
you could find both love and sin together; they were
inseparable.
I took in all the insanity and figured out why I was bored
with Mariam. It wasn’t because she was dull or because she
ruled our entire life. I was bored of her because of who she
was. Mariam’s reactions were so tepid. She didn’t yell like the
angry girl in front of me who was publicly rebuking her
friend. She didn’t hold on to my arm as we walked, as another
girl who passed me with her boyfriend did. She never walked
with wild ecstasy, putting aside her system of laws for a
moment. She couldn’t sway to the music with me
affectionately like the couple dancing in front of me to the
melody of a street performer.
Mariam was just like the rigid page of a holy book. Every
letter had to be printed perfectly; it couldn’t be distorted or
ripped out of its tome because to do so would render it
meaningless. That was why I was tired of Mariam. I didn’t
believe in holy books, so how could I believe in her? Mariam
was the Arabic name for Mary, the mother of Jesus; the most
pious woman of all religious contexts. Did Mariam abide too
much by her name?
My phone was vibrating, so I pulled it out of my pocket.
“Hi Isabelle, where are you?”
“I’m by Fremont Street.”
“I’m there too. Where can I find you?”
“In front of the casino. I’m wearing denim shorts. Wait,
I’ll send you a selfie.”

169
 I walked towards the casino looking for the woman I had
just received a photo of on WhatsApp. I spotted her right
away. She was a straightforward girl with dark skin and curly
hair. In spite of her simplicity, I realized why she had enticed
me so much when I was on the phone with her. She had an
exquisite body and a warm voice, which sounded far more
soulful in the flesh than it had on the phone, and her words
were full of joy and life.
Her laughter shattered the rigidity of all Mariam’s smiles,
and with her swaying walk she made me feel as though I was
truly in Sin City. Yes, Vegas really was Sin City. Sin wasn’t
just a whim or a business here. It was so prevalent on the
streets that you felt as though it made perfect sense.
As I looked over the city through the shimmering lights
and my mind wandered through everything I had been
through, I felt hypnotized by Isabelle’s beauty. I was
overjoyed at having broken free from every chain that had
imprisoned me since I had married Mariam.
My mind had still been roaming through my memories as
my lips tasted Isabelle’s for the first time. I stuck my tongue
in towards her throat. My face appeared lifeless and the kiss
tasted of regret and agony. My hands shivered out of
excitement and fear, and my heart was beating faster than the
flickering lights of Vegas. I was drowning in Isabelle’s
presence.
This wasn’t the first time I had drowned in her ocean of
desire and lust, but it was the first time I had experienced it
first-hand and not through my phone speakers. I suddenly
woke up from this long, steamy kiss to find that we were in
one of Vegas’ underground tunnels.

170
 “What’s wrong?” Isabelle asked, stopping suddenly.
“Why are we here?”
She laughed. “It seems like you’ve had a lot to drink,
Yaser!”
“I didn’t drink a thing.”
“I know…” she smiled. “I live here, darling, and I decided
to bring you back to my place tonight.”
I was bewildered. “What? You live here? In a sewage
tunnel?”
“Of course. Why are you so surprised? Do you think
everyone lives in a house?”
I gazed at her, speechless. Her question had awoken me
from the hallucinations of my surroundings.
I didn’t answer her, so she continued talking. “You look
like you live in a decent house… Plus you’re Arab, and all
Arabs are rich!”
That really made me laugh. Sometimes a trauma drives us
to express the opposite emotion of what we are feeling.
“Who told you Arabs are rich?”
“We always see Arabs here carelessly wasting their
money.”
I got up and tried to wipe off the trash that was stuck to
my clothes. I took a look around me to see where I had
ended up. There were many homeless people around us
carrying their bags and clothes. Several were putting pieces of
cardboard beside one another to make some sort of bed.

171
 I couldn’t believe that Isabelle, whom I had spent two
years exploring my desire with over the phone, was homeless
and that she wandered the tunnels beneath Vegas to find a
place to sleep.
The irony was that she thought I was rich because I was
an Arab, but she didn’t realize how rich she would be
considered by many Arabs if they had known she was living
in Las Vegas, not realizing that in Vegas there are many
people who make the ground their home.
My eyes were still fixed on hers in astonishment, and she
could read the rejection on my face.
“Well my dear, while many people live above the streets of
Vegas, half of its inhabitants live beneath them. What
happens in Vegas stays in Vegas! This is the American dream;
just a few words written in the book of Uncle Sam.”
She sighed as she looked into my eyes, which had become
a void. “Go home to your wife, Yaser. Betrayal isn’t your
thing.”
I walked away aimlessly, unable to process what had just
happened. I felt like I was on a roller coaster ride and that I
had lost my balance as I stepped off it abruptly. I didn’t know
why I suddenly felt scared and uncomfortable. I had
wandered the streets watching the drunkards, who had given
me enjoyment for many hours, but now they were starting to
disgust me. Everywhere I turned people were gambling with
little metal discs, while below the ground people’s lives were
being gambled with.
I wasn’t a sympathetic person myself, but when I
witnessed the darkness and the filth of the tunnels, I had felt

172
sick to my stomach, even when I was holding Isabelle in my
arms.
I knew I would never talk to her again; not for any
particular reason, but just because I couldn’t any more.
Isabelle – the girl who had fulfilled my needs while Mariam
had suffocated them with her conditions – was only able to
live in America between the tunnels and the phone calls,
which had gained her a few cents without giving anything in
return apart from her moans and her tantalizing voice. Still,
Isabelle wasn’t afraid of appearing in public because when she
met me at Fremont Street she hadn’t shivered when her lips
met mine.
I discovered that I couldn’t really sleep away from my
comfortable bed and its boring crimson sheets. I couldn’t
sleep on the floor even for a few moments with a woman I
didn’t know against the backdrop of a night full of gambling.
My phone rang and I answered. It was Gilbert and he
sounded distraught. “Michael died, Yaser! I wish you hadn’t
disappeared last night. He asked for you so many times.”
I fell onto the flickering ground. Despite its brightness I
felt utter darkness inside me. Michael had died, Isabelle was
homeless, money was being tossed around and trodden
underfoot in the casinos just for the sake of fun and Mariam
was trying to convince me that there was a God!
What kind of God would allow all this to happen under
his authority? And if he had any authority, why didn’t he
impose his justice on us humans? Tell me, Mariam, who is
this God you pray to when you can see all this wickedness,
poverty and weakness on Earth? How could Michael have
died when I hadn’t operated on him yet? And then there was

173
Isabelle. How could all that beauty be homeless, wishing the
ground to become a mattress that she could find comfort in
during the cold, wintery nights. Who is your God, Mariam?
Tell me!
Science had told me nothing about her God, but it had
proved to me that human beings were nothing more than a
phase of evolution. Darwin had been right. What was the
problem if humans were simply a clone of other creatures?
Here was Vegas, just a copy of Egypt, Paris, Italy and Latin
America, and it was still glamorous. Everything about it was
glamorous: the people, the streets, the money… even us
Arabs.
Isabelle thought Arabs were rich, despite the wars, the
displacement, the migration, the poverty and our aspirations
to fulfill the American dream, hoping to become rich one
day. We all looked so glittery to Isabelle! But she didn’t realize
how glittery Vegas appeared to us.
I didn’t think or say a word for a while after I realized that
I hadn’t just been murmuring; I had been shouting!
My phone rang again. I didn’t want to answer but I did. It
was Mariam.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“Aren’t you ever coming home?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yaser, I’ll go to the Adele concert with you. Let’s get
ready to go. Please.”
This was typical Mariam behavior. She always made snap
decisions before ending the conversation. Then she would
remain silent and I would have to try to understand what was

174
going on with her. I didn’t want her, I didn’t want her religion
and I didn’t want her God. Yes, that was why I had lost my
faith. Not because I didn’t believe in a creator, but because I
couldn’t reject Mariam, so instead I had rejected her God.
I didn’t need to hear Adele’s voice, because the words of
‘Water Under the Bridge’ were already echoing in my mind:
“If you’re not the one for me
Then how come I can bring you to your knees?
If you’re not the one for me
Why do I hate the idea of being free?
And if I’m not the one for you
You’ve gotta stop holding me the way you do
Oh honey, if I’m not the one for you
Why have we been through what we have been through? ”

