I thought you might be interested to know what Morocco is really like, how she transformed me and what she truly is. This was written while I was living there in the first eighteen months. I wracked my brain to be able to describe the trueness of this land which few understand. Enjoy.
Morocco, She Breathes
I have now been pondering this for eighteen months. Yes, Morocco is a 'she' and yes, she breathes. Blood courses through her veins, through her very heart which she does possess. Yet it is not the people of this land of which I speak but the very land herself. I lived it, felt it, knew it and how could that be? An actual country made of soil, stone, and clay live? Many nights I spent awake seeking the answer as to what had gotten into my own heart, system and life from this land of soil and stone, seemingly like any other. Ah, but she is not simply any other and therein lies the clues to the answers.
She is an old land, rough, weather worn, holding her children in her arms. She is a mother, a friend, a lover. Hmmm, thought is not the actual answer here as logic cannot dictate her, reason cannot speak to her and love cannot avoid her. A seeming lump of rock and trees, desert and mountain makes me almost laugh to think it. She grabbed hold of me that first moment I set foot on her. She held me as does she all, she said 'yes you are home, I am home and this is where you belong. Do not fear me, though respect me. Love me and I will love you.' Oh my!! Such thought and statement regarding a place. I had already lived on two continents and yet had not heard this tender old voice speak to me before. Anyone who has spent any time with this old lady knows of what I speak. All long to go back and hear her siren song no matter where they happen to be.
'Be good to me, love me and I will grant you a peace like no other.' Her words, heart and being resonate within me. Yes, her people wonderful, welcoming and warm but I have a feeling it was she who made them this way not the other way round, for she must surely speak more clearly and loudly to them, or perhaps not. Perhaps she speaks loudest to those newest to her; that I cannot answer. Much of this I cannot answer as it has to be felt, seen and tasted. But you can hear her, you can feel her arms about you, you do know a mother has claimed you and you do become one with her.
Yes, a powerful 'she' to be sure and not for the faint of heart as her grasp never lets go of a single one of her children. She grieves your leaving and wants you back and I have seen many a human being struggle and fight to get home to her. She cares not if one is Moroccan; she cares and asks only, 'do you have a heart?' Yes, I have a heart and it beats in time with hers.
c./ L. Elizabeth
