Even when you are not ready, especially

*Looking out over the rooftops of Casablanca*

Sitting here on a humid, warm Sunday morning, I have just finished the last pages of Il passaporto verde, the debut novel of author Zineb Mekouar. The Italian title translates to “the green passport,” alluding to the consequences of one’s place of birth, which unites layers of a society that may otherwise be fragmented. But the original French title, La poule et son cumin, instead reflects a Moroccan proverb, one that in my understanding, signifies finally finding a certain treasure, one that was long sought after and longed for. A happy ending.

I first heard of this book and its author only a little over a month ago, when I saw that she would be presenting at Una Marina di libri, an annual independent book fair held in Palermo. I was intrigued by the premise of her book: a story of two young girls growing up in Casablanca. One, who travels to France with the opportunity to pursue new opportunities, the other instead to follow another path. But as different as their lives may appear, their destinies are both tied to forces beyond themselves, forces both acknowledged and unknown to them.

When Zineb finished her presentation, I eyed the stack of books for sale. Many people lined up to have their copies signed, and she graciously spoke with everyone. I was last in line, and a new presentation was about to begin. I knew I could just say my name and have her sign my book, but I also knew that I would regret not telling her why I had come that day: this book was set in a city that served as a major turning point in my life as a young woman. I pushed through all my nervous instincts, and I am so grateful that I did. Her second book, currently available only in French, is titled Souviens-toi des abeilles, or “Remember the bees,” which brought to my mind a fond memory. That of the bakeries in Casablanca, where the honey covered pastries and metal tins can attracts more bees than people. I wrote about them here.

I began to read the book right away, but I quickly realized that this story would capture all of my attention. I had to put it aside for a few weeks in order that when I returned to it, I could completely immerse myself in the world of Kenza and Fatiha, the two girls in the story. Over the years, they grow into women, the consequences of which impact not only the directions of their lives, but threaten the ties of their friendship.

This book was beautiful to read, and at many times, heartbreaking. It touches on many themes that are present in reality: gender, tradition, religion, colonialism and post-colonialism, integration, separation. Identity. Hearing these listed off, one could think the book would risk reading cliché. Instead, even through a fictional story, Zienb is able to present a reality that even those who may not think they identify with the characters can understand: we are not always in control of our own destinies. But sometimes, even when a situation may seem hopeless, we are able to find “the chicken and its cumin.”

While reading the book, I was transported back to the various neighbourhoods I traversed in Casablanca. I feel very fortunate that I was able to have my own experiences there, although I have reflected through the years that I feel I was so unprepared for the world that I would find there. Casablanca is a forceful city, the type of which I had never experienced before. It requires a steadfastness, a security in oneself that I could barely pretend to have at the time. And at the same time, to survive there one needed to be able to take things in stride, to go with the flow. To recognize when to put your guard up, and when to let yourself be open to accept kindness and hospitality from strangers. A type of hospitality and openness I hadn’t encountered before. These are qualities that I have striven to adapt, instincts that I have sought to develop, but still find myself struggling with today. Seven years ago? I couldn’t even begin to imagine.

Fortunately, I met many kind people there, both from Casablanca and from abroad. We wandered through the markets, and through other cities in Morocco. We celebrated the hot summer nights of Ramadan cooking harira, an addicting lentil and chickpea soup fragrant with spices and small noodles, before descending into the streets where there was cool air and we could sample peeled prickly pears and corn-on-the-cob, the sticky, charred kernels leaving black sprinkles in our smiles.

I don’t have many photos from my time in Casablanca, but my memories live vividly inside my mind. Writing this entry brings so many of them back to me: they are all still as clear as when I was experiencing them. Buying stacks of msemen, a square Moroccan flatbread pastry from the Marché Central, taking the tram, walking through the old medina to purchase the necessary rough scrubbing glove and black soap to visit the local hammam. Turning a corner to find the immense Hassan II Mosque seemingly rising from the sea. Hearing the Qur’an recited for the first time as my friend played it next to her as she fell asleep. The train to Marrakech stalling in the middle of the desert, and the women who shared our compartment sharing their water and sweets with us, even though they were fasting themselves. The power of the Atlantic Ocean along the coast of Ain Diab and the time a random cat jumped through our window. The shared apartment with the small kitchen. The laughter, the frustrations. All of it.

When I think about my time in Morocco, I wish I could go back knowing what I know now. With more conviction, with more curiosity, with a more open heart. And yet, we all know that cannot be possible. I know I tried my best. Back then, anxiety and uncertainty weighed heavy on my mind no matter where I went, and those burdens followed me across borders and through time zones. Despite everything, I know that I had the experience I was meant to have. I was perhaps not ready to go there, and that is exactly why it was necessary that I did. I was pushed beyond my limits, which only expanded them. I met beautiful people who inspired me to take even greater leaps forward, and who I know I could still call on today. Though it was sometimes painful, these experiences shattered so much of what I thought I knew and what I thought I could control. Without those lessons, I would not be who I am today. I would not have had the subsequent experiences that I did. I would not have learned just how capable I am, and just how wonderful it is to sometimes let your guard down, so that true connection and friendship can have the possibility to begin.

I believe that in this, I found la poule et son cumin. And thanks to reading this beautiful story by Zineb Mekouar, I had the opportunity to reflect on just how much my time in Casablanca and Morocco truly meant to me.

love,

greer