175
 21
Set Fire to the Rain
f

Amman, Jordan

ü Phone charger
ü Travel documents
ü Toothbrush
ü Sun hats
ü Hairbrush
ü Towels
I couldn’t remember what else I needed to put on the list.
Everything else was packed; our clothes and all the stuff we
needed for our trip, but these little things needed to be
written down so I wouldn’t forget any of them. What else
should I have written down? I couldn’t think.
I needed to run some errands before it was time to go.
The house was clean and tidy, just a few final touches and it
would be totally clean until we returned. I washed and folded
all the clothes. I couldn’t remember if I had ironed the shirt I
would be wearing on the day of departure. I think I had! It
was all good; I felt as though everything was ready.
I sat on my bed, trying to decide whether I had forgotten
anything or not, but all the arrangements seemed to be going
well. My son’s happy face had helped to bring me peace amid
the tension I was feeling before the flight, but the stress had
affected me to the extent that I wasn’t able to sleep. I tried to
relax before the big day, but my mind wouldn’t switch off. I
was so busy thinking about every detail. Traveling comes with

176
its own measure of chaos and excitement, but I knew that
when we took our seats on the plane all the worries would
fade away.
I don’t know what time I eventually fell asleep, but I woke
up to find the sun sneaking into my room and realized I
would have to rush to get ready. The time of the flight was
fast approaching and we needed to get to the airport two
hours ahead of its departure.
Waleed had got himself ready and was watching me as I
finished the last little jobs that needed doing before we left. I
had called my mother to reassure her and to say goodbye. My
brother had offered to take us to the airport, so we sat and
waited for him.
“Mom, isn’t the plane taking off soon? Will my uncle be
late?” Waleed asked.
“No, honey, he won’t. Are you taking your iPad with
you?”
“Yes.”
“I wanted you to enjoy your time without spending it all
on the iPad!”
“But the iPad will entertain me when I get bored.”
I couldn’t blame my son for that. I was always so busy
with work that he had found companionship in his iPad. It
didn’t help that he was an only child.
Thinking about that always filled me with guilt, so I tried
to take advantage of every moment I spent with him in a bid
to drag him away from the virtual world he was so obsessed
with. It was unfortunate that interactions on so-called ‘social
media’ took place behind screens, which had managed to turn

177
truth into fallacy. We pretended to smile during a moment of
grief just for the sake of an Instagram photo, or we wished
someone happy birthday on his Facebook page even though,
in reality, we despised him. We blinded ourselves to the
reality we lived in just to create a better image of ourselves for
this virtual world.
How silly it was to express my anger towards a friend by
blocking her account. How superficial human interaction
seemed when it was trapped in such a shallow world. Using
these platforms, one woman monitored her husband using a
fake account, while another became enraged over a friend’s
comment. The sphere of the internet had become a platform
for open communication, surpassing all boundaries and
distance. Yet it had also created fake ‘families’, built on virtual
friendships and empty acceptance. I didn’t want my
relationship with my son to be like that, so I tried my best to
communicate well in every moment I spent with him.
I wanted Waleed to have similar experiences to the ones I
had had during my childhood. I had been an outgoing child
and had loved playing Hide and Seek and Jump the Rope. We
had felt so happy if we found a little rock on the street, which
later became a piece of chalk we would use to doodle random
pictures on the sidewalks. Then it would be used for another
game in which we competed to see who could throw the rock
the furthest.
We had lived simple lives, but they had been full, whereas
Waleed’s life was busy but empty, consisting of iPad games,
movies and stories. My son’s reality was filled with the
vibrations of his devices and the ringing of cell phones.
As I was thinking about cell phones mine started ringing.

178
 “Yes, we’re ready. We’re coming down now… No, just
two small bags… Don’t worry, I’ll carry them… We’ll be
right there.”
Waleed stood up as soon as he heard that his uncle had
arrived. I checked each room, the doors, the fridge and the
gas cylinder. I also checked the handbag I was carrying to
make sure all the papers we needed were in there along with a
mirror, a lipstick, some wipes, some money and our
passports.
Seeing my son’s passport stirred the same emotions inside
me again. His father has agreed to let him travel with me for
the first time in eight years! I smiled and zipped the bag up. I
was ready to go. I gazed at Waleed for a second as he held my
hand.
“Let’s go, honey,” I said.
My brother spent the entire journey talking. My work leave
was what concerned him the most. I told him I didn’t care
what happened after this vacation; that it was my right to take
it. Yes, I had left without waiting for the chairman’s response,
but I couldn’t have sat there and waited. My plans and
reservations for this trip had been put in place a long time
ago and I wouldn’t allow a meaningless rejection slip to ruin
this trip with my son, which I had waited all these years to
take.
This trip was even more important to Waleed than it was
to me. It wasn’t just the Adele concert, but the whole idea of
traveling that excited him. He was just as excited as I was. We
were so happy in the notion that the two of us would be
together without any restrictions, and without any last-minute
decisions from his father to ruin our time together.

179
 My ex-husband didn’t really care about what we wanted;
he only wanted to fulfill his own selfish wishes, so the
moment he had approved my request for Waleed to travel
with me I had started getting the paperwork filled in before
he changed his mind. I will never forget my son’s reaction
when I told him we were going to the Adele concert. His
pupils had dilated and he had looked at me, full of surprise.
“What? Mom!”
“Yes, we’re going to an Adele concert.”
“Really?”
“Why don’t you believe me? Have I ever lied to you
before?”
“No…”
“Well we’re going. And here are the tickets.”
He had jumped out of his seat when he saw the tickets. He
had danced around the room and then brought in his iPad to
play his favorite song, ‘Set Fire to the Rain’. It was the song
we always listened to on car journeys; its melody never failed
to make Waleed dance and sing along. When we listened to it
at home it always accompanied him as he folded his clothes
and tidied his room.
Adele was constantly playing in his room, and whenever I
asked him about it, he would tell me: “I love her music,
Mom.”
We entered the departure lounge and said goodbye to my
brother. Then we headed for the check-in counters and
joined the queue.
The agent smiled at us. “Good evening. Your papers,
ma’am.”

180
 “There you go,” I said, handing him our passports.
“Do you have any luggage you want to carry onto the
plane?”
“Yes, two bags.”
“All right. One moment please.”
The agent was following the usual procedures. He checked
our names and our information, then he stopped and looked
at me. “Ma’am, this is your son, right?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well I’m sorry to tell you this, but he’s banned from
traveling abroad.”
“What?”
“The kid is banned from traveling overseas.”
I couldn’t hear anything apart from this sentence echoing
around inside my head. How could this have happened?
“Sir, my son’s father gave me his approval for him to
travel.”
“Was it agreed on a legal basis?”
“No, but it was a friendly agreement.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t allow this child to leave the
country. He’s banned from international travel and if he
leaves with you, you will be legally accountable. His father
could have you charged with abduction.”
Abduction! I could be charged for abducting my own son,
whom I had raised for eight years on my own, while his
father was abroad, married and living with his new family!
What sort blind law would deprive me from taking my son on

181
a trip that I had gone through so much to make happen?
How could they simply ban me from taking my son away
after I had argued with my manager and the chairman, just
because I wanted to enjoy a peaceful trip with my child
without the interference of his father? How could he do that
to his own son? How could he steal away his son’s dream just
because he had changed his mind? It was impossible! There
must have been a mistake!
I picked up my phone and called my brother to come back
to the airport. I grabbed our bags and documents and
stepped away from the agent, who glanced at me every once
in a while. I couldn’t work out why there was pity in his eyes.
Was it pity for me or for my son, who was distracted by his
iPad, unaware of my disputes with his father and failing to
realize that he might not ever get to go on that plane?
I called my ex-husband. “Have you banned your son from
traveling?”
“Yes.”
“How could you do that? We’re at the airport and the
plane takes off in an hour!”
“It’s okay. You go ahead and leave the kid behind.”
“What is wrong with you? Didn’t we agree on this trip for
his birthday?”
“I don’t care about all that. I don’t want my son to travel,”
he answered recklessly.
I was speechless, but I forced the words out of my mouth.
“Why have you done all this?”
“You’re not the only one who can take action, Nadia,” he
said firmly.

182
 “What do you mean?”
“I mean your police report. It won’t just cost you a
dispute; it’s going to cost you much more,” he said in a
gloating tone. I could sense his smile behind the speaker.
“Are you crazy?” I shouted. “Are you going to let your
son pay the price for a mistake you refuse to confess to?”
“You’re still claiming that it’s my mistake! Aren’t you the
one who made the mistake by reporting me? I don’t want my
son to travel without me. I fear for his safety.”
“But he traveled with you before and I didn’t object to it.”
“You approved his travel with me at your own volition!”
“I only approved it for his sake.”
“And I’m refusing it for his sake.”
“No! It’s for your own sake! You always put Waleed on
the line for the sake of your petty grudges. But you’ll pay for
all this one day! Don’t be surprised when you lose your son!”
“Whatever. Let’s see now. How are you going to travel,
Mommy?”
“It’s none of your business what I do. I’m going anyway.”
How could I tell my son that the trip I had been preparing
for all this time had been cancelled as a result of his father’s
objection, and that the law was on his side in this matter? The
strict letter of the law did not allow any space for unattested
grievances. Was it right to tell my child that his father’s bitter
attempts to avenge my rejection of him were pathetic,
especially as he was still reluctant to acknowledge his mistake?
How could I take the trip, leaving my son behind, rather than

183
losing ground and allowing his vengeful father to force me to
yield to his wishes?
I hung up. His voice felt like a death knell in my ear. I
glanced at my son, who was still killing time playing games. I
didn’t know what to say to him. Should I tell him his father
was being as deceptive as he had always had been? I had tried
to give him another chance to be trustworthy through this
travel agreement, but he had proved that he couldn’t change
his ways. Should I tell Waleed that the vacation he had been
looking forward to for weeks was cancelled because of a
single word from his father?
It was the law that had granted him the right to do that,
and yet it had deprived me of the same right even though I
was the one who had devoted my life to him. Should I tell
him that I felt pity for his father, despite his constant
attempts to wreak revenge on me because I had rejected him,
and that he still couldn’t admit to his mistakes after all these
years, believing a conspiracy theory in which I was his enemy
and our son was the battlefield? Or should I tell him that his
father wouldn’t accept that fact that I would never succumb
to his demands and restrictions, even if the price was our only
ever trip, which we had dreamt about and planned for all
these weeks?
I decided I had to go, even if it meant leaving Waleed
behind. His father wouldn’t win this battle and force me to
take a step I hadn’t chosen to take. That wasn’t going to
happen and his father wasn’t going to get what he wanted.
“Mom, are you done?”
“No honey.”
“But aren’t we late for the plane?”

184
 “Not yet.”
I bent down to his eye level and spoke softly to him. “You
aren’t going with me, my darling.”
He stared at me, surprise filling his little eyes. His body
froze and his face turned pale, his eyes drained. His mind was
buzzing and I felt light-headed just looking at him. He walked
away, and when I reached out and took his arm he turned to
look at me.
We were both looking intently at one another, when he
broke the silence and said in almost inaudible voice: “But
Mom!”
“You can’t travel with me,” I said guiltily.
“Didn’t you get my passport from Dad?”
“Yes, but now I have to go alone.”
“But you promised me.” He looked away in bitter
disappointment. “You promised me we would travel and that
we would go to the Adele concert. It was my birthday
present!”
“Yes, but…” I looked into his eyes, wanting to scream out
that his father had banned him from traveling. But I couldn’t
involve my son in the maze of drama between me and my ex-
husband. “But honey, the concert was cancelled.”
He looked back at me in shock. “What? Cancelled?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you still going?”
“I have to go because there are some work issues that
need to be sorted out there.”

185
 “But Mom…”
I grabbed his little hand and led him out of the airport
towards my brother’s car. “Go with your uncle. I’ll call you
when I land in Italy.”
He shook off my grip fiercely and, without looking at me,
said: “You’re lying to me, Mom.”
He got into the car and burst into tears. I wanted to run
into his arms and throw everything else aside. My trip would
be meaningless without him. The whole point of it was to
have fun and tour around with my son, so how could I leave
him?
It was his father who was trying to impose his authority on
me. He wanted to deprive me of this vacation because he
thought I had made a mistake by reporting him for the
accident at his wedding. He didn’t have the right to make
decisions and impose them any way he liked just because I
had been his wife for three dull years.
Being a mother, which I adored, had become a cage
because of his father. I wasn’t about to pay the price for a
mistake I hadn’t made just because his father had decided to
stop me traveling by banning my son.
No. I wouldn’t allow him to make my son a weak point
that he could get to me through whenever he wanted. That
wasn’t going to happen!
I wiped away my tears and said to my brother, “I’ll leave
on my own. Everything is arranged in Italy. Leave Waleed
with Mom until I get back.”
My brother hugged me and said in a baffled tone, “Are
you sure you still want to go?”
“Yes I am and I will. No one’s going to stop me. I won’t
allow his father to get his way at my son’s expense.”
“Okay, my love.”

186
 He said goodbye to me again and I walked back into the
airport to catch my flight. I was determined to go. I would
enjoy the concert even without carrying out the plans I had
made for my son, which my ex-husband had stolen from me.
He couldn’t force his wishes on me by manipulating me in
such a wicked way.
I took my passport back from the agent, who stamped it
with approval, despite looking at me disapprovingly. I could
tell that he was wondering whether I was really prepared to
travel without my son.
As he handed me my boarding pass, I said to him, “Yes, I
am traveling without my son.”
The agent said nothing. He didn’t even examine my face,
although I felt his gaze piercing through me as I headed for
the duty-free zone.
I wasn’t sure whether he had really scrutinized my face as
he stamped my passport or chased me with his eyes as I
walked away, or whether he had merely looked at my face to
confirm my identity and the feeling I had was based on my
fanciful imagination.
I didn’t know and I didn’t want to know. The only think I
was sure about was that I was unstoppable and that my ex-
husband would never be able to force himself into my life
again. I hadn’t paid such a high price just to gain the illusion
of freedom!
I couldn’t get my son’s favorite song out of my head.
“But there’s a side to you
That I never knew, never knew.
All the things you’d say
They were never true, never true,
And the games you play
You would always win, always win.”

187
 22
Someone Like You
f

Rome, Italy
I left Marrakesh with its square, its rituals, and the swaying
bodies of its residents.
Since I had returned, I had lost track of what I was
looking for. I had lived in Rome for fourteen years, but had
never seen it the way I did now. I no longer saw love buried
in its courts or beside its fountains. I no longer noticed
Nero’s tyranny and his flames, forgetting that he had enjoyed
burning the city and its people as he looked down from his
ivory tower, cursed with megalomania.
The twisting bodies in El-Fnaa Square bore little
resemblance to the twisting bodies that had once graced the
ancient theaters of Rome. In both cases, these bodies had
swung out of either pain or poverty, while my soul was
swinging to the melody of my reawakened love for Malika,
declaring that she wasn’t just a memory; she was an
undeniable love.
Rome was a grand tourist destination; an open museum
that impersonated an era when power, greatness and
architecture had made it like no other place on Earth. In
every corner of the city you could see history at its best,
resisting time and fighting to sustain itself: the Colosseum,
the Pantheon and, at the end of a narrow street, the Trevi
Fountain; the fulfiller of wishes. Since the beginning of time,
humans had sought anything and anyone to fulfill their

188
wishes, even in the form of a statue. All that mattered was
that someone was willing to help them achieve their desires.
The place was swarming with tourists, but a wish could
not be expressed from a distance so I suspended my disbelief
in superstition for a moment and approached the fountain.
“Shall I throw a coin in?” rang the question in my mind.
I soon made up my mind. I had stayed in Rome for the
last fourteen years without making a single wish. It was
perfectly permissible to make one now. I turned my back to
the fountain and threw my coin in backwards, murmuring, “I
wish I could see Malika!”
Since returning to Italy I had tried to find a ticket for the
Adele concert but they were all sold out, even on the black
market. I was desperate to find a ticket because I believed
deep inside that I might meet Malika there. I didn’t know
how certain I was, but I hoped we would meet where we had
promised to, even if my promise hadn’t been genuine back
then. I couldn’t fail Malika, especially after she had forsaken
everything, including Moulay Brahim’s blessings. I felt that I
had to attend the concert to see Malika’s faith in me come to
life.
“Hi Veronica, yes I’m back in Rome.”
“When did you arrive? And why didn’t you tell me?”
“I just wanted to spend some time by myself.”
“Are you okay, Elias?”
“Yes.”
“Are you coming to work tomorrow?” she asked.
“No, I’m going to Verona.”

