There are four distinct Berber communities in Morocco.
A weak breeze and a few late wisteria flowers prepared me to be charmed by the view of the Strait of Gibraltar the way I like it, a safe distance–a comfortable distance away from that strangely aggressive magic, that throbbing aura of Joseph Conrad’s Africa. The more I thought about it, the more I could feel that hot African breath prickling the back of my neck.
I was in Gibraltar, sitting with a man who knew his way around the Tingis region.
“But the maquis, the maquis, what about the maquis?” I asked.
“The maquis? The maquis is all that’s left. The remnants, the refuse of a great botanical richness that used to be. Old growth has been stripped. The maquis? Nothing but a few odiferous weeds. Suitable for the Interzone.”
“The what?”
“The Interzone, just as Burroughs’ wrote. But it’s real. Look at any satellite image. The Interzone is a land nobody owns–separated by the Sahara from Africa and separated by the Mediterranean from Europe. You don’t think so? One continent with towns like Timbucktu, Gran Bassam and Little Popo–another continent with towns like Rome, London and Paris. You tell me what happens where those two continents meet…the Interzone.”
“Wasn’t that some kind of 1950s fiction?”
“Didn’t you understand? It’s a real place, not a literary fantasy, but a geographic reality! Listen, in the Interzone rootlets from Africa and Europe attack and they attach. They try to suck energy from you. African rootlets suck European energy. European rootlets suck African energy. Anyone who lives there long enough becomes a crippled schizoid.”
Every morning, around 8AM, I would be awoken by shouting from a man walking down the street outside my apartment window. Where was this? Ville Nouvelle in Meknes, Morocco.
He was yelling NaNa, NaNa…with a lot of nasal. He, wearing qadrissi pants (characterized by a wide and low crotch that reached to the knees), was walking with his donkey. And the donkey’s two saddlebags were chock-full of freshly cut mint clumps for making mint tea at home.
Fresh mint–the only way to really enjoy it is the Moroccan way. Grab a bunch of freshly picked mint and just add a pinch of black tea, too much white sugar and a sprinkle of orange blossoms on top. The water should be too hot to touch, too hot to drink. Got to slurp it. Hospitality without words.
This is local-agriculture-home-delivery. I had seen it once before in the early 1950s where I grew up on the East Side of Detroit. Then it was a local baker–up and down neighborhood streets. What kind of neighborhoods then? One car per family used by father to get to and from work. Neighborhoods sized by cars–not by pedestrians–no walking–only driving. But late 20th century–Meknes, Morocco. It was walkable and local. I loved it.
On the twelfth day of Ramadan, Maalem Hamid and I arrived at the shop about 8AM. Maalem Hamid finished the outstanding work. I watched him do the final touches. I helped where I could; but I was tired and mostly watched. He did a lot of detailed tooling; his assistant did leather stamping.
When they finished the first book, the maalem proudly offered it to me for examination. I took it. I hefted it. I felt it. I inspected it. I paged through it. Yes, it was beautiful–content aside, it was every bit as delectable a product as I could have ever hoped for.
About two in the afternoon, when he had finished the details, he wrapped the five books in thick brown paper himself. Then he ceremoniously presented to me the final five books. I placed the balance of what was due for his services in his hand. Then we shook hands. He was proud. I was proud.
And honestly, it had been such a pleasure to watch the exceptional craftsman handle his tools, and produce such a refined result in appearance, in touch, and in technical strength. I thanked him.
He walked with me to the Place El Hedim where I took a Petit Taxi. He and I both waved until he was out of sight.
Almost sunset when I arrived in the Ville Nouvelle. Lights on in Tom’s place. Knocked and showed them one of the final copies. My time in Morocco was up. Over the past six months, Tom and Marcela had given me shelter every time I needed it. I owed them.
Arranged to have dinner together at a 5-star Ville Nouvelle hotel restaurant the next night.
I spent the day packing. I took Marcela and Tom for dinner at the Hotel Transatlantique with a full-blown late-night Ramadan Iftar buffet special, filled with more options than I could list. It didn’t make much difference to me because all through the Iftar dinner I was dreaming not just to be home for Christmas, but of a White Christmas.
***
Christmas Now
The morning of the fourteenth day of Ramadan–couldn’t believe it–my personal last day of Ramadan–my last day in Morocco!
Tom drove me to Casablanca airport. We left early in the morning when it was still dark. Three hours on the road–a Moroccan autoroute. Raining and gray, low clouds all the way. The earth was sucking in all the moisture. Plants looked happy. The ride, though, was a slog.
I was emotionally depleted. My last Moroccan memories like the first–sensually extravagant. We had parked and I was walking. Just at the pedestrian entry to the airport terminal–my sense of smell was assaulted by–clusters of Eriobotrya japonica trees in flower–excessively sweet to the place where fragrance meets odor. Goodbye Morocco.
Finