CASABLANCA WAKE-UP CALL

My first morning in Morocco, I awake early, just after the daybreak call to prayer, and make a cup of tea. From my hotel room balcony, I wait for the city to rise. Several stories below, the motorbikes hum and beep. Large metal doors of the small shops begin to swing open to accept deliveries. Washing is hung from windows and railings. Pigeons dip quickly between the rooftops.

On a nearby apartment balcony, a young woman and man argue. It feels intrusive as I watch and listen to their private moment, but yet, when you live in a densely populated city of nearly four million people, I imagine there are few secrets.

She’s dressed in a conservative violet jalaba, a long loose-fitting robe, and hijab. She’s quite young and very pretty. He’s in an Adidas t-shirt and jeans. I had yet to discover that Morocco is a twist and turn of tradition and modern—from dress to politics, religion and life. Their voices rise and fall, wafting through the humid acrid Atlantic air. I don’t understand any of the mixed French-Arabic, but the gestures and back-and-forth tell enough.

A few minutes pass, and it seems the disagreement has been resolved. They step inside. Maybe to where their baby sleeps? I pour another cup of tea. The Adidas-wearing man returns to the balcony, this time to light a cigarette. –Rochelle, Casablanca, Morocco, May 2016