189
 “Verona? Why?”
“I have some issues to deal with there.”
“Won’t you tell me what they are?”
“When I’m done I’ll tell you, don’t worry.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes I am... I’ve got to go now. I’ll talk to you later.”
I wanted to end the call as soon as possible, otherwise I
would have burst into a long, detailed explanation, telling
Veronica about everything that had happened. I did need
someone to listen to me, but this wasn’t the right moment. I
had to look for Malika. I couldn’t afford to waste another
minute.
I had hung up, knowing that Veronica wasn’t convinced
by what I had told her. She knew perfectly well that I wasn’t
okay. She knew that something had incited me to a silence
and preoccupation to which there was no resolution.
That was Veronica’s nature. She never imposed herself
upon others; she always waited until it was the right time.
That’s what had strengthened our friendship over the years.
I rushed towards the tunnel that led to the station. A train
was already on the platform ready to leave for Verona, where
the concert was being held. Yes, I would go there. Even if I
didn’t find Malika I had to go.
The high speed of the train made the scenery distorted,
like a stream of rushing flashbacks. I could see trees, but in
the blink of an eye they disappeared. A few seconds later
another train would pass by, shading us from the light of the
sun.

190
 The Adele concert was due to start at nine pm, so it was
only a few hours away. There, in the Arena Di Verona, music
would occupy a stage that had, for a long time, served as an
arena of death. Adele had decided to share her graceful voice
in the greatest theaters of the world for the first time in years.
Love, pain and time would float through her melodies to
awaken the compassion of lovers and strays.
That arena, where people had been slaughtered against a
backdrop of applause from countless spectators, would be
revived amid the applause of thousands of new spectators;
but these spectators wouldn’t be cheering for death or
quenching their thirst for blood. Instead, they would be
cheering for art and for music.
Adele carried time in all its significance along with
memories that every single member of the audience could
identify with. Her 25 album had awakened the long-dwindling
sense of time for many. Hearts had been moved at last.
Through her tunes, unfortunate lovers were finally moved to
tears. Those who suffered could probe their unfathomable
misery, while lovers of true hearts could enjoy the everlasting
ecstasy of an eternal embrace.
The train conductor announced that we had arrived in
Verona. I rushed out to find a taxi to take me to the
amphitheater.
When I arrived, I just stood there, startled by the greatness
of the site, and watched the huge crowd of people who had
gathered hours before the show. They were feverishly waiting
for Adele. We could hear her voice through the speakers as
she warmed up for the show.

191
 People were standing around outside the theater, which
was surrounded by a fence and several security guards,
waiting for the gates to open. Meanwhile, the fans who hadn’t
been lucky enough to get tickets had taken up their spots on
the ground outside to enjoy her voice as it echoed around the
ancient walls. No one was concerned by the time or the heat
of the sun; they were simply chatting and joking to kill time
until they were allowed to go in. Others were eating as they
waited to watch Real Madrid and Atletico Madrid compete
for the European Cup in the street cafes that surrounded the
amphitheater.
The Verona square contained all facets of love: human
love, sport love and even food love. Italy was truly the land of
adoration, with all of its types and intensities. I was one of
these lovers, but I was still waiting for my sweetheart to show
up in some corner of this affectionate, ancient city. I was busy
looking in every direction, scanning people’s faces and
searching for her; hoping to distinguish her crazy hair and
embroidered scarf, even though it was almost impossible. I
looked closely at everybody around me but there was no sign
of Malika.
“Sir, would you like to attend the concert? I have a ticket
for sale.”
I stared at the man, not truly believing that he had a ticket.
I tried not to show my desperation so he wouldn’t take
advantage of my eagerness.
“How much are you selling it for?” I asked, trying to
sound indifferent.
“€700.”
“That’s too much.”

192
 “If I asked for €1,000 it would be sold instantly. So many
people here are looking for tickets.”
“Then why are you offering it to me for €700?”
“Because I have to go. I’m running late.”
“I’ll take it for €350,” I negotiated.
“Half the price? No, no. I can’t do that!”
“That’s all I have to offer.”
“Make it €400.”
“All right, €400. Then we’re both happy.”
I reached into my pocket and gave him the €400. The
moment he walked away my face brightened. I had finally
obtained a ticket! It seemed as though destiny was paving my
way to meet Malika. This had to happen now.
I heard someone calling my name. “Elias!”
I was suddenly frozen to the spot. I felt as though time
had stopped moving. Nothing was moving at all; everyone
looked like frozen statues in front of me. I remembered the
long journey I had taken, hunting Malika’s shadow from El-
Fnaa Square all the way to Verona. I remembered the time we
had spent together and the eight years of pain and separation
we had endured.
I couldn’t wait to turn my head and look at Malika; the
only girl who had ever brought me to my knees. I appeared
calm, but deep inside I was falling to pieces.
I turned my head and looked at her: the girl with the slim
figure and straight black hair, which fell to her shoulders. Her
skin was tanned in a way that only the sun of El-Fnaa Square

193
could achieve. Nothing about her face looked the same
except for her big black eyes, and even they had lost the
sparkle that had first brought us together.
Yes, Malika was standing there before my eyes, with a
completely new look. But even though she had become the
English Malika she still carried the exotic appeal of
Marrakesh.
The waiting fans were singing ‘Someone Like You’ loudly
as the sound of Adele crooning her most famous song drifted
through the speakers during the sound check:
“You know how the time flies
Only yesterday was the time of our lives
We were born and raised
In a summer haze
Bound by the surprise of our glory days
I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited
But I couldn’t stay away, I couldn’t fight it.
I'd hoped you’d see my face and that you’d be reminded
That for me it isn’t over”

194
 23
All I Ask
f

Las Vegas, USA

I was back sleeping in my crimson bed, covering myself
with the cozy quilt, feeling no will whatsoever to wake up.
The heavy curtains gave me an extra sense of lethargy. I
wished it could be nighttime all day long so I wouldn’t have
to get up.
I asked Mariam to call the hospital and tell them I
wouldn’t be going to work that day. I didn’t want to talk to
anyone, not even Gilbert.
Mariam was unusually quiet. She avoided looking me in
the eye whenever our eyes met, as if she was trying to avoid
an argument in case it resulted in me leaving the house again.
Apparently, my absence had stirred the notion in Mariam’s
head that I might leave her one day, all of a sudden, and reject
everything she believed in and cared about.
I wobbled out of bed and went to see my kids, who were
playing in the backyard. Spending time with them was always
the best part of my frosty life. I hadn’t realized how much I
had missed out on their growing up because I had spent all
my time working.
Tuleen ran towards me, pretending to scare me, and I
pretended to be scared in response. Omair hugged me and
tried to climb onto my back. They frequently ran towards me
so I could hug them both together, but then Omair would
start competing with his sister.

195
 “It’s my turn, Tuleen.”
In moments like these I became aware of how desperate
they were for my embraces. They were trying to make the
most of every moment I spent with them, as if they knew it
was just a vacation and the next day I would have to go back
to work. Although I always tried to spend time with them, I
rarely felt this happy.
I loved every detail about these kids! Tuleen’s naughtiness
and Omair’s laughter filled my heart with joy. This joy had
helped me tolerate Mariam’s rituals all these years. Tuleen and
Omair were my whole life. They were the only truth that
Vegas, in all its glamour, couldn’t take away from me.
“Dad, are you and Mom really going away?” Tuleen asked
me as Omair ran towards us.
“Who told you that, Tuleen?”
Mariam interrupted me from a distance. “Yes, darling, we
are, but your grandma will come over and take care of you.”
I stared at her, not saying a word, as she addressed me: “I
asked your mom to come over and stay with the kids. She
misses spending time with them.”
She could see the surprised look in my eyes, so she added:
“Yes, Yaser, I called your mom so she can take care of the
kids until we get back.”
The kids jumped up and down and ran around, cheering.
“Grandma’s coming over! Grandma’s coming over!”
“Why didn’t you call your mother?” I asked her, baffled.

196
 “Your mom hasn’t seen the kids for a long time, so I
thought this would be a good opportunity for her to spend as
much time as she wants with them.”
“Thank you.”
She smiled. “Come on, we need to pack our bags.”
“Yeah, we will.”
I watched Mariam as she walked back inside. Had all this
happened because I had spent one night away from home? I
couldn’t work it out.
My phone rang.
“Hi Gilbert, how are you?”
“Never better! You’re leaving me at the hospital while you
get ready to leave, loser!” he said, reproaching me.
I laughed. “I promise you we’ll go on another trip.”
“Since you got married you’ve never considered taking a
trip with me. Will you ever think of it now, Yaser? Rome was
a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that will never come again.”
“But the concert’s in Verona, not Rome.”
“You’ll stay in Rome for a couple of days though, right?”
“Of course.”
“Then you’re a traitor!”
I laughed and so did Gilbert. “Enjoy your trip, man,” he
said.
“Thanks Gilbert.”
“Don’t forget to bring me a souvenir back from Italy.”
“What should I bring you?”

197
 “If you could bring a girl I’d be grateful.”
I laughed.
“I won’t bring anything then!” we said simultaneously.
I hung up the phone, still laughing. Then I walked upstairs
to the bedroom with a smile on my face and started packing.
We left the house after we had said goodbye to my
mother, who had arrived hours early in sheer delight.
We got to the airport and put our bags onto the check-in
counter. After our passports had been stamped, Mariam went
to the duty-free area and I bought a coffee.
I watched my wife from a distance. Despite everything
that had brought us there together, it was a truly desperate
attempt to revive a half-forgotten memory. I still didn’t feel
like I wanted to revive anything. I didn’t feel that I had any
memories of Mariam in my heart that merited a revival. I was
sick of her, and all I wanted to do was express this rejection
openly.
Apparently, Mariam could read my mind. That’s why she
had avoided looking me in the eye since I had returned home.
She hadn’t asked me where I had been and she hadn’t even
tried to argue with me since then.
She had simply opened the front door and said, “Welcome
back.”
I had gone upstairs to our room and tried to sleep. I didn’t
know how many nights I had slept for, but I knew that I was
escaping; escaping Isabelle, Mariam, the sounds of the casino
machines and the images that were still stuck in my head
from Fremont Street.

198
 The moment I laid my head on the pillow I had felt
enraged and frustrated. My mixed feelings had stopped me
falling asleep peacefully. Those feelings still penetrated my
soul now. I had tried my best to hide my feelings behind a
cold smile that I kept switched on all the time, but I felt so
angry I wanted to shout out loud. It was ripping me apart.
Mariam came over to join me. “Do you want some
water?”
“No thank you.”
“How much longer is it until take-off?” Mariam asked.
“I don’t know. Don’t you have the boarding passes?”
“No, you didn’t give them to me.”
“I gave them to you the minute we finished at the desk,” I
said, feeling irritated.
“Wait, let me look for them,” she said, searching inside her
handbag.
She searched for some time and said, “They’re not in my
bag.”
“Well I don’t have them!”
“Look in your pockets,” she said.
“I told you I don’t have them!”
“What’s the matter with you, Yaser? Look in your pockets.
You might have put them in there.”
“I’m certain I don’t have them,” I said firmly.
“Why won’t you search your pockets?”
“I just don’t want to!”

199
 Mariam looked in her bag again. “Oh, here they are.”
“See!”
“Okay, you were right, but why was it such a problem to
search your pockets too?” she asked.
“The problem is that you don’t trust anything I say.”
“Trust? What’s the matter with you, Yaser? How is that
related to trust?”
“Of course it’s related. You never believe anything I say.”
“It wasn’t like that. I just thought you might have had
them,” she said, trying to justify her actions.
“You always believe you’re right and that everyone else is
wrong.”
“Is this still about the boarding passes?”
“It’s just a truth we have to accept.”
“What truth is that?” she asked anxiously.
“The truth that our life together has become impossible.”
“What’s… wrong… with you… Yaser?”
It was the first time I had seen Mariam stutter, the fear
clearly showing on her face. I don’t know why, but I felt so
happy at that moment. I felt happy and in control for the first
time in years. I felt that Mariam couldn’t try to dominate me
this time; and that she was unable to hide her weakness
behind a fragile mask of authority. I realized I had been to
blame for giving her all this power over me since the day we
married. Gilbert was right.
She was stuttering and I was enjoying it. I realized then
that I held grudges like all humans. I wasn’t as perfect as I

200
thought I was. My grudge was like that of a camel. Once a
camel holds a grudge, it never fades away. It seeks revenge
from whoever caused the hurt, even after many years.
“Yaser, aren’t we taking this trip to save our marriage?
What’s all this about?”
“This is just a pointless role-play we’re acting out.”
“Why are you saying that? Aren’t you the one who chose
the Adele concert to revive our memories? Don’t rush this.
Everything will turn out for the best, even if it takes time,”
she said in a strange tone I had never heard before.
“I don’t think so.”
“Yaser…” she begged.
“We’ll never see eye to eye, Mariam. I’ve been drowned in
your turbulent waves.”
“No, you haven’t yet.”
“Yes I have,” I argued.
“So what about me?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you think that I froze as I tiptoed across your
frosty land? Hasn’t it occurred to you that I’m looking for
memories for us to revive? Don’t you think I’m hoping to
find you and the cup of coffee I almost choked on? I’m eager
to find a moment when the ice around my heart can thaw and
its burdens can melt away.
I’m tired of watching you live your life just for the sake of
living or forcing yourself to watch TV with me. I’m worn out,
Yaser. I’ve been worn out through all the attempts I’ve made

201
to build a house and raise kids with faith and principles when
I know their father is still seeking the truth, and that he’s not
convinced by what I’m raising them to believe.
“I cry every day when I see that the husband I once fell in
love with is now performing prayers just to avoid getting into
quarrels with me, and that he fasts for us, not because he
believes in fasting. Don’t you think that I have doubts every
day about whether our attempts to revive our marriage could
ever succeed? Don’t you think that with your ice-cold
demeanor you have broken every piece of my heart? Don’t
you know that behind all the solidarity I project there is a
wounded woman who has pledged to do her best to make
this marriage work?
“I want you to hold me because you want to, not because
you’re obliged to. I want to be your lover, not just your wife!
I want you to be there for me, listening when I need a
shoulder to cry on. Yes, Yaser, I want our marriage to be
successful and happy, not just fake photos of us pretending
to be happy on Facebook or Instagram. I want you to keep
your promise to me from our wedding day, when you said
you would love me as long as you live, only to discover that a
year later you were still alive but your love had died! I want to
revive every living memory we had and not just the proposal,
so please, I beg you, don’t let us lose that last breath.”
My eyes were fixed on Mariam. I was puzzled, not fully
comprehending what she had just said. She had known all
this time that I didn’t believe in her God. No way! She knew
that my rebellion against her was imploding within me
because I was rebelling against this ‘higher being’. She knew
that I had rejected her and her conventions and even her
holiness. She knew all that but she had kept quiet. And

202
behind her arguments she held inside her a volcano of silence
just so she could keep her family together!
Mariam knew that I didn’t believe in everything she
believed in; even our marriage. But she still hoped we could
find a moment that would bring us back together. She was
certain that the love we had once experienced could be
renewed. Was that why she had agreed to travel? She was as
worn out as I was with this empty marriage.
Mariam was and always will be like a sacred page of a holy
book. She would forgive no matter how great the sin was;
even the sin of blasphemy! She knew I had lost my faith but
had remained silent.
Mariam leaned towards me and tried to touch my nervous
face with her shaky hand. “Don’t worry, darling, everything
will be okay.”
I looked at her, deafened by what she had said. I couldn’t
hear any more of her words. Did she really believe that
everything could ever be okay between us?
“But how will everything be fine when I’m an atheist?”
Mariam’s hands stopped shaking. They were frozen,
motionless, and I could feel the frostiness on my burning
face. At that moment I felt as though time had stopped.
Mariam’s stares were piercing into my eyes and she was
speechless. Although she accepted my claims, she hadn’t been
ready to hear them spoken out loud so clearly.
Her words barely came out. “I… I know…”
“Do you think everything will be fine even though I’m an
atheist?” I asked again, pulling her frozen hand away from my
face.

203
 She didn’t answer. She just sat back in her seat, and said,
as if she were asking herself, “What in life is worth
blaspheming for, Yaser? Why would you deny your creator
when you know that he is your creator?”
“No, I don’t know that, and there’s nothing to prove it!”
“Really? Isn’t there?” she replied in a heartbroken tone.
“No, there isn’t.”
“How about the emergence of life from non-living
matter?”
“What?” I asked, looking straight at her.
“You know that we were created out of lifeless substances,
so how did we turn into animated beings?”
She drew closer to me, despite what I had said, and
rubbed her thumb along my cheek. “God is there for
whoever wants to find him, Yaser. For whoever really and
truly wants to find him.” She sighed and added: “Despite all
this, everything can be okay.”
She couldn’t play the holy father any more. Her offers of
indulgences were not enough to save our crumbling marriage.
She couldn’t be a saint now! She couldn’t continue to be who
she had been. She couldn’t know it all and leave me like a
little child, lost in the streets of Vegas and looking for shelter
in the arms of Isabelle. That just wasn’t going to happen.
Nothing would be okay.
My eyes were still fixed on her as her fingers ran through
my hair.
“Even if everything turns out for the best, our marriage
can’t be mended,” I said.

204
 She pulled her hand away at the same moment I pulled my
head away from her.
“There’s no love between us to bring back to life. I can’t
take this trip, Mariam.”
She looked at me, still frozen in her seat as if her body was
defending itself against what was happening.
“Yaser,” she whispered as a tear rolled down her face.
I turned my back on her and walked away.
“Yaser, even if our love has died, don’t let God die in your
heart too.”
I turned to face her again and saw a weakness in her eyes
that I had never seen before. For the first time, I felt as
though Mariam had realized that her God had died in me
because of her. She was crying because she knew that the past
couldn’t be relived; not even through a memory.
As I walked towards the exit, she followed me. “Yaser…”
I paused and turned towards her.
“Will you hug me?”
I looked at her, not knowing what to do.
She asked again. “Hug me, Yaser.”
I hugged her in such a way that we both knew it would be
our last ever embrace.
She cried, and then wiped away her tears. “My dear Yaser.
In spite of everything that has ever happened between us, I
want you to know that I loved you.”
Then she put her sunglasses on and walked towards the
exit gates, leaving me to watch her departing steps.

205
 Minutes later, my phone buzzed. It was a text from her
containing only the words of Adele’s ‘All I Ask’:
“I will leave my heart at the door
I won’t say a word...
They’ve all been said before, you know
So why don’t we just play pretend
Like we’re not scared of what is coming next
or scared of having nothing left!
Look, don’t get me wrong
I know there is no tomorrow
All I ask is...
If this is my last night with you
Hold me like I’m more than just a friend
Give me a memory I can use
Take me by the hand while we do what lovers do
It matters how this ends
’Cause what if I never love again?”

206
 24
He Won’t Go
f

Amman, Jordan
I was wandering around the airport trying to remember what
I used to do when I was traveling. I had forgotten almost
everything related to traveling and airport procedures. I had
forgotten how to spend time inside its restaurants and shops,
and even how to use the free Wi-Fi, which gave travelers the
chance to communicate with whoever they wanted.
Throughout those eight years I had only gone to the airport
to bid farewell or to welcome others. I hadn’t once passed
through the check-in gate.
I felt a little nervous, but it was fine; it was just because I
hadn’t travelled for a long while. I wished I could find an Abu
Al-Abed coffee so I could taste the old times and calm my
shaking hands. Maybe it wasn’t obvious to anyone else, but it
felt like there was an earthquake inside me. Why was I so
nervous? Did I really fear traveling alone? Or was it just
because of all the waiting around?
Waiting always created a sense of tension and anticipation,
but when the plane took off everything would be fine. It
wasn’t about that, though. It was my son’s tears and his
heartbroken expression. Even though I tried to attribute the
blame elsewhere, that was the real reason. I wasn’t trying to
kill time; I was trying to kill the motherhood inside me. I
would have to suppress it for a whole week, and I wished I
could just leave without this intense guilt running through my
veins.

207
 I walked towards the gate and sat in the waiting area. I
tried to distract myself by watching the people round about
me: a man drinking water, another scanning the pages of Life
of Pi; a woman soothing her child on her lap while the father
looked at his phone, as if it was the wife’s duty alone to care
for the baby.
My phone rang. “Hey Lara. No, he’s not with me. His
father banned him from traveling.”
“What? Are you still going?”
“Yes, I’m at the gate now.”
“That’s amazing. Are you sure about this though?”
“Isn’t it my right to travel? Isn’t it my right to enjoy a few
days of freedom and peace after all the years of restriction
and torture?”
“Of course it is, but…”
“But what? My son’s with his uncle and his father has to
take some responsibility. I’ve had enough after all these
years.”
“You’re right, Nadia. Enjoy your vacation.”
“Thank you.”
I held the phone for a while after I hung up. Should I call
and check on my son? No, there was no need. If I called, that
awful feeling would be reignited inside my son and within my
own heart.
Should I have told him that his father was to blame for
what had happened? Should I have told him the truth about
his father, which would have made him hate his own dad? Or
was I doing what was supposed to be done? Did his father

208
deserve for me to treat him with such decency? Or should I
treat him the way he was treating me? Surely he didn’t
deserve the fine image I had portrayed of him to his son, but
his son would grow up one day and discover the truth about
his father for himself. He certainly would, but not through
me.
The gate opened and the passengers formed a line in front
of the attendant.
I couldn’t escape the urge, so I picked up my phone and
called my brother. “Let me speak to my son for a minute…”
“He’s asleep.”
“Really? That fast?”
“Yes. Don’t worry, he’s fine, Nadia. Go and have fun.
You’ll only be gone for a few days and you’ve wanted it for
so long. I think you need it. Don’t worry, there’ll be plenty of
time to compensate him. Give yourself some space now. You
deserve it after all those years of struggle.”
“Yes, but…”
He interrupted me. “No buts. Your son’s fine and we’ll
take care of him. I’ll let him call you every day until you get
back.”
“Okay… Take good care of him please.”
I put my phone back in my handbag and headed towards
the gate. The flight attendant took my boarding pass and
smiled as she checked it over. “This way, please. Enjoy your
flight.”
I walked down the long gangway and the attendants
welcomed me at the end of it, guiding me to my seat. I sat

209
beside the window, leaving the seat beside me empty. My son
should have been sitting there, but now no one would occupy
it.
“Mom, when we get on the plane, can I have the seat
beside the window?” my son had asked while he was packing.
I couldn’t bring myself to sit in his place, so I shifted into
the next seat, leaving the window seat empty. He would have
been so excited if he had been with me.
“Mom, I’m so happy that I’m going away with you,” he
had said, hugging me when I showed him his passport. He
was so excited he had jumped onto my lap.
How could I leave without him? We had arranged
everything together. We had bought everything we needed
for the trip side by side.
One time at the mall he had picked out a straw hat for me.
“You should put this on so the sun won’t bother you.”
I had laughed and bought it just because he had chosen it
for me. In turn, I had picked out an outfit for him. “And you
should wear this to the concert.”
He had nodded his head, smiling. He couldn’t believe he
would be getting on a plane to hear Adele sing at a live show.
I wished I had never introduced him to this dream.
I had read on one of the websites that Adele had agreed
earlier to go on tour, only to spend a long vacation with her
son instead so they could enjoy the adventure of traveling. I
didn’t want my son to travel the world with me for a year as
she had; I had just wanted him to come to Italy with me for a
week!

210
 The fuss of the boarding passengers created a chaotic
atmosphere in the cabin, distracting me from my thoughts.
One was storing his bag, another was trying to find her seat,
while someone else was sitting quietly with his seatbelt
buckled. I still sat there, staring at my son’s empty seat,
tortured by everything he had said and done in preparation
for this trip.
All the little details pounded in my head like a hammer
until it felt ready to explode. His smiles, his laughter and his
excitement, followed by the harsh words he had spoken as he
got into his uncle’s car and drove away.
“You’re lying to me, Mom.”
I wished someone would sit next to me to distract my
brain. This seat couldn’t remain empty, leaving me hanging
between the struggle of motherhood and my desire to break
free from my ex-husband’s chains.
Regardless of the battles I had been through to break away
from his tyranny, the law had given him the authority to ban
Waleed from traveling because of the title he carried, which
my ex-husband had never understood or acted responsibly
upon. Fatherhood wasn’t just a name printed on a piece of
paper!
The seats started to fill up, but the seat beside me
remained empty. I could still see my son’s eyes behind the car
window, watching me.
“You’re lying to me, Mom.”
Had I been right to lie? I knew deep down that I hadn’t
planned this trip to fight for my freedom or to prove to his
father that I could do whatever I wanted. I had planned it for

211
my son, and only for him. So I unbuckled the seatbelt that
was constraining me, just for him. My life had always been
and always would be for him!
The attendant stopped me at the exit and tried to send me
back to my seat, which was as empty now as my son’s beside
it.
“Ma’am, you need to go back to your seat, please. The
plane’s about to take off.”
“And I’m about to lose myself… I’m about to lose my
son… Please let me out.”
The attendant looked at me. She saw a mother’s panic in
my eyes rather than the impulsiveness of a crazy woman. She
went to speak to the captain, leaving me standing there, while
an air of apprehension started to spread across the cabin in
response to my sudden desire to get off.
She quickly got everything under control by telling the
other passengers my son was in a critical condition and that I
had to leave. Everyone was at ease but me. I waited for the
plane door to open, and as soon as it did I ran out onto the
gangway.
I took a deep breath the second I stepped back into the
airport. I knew then that my freedom was a journey I had
chosen to take with my son and would never be anything
other than that.
“You won’t be sleeping alone, honey. I’m coming for
you!” I said aloud.
I rushed out of the airport, and took a taxi home. I left the
plane behind me and watched it take off with its two empty
seats.

212
 As for the concert tickets, I had given them to a couple I
had seen on the plane.
“These are from me to you with love,” I had said.
I had given them away with love, even though I didn’t
believe in it any more.
I wanted Adele to become a reality for them, just as it had
when I played ‘He Won’t Go’ in the car or heard my son
singing the words around the house:
“But I won’t go
I can’t do it on my own
If this ain’t love, then what is?
I’m willing to take the risk”

213
 25
Adele’s 25
f

You must be waiting to enjoy the concert just as the others in

this book had been: Nadia and her young son; Yaser and his
rigid wife; Elias and his long-lost Malika.
They had all been waiting for it, but some had put it
behind them and returned home, like Nadia, who couldn’t
bring herself to leave and had got off the plane just a few
minutes before it departed because she had realized that her
freedom was conditional.
She had grabbed her bags and rushed over to her brother’s
house. As soon as she arrived, her legs had been unable to
hold her any more. She had fallen to her knees and burst into
tears in her brother’s arms.
“I couldn’t… I couldn’t…” she sobbed. Her brother
embraced her. He had known when she called him from the
airport that she wouldn’t have been able to go without her
son, especially seeing as the whole trip had been for him. Her
brother hadn’t gone sleep that night as he had been waiting
for her to come knocking on the door.
Yaser had stood still at the airport, staring at the departing
footsteps of his wife and considering the possibility of
opening another door to revive an old love through Adele
and her music.
He had picked up his phone and called Gilbert. “Gilbert,
I’m at the airport. Will you please come with me?”

214
 “Yaser, the plane’s taking off in an hour, or maybe even
less! And I don’t want to be the third wheel between you and
Mariam!”
“Just come! Mariam went home, she’s not coming.”
“What? She’s not going?”
“No, she’s not. I’m waiting for you. Bring your passport!”
Yaser knew that Gilbert was a reliable friend, and he
desperately needed him at this time. The time crept by and
Yaser waited impatiently for his friend to arrive; to help him
lift the heavy burden off his chest.
“Hey man, I’m glad you made it.”
“What happened?” Gilbert exclaimed, astounded.
“Mariam isn’t coming.”
“And I can’t travel because I haven’t asked for any leave
from the hospital,” Gilbert said in a disappointed tone. “Oh,
Mariam and her out-of-the-blue decisions! How beautiful
Italy would have been.”
Yaser smiled at his long-time friend.
Meanwhile, on the Western side of the planet, in the
presence of the majestic Arena Di Verona, Elias had found
Malika after a long, tormented journey, which had circulated
between charm, love and fear. It was a journey that had
witnessed the swaying bodies of the shattah, the charming of
snakes and the righteousness of Moulay Brahim. The dead
saint hadn’t granted them his blessings, but the fountain of
wishes in Rome had; even if it was just an illusion the tourists
wanted to believe in.

215
 Elias had finally met her, even though he hadn’t
recognized her at first glance. She no longer wore her
embroidered scarf and the wild hair was tamed and hung
straight down over her shoulders, but her voice still sounded
the same.
“Elias!” she called again.
Elias responded passionately. “Malika!”
“I knew you would be here.”
Elias smiled. “Yes, I’m here.”
“You haven’t changed…”
“And you…”
“Did you recognize me?” she asked, interrupting him.
“I only recognized your eyes, even though you aren’t
wearing the kohl eyeliner these days.”
She smiled. “The Arabian kohl doesn’t suit me any more.”
“Maybe…”
“I knew you would be here,” she said again.
“Even after all these years?”
“I became more sure that you would be here when Adele
themed time into her songs.”
“What if I hadn’t been here?”
“I still would’ve found you because you promised me,
Elias. Your promises weren’t like the promises of Marrakesh
and Moulay Brahim, so I knew I would find you.”
“But…”

216
 “But we have to go in, the gates are open. What’s your
seat number?”
Malika looked at her ticket and they realized they wouldn’t
be seated together, but that they would be in the same section
of the auditorium.
She grabbed his hand and dragged him towards the gate.
“Come on, we’ll figure it out inside.”
They walked together through the narrow passageway into
the theater, which was kitted out with flashing lights and
enormous speakers. Right in front of the stage were the red
seats for the VIPs, while the fans were seating themselves
around the sides, waiting ecstatically for the show to start.
Everyone had been anticipating her famous opening; the
word “Hello” that she would direct into the audience, causing
the hearts of her fans to quiver as it echoed around the
theater and beyond its walls.
Malika stood up, looking at the people in the seats nearby.
When she spotted a young man sitting by himself in the seat
next to Elias’, she went over to him and said in perfect
English, “Sir, do you speak English?”
The man shook his head, so she spoke to him in Italian.
“Sir, I came to the concert with my friend, but unfortunately
they mixed up the seats and put us in separate places. Would
you mind switching?”
Elias gazed at Malika, thunderstruck that she not only
spoke English very well, but that she also spoke Italian.
She spoke in a tender tone, which convinced the man to
both accept her request and appreciate the love that had
brought the couple to the concert together.

217
 “I appreciate your understanding. You’re such a
gentleman,” she said, thanking him.
The man smiled at them and left to find his seat, while
Elias continued to gaze at the woman standing in front of
him, attempting to look for the Malika he had known and
longed for. He had felt nostalgic for her lively voice for so
many years.
He wanted to tell her everything that had happened since
she had gone away; what the past eight years had been like
with his love for her erupting in his heart.
While Elias was still gazing at Malika, the audience started
applauding and screaming with excitement. Adele’s voice
started to fill the air as she entered the stage:
“Hello, it’s me
I was wondering if after all these years
You’d like to meet
To go over everything
They say that time’s supposed to heal ya
But I ain’t done much healing”

Waleed woke up the next morning in his mother’s arms.

When he saw her next to him, he cried: “Mom! You didn’t
lie to me!”
Nadia smiled at him. “No dear, I didn’t… and I never
will.”
Her son hugged her tight. “I love you, Mom.”
Nadia knew she would have paid any price to see that
smile on her son’s face, even if it meant restricted freedom.
All she wanted in her life were those words, “I love you,

218
Mom”, and to see that the fear that had appeared in his eyes
as he left the airport had vanished, never to return.
She just couldn’t walk away from him. He was the sole
reason for her survival and she would never leave unless he
was accompanying her.
She prepared breakfast so they could eat together. The
following day she would have to go to work, but in the
meantime she needed to spend some time with her only child.
Time was only a matter of moments, which later turned
into memories, as Adele always sang.
“It doesn’t matter that Adele was singing live in Verona
yesterday,” she said, smiling at her son and knowing that no
memory could be more precious than these moments with
him. “All that matters is that we’re together.”
She could hear the singer’s ‘Million Years Ago’ in her head
as if she were hearing it live:
“I only wanted to have fun
Learning to fly learning to run
I let my heart decide the way
When I was young
Deep down I must have always known
That this would be inevitable
To earn my stripes I’d have to pay
And bare my soul”

Yaser had given Gilbert the tickets and waved goodbye.

“Go, man, and enjoy your time. I’ll cover for you at the
hospital,” he had said reassuringly.
Gilbert hadn’t been able to believe his luck, but he had
gladly taken the tickets. “Are you sure, Yaser?”

219
 “Of course,” Yaser had replied calmly. “Go and do all the
things I could never do.”
“But…”
“Go, and don’t worry. Everything’s arranged, even the
hotel reservation.”
“But Yaser…”
“The plane’s taking off in thirty minutes. Just go!”
Yaser hadn’t given his friend a chance to think it through.
In Gilbert’s excitement he had seen his own lost soul, which
had been trapped in that cup of coffee he had given Mariam
years earlier. While she had survived her choking fit, he had
been almost suffocating to death ever since.
Although Mariam had spoken out and expressed her
hidden agony when she reproached him, he knew she would
still be sipping the same old coffee as she watched TV and
browsed Facebook and Instagram, looking for the ring she
hadn’t swallow but had never truly found.
“I will change if I must.
Slow it down and bring it home, I will adjust.
Oh if only, if only you knew,
Everything I do is for you”

“How did you know it was me?” Elias asked Malika.

“My memory could never erase the man who created the
English Malika!”
“But I didn’t intend to make you the English Malika.”
“Neither did I, remember?”
“I remember, but…”

220
 “But we don’t always have a choice when it comes to
being who we want to be.”
“Why have you done all this, Malika?”
“To make it to the concert…”
“To see me?”
“To come to the concert. That doesn’t mean it was to see
you,” she replied.
“How were you so sure you would find me?”
“Because of your tears on the Atlas Mountains.”
“But…” He looked at her, taken aback.
She interrupted him. “You had to come back, Elias. If it
hadn’t been for me, it would have been for yourself.”
“For me?”
“Yes, because you saw Marrakesh and its magic in my
eyes, and I saw the West with all its modernity in yours.”
She kept quiet as she gazed at the stage. Then she
continued: “I wanted you to find me, Elias, so that I could
see you as you looked into my eyes and realized that nothing
stays the same.”
Malika uttered these words in a bid to convince herself
that she was sure of everything; that she still knew what she
wanted; that she was still walking the path she had long
planned for herself. But deep inside, she knew that the only
certainty in her life would always be her doubts.
“Why would you say that, Malika?” Elias asked.
She smiled. “Because the stage here is for songs, not for
death any more. There is no place for myths, darling.”

221
 “But why are you in Italy if you don’t believe in myths?”
“To make sure that myths don’t exist.”
Elias didn’t know how to respond. She was right that
myths weren’t true, but since when had Malika stopped
believing in them? Hadn’t the love she had dreamt of finding
on the sidewalk or at a train station been a myth?
“El-Fnaa Square is a myth, Moulay Brahim is a myth, even
you and the Atlas Mountains are myths. What have I gained
from these myths, Elias? That’s why I’m here, where all the
myths fall naked in the heart of Italy. Where all its polytheism
and myths of the gods are eradicated and replaced by the
Vatican, where there is one God and church.”
Elias couldn’t take his eyes off Malika, who carried so
much passion, although it was no longer related to El-Fnaa
Square or Moulay Brahim.
“I was in Marrakesh…”
“Then you must have seen my mother.”
“I did, and I saw your father too.”
“He’s still a shattah, isn’t he?”
“Yes. I also saw Saber and Aziz.”
She looked at me with a distant sparkle in her eyes. “Does
the snake still hold my secret?” She paused. “I don’t think so,
or you wouldn’t be here tonight.”
“Aziz told me you had whispered your secret to the
snake.”
“I told her you would come back, and that when you did I
wouldn’t be there.”

222
 “You really aren’t there, Malika.”
She smiled. “I’m not, Elias. When I stopped going to
Moulay Brahim to get his blessings, I stopped existing and
you were reduced to scraps of papers inside the box of life.”
“Why did you come, then?” he asked again.
She turned to look at Adele on the stage and said: “To
listen to her.”
Elias gazed at the stage, following the trajectory of her
sparkling eyes. She had carried the nights of Marrakesh, the
red city, on her shoulders and eventually become the English
Malika; not just Malika as she had planned. He hadn’t met the
English Malika before. He was still looking for the Malika he
hadn’t found.
It was Adele’s live rendition of ‘When We Were Young’
that made Elias realize age was simply stolen ticks of the
universe’s clock:
“Everybody loves the things you do
From the way you talk
To the way you move...
Everybody here is watching you
’Cause you feel like home
You’re like a dream come true

But if by chance you’re here alone

Can I have a moment?
Before I go?
’Cause I’ve been by myself all night long
Hoping you’re someone I used to know

You look like a movie

You sound like a song
My God
This reminds me, of when we were young

223
 Let me photograph you in this light
In case it is the last time
That we might be exactly like we were
Before we realized
We were sad of getting old
It made us restless
It was just like a movie
It was just like a song”

Nadia walked into her office the following day to find a

sealed envelope on her desk. As soon as she tore it open, she
smiled, then laughed, then cried. The envelope contained the
chairman’s approval for her unpaid leave, and without any
salary deductions.
Adele had been singing about love, time and agony in
Verona, while Nadia now sang for freedom; the freedom she
could never fully enjoy.
Yaser had finally arrived home two days earlier. He stood
on the doorstep of his cold house, where the sounds of
laughter from his kids playing in the backyard made him
realize there were more important things in life, and that they
required sacrifice.
Despite all her strictness, Mariam had demonstrated her
forgiveness. Her forgiveness was manifested as a result of her
belief in God, who called himself ‘the merciful’. She had even
forgiven him for denying her God.
Yet she hadn’t realized that, by forgiving him, she had
opened a door for him to find repentance. He knew that life
couldn’t be created from lifeless substances, but he had
wanted to rebel against her God because he hadn’t been able
to rebel against her.

224
 “You’re back!” Mariam said, opening the door with a smile
on her face.
“Yes, I’m back. I couldn’t travel without you. You were
the memory I was trying to revive.”
Mariam hugged him fondly for the first time in many
years. “Oh Yaser.”
“A person who has never had doubts could never truly
know faith, my love,” he said.
He entered the house that had once served as his prison.
Although he had always perceived Mary, or Mariam, to hold
the chains of every desire, sin and freedom he sought, he now
looked fondly at his kids and at his wife, all of whom were
full of excitement and hope.
Malika had looked into Elias’ eyes in a similar, searching
way at the concert.
As he turned to leave, he said: “I looked for Malika but I
found you.”
“Two Malikas can’t exist inside one body, Elias. I’m the
English Malika now.”
“Yes, and I’m still looking for the Malika I knew.”
“Then you are still on the Atlas Mountains.”
“Yes I am, my love.”
Elias left the arena, taking a final glance at Malika from a
distance. Then he walked away, leaving her and all his
memories of her behind him.
At that moment she looked back at him and watched each
step he took out towards the exit. Despite all the music and

225
the applause, Malika heard his footsteps echoing clearly in her
mind as Adele sang ‘Don’t You Remember’:
“When will I see you again?
You left with no goodbye,
Not a single word was said,
No final kiss to seal any sins,
I had no idea of the state we were in”

Then Malika danced like a bird stalking across its narrow

cage, her wings crippled und unable to fly her through the
past she had shared with Elias. She sang Adele’s lyrics in
harmony with the singer, emitting a fearful yet joyful trill. She
danced away the Atlas Mountains and their breeze and she
danced away Moulay Brahim’s empty blessings.
The caged bird of her abandoned soul knew that her
memories could never be revived, and that neither the
present nor the future had to be based upon the past. She was
dancing away the memory of the shattah and of Kanza. She
was swaying her slim body and straight, black hair away from
the box of life and the scrappy, handwritten lyrics.
She was dancing to accept the promise that had stolen the
Moroccan Malika and turned her into the English Malika,
whom Elias had left without saying goodbye. She gave
everything she had to get the torment out, to soothe her frail
soul. She danced feverishly, allowing the memories of people
and events in her life to flow forth freely.
Malika danced for a certainty covered in doubt. Her
swaying moves shivered in the cold breeze around the Arena
di Verona, her thoughts racing through the amphitheater like
a thunderstorm striking a peaceful village, destroying
everything in seconds. She saw a new reality creeping slowly
over her aging soul.

226
 Although Adele’s music was slow-paced, Malika danced
hysterically. She didn’t care that her dance moves weren’t in
sync with the beat or at the right tempo for the piano notes.
She didn’t care about anything or anyone. She felt free, and
she didn’t care whether that freedom was restricted to or
conditional upon a haunted love she couldn’t let go of.
She knew that El-Fnaa Square was her amphitheater, and
that Elias, Kanza and the shattah were the only performers in
it. She knew that on her stage she had found her way out of
every entrance and every exit. And although Elias had played
a huge role, his presence could be summed up in a three-
minute Adele song.
Malika danced like she had never danced before. She
danced until she couldn’t dance any more. And suddenly she
couldn’t hear a word Adele was singing. She felt as though
the whole universe had frozen and time had stood still. She
felt as though time had washed her away. She was drunk with
the dance.
She danced until the last grain of her physical and mental
ability was exhausted. Eventually, she threw her exhausted
body onto her seat and sat there, motionless. She felt as
though taking one more step would have been an extravagant
effort.
The audience became more animated as the orchestra
started to play the opening to the iconic, Oscar-winning
‘Skyfall’. Adele had her eyes closed. She moved in harmony
with the lyrics as she crooned:
“This is the end…”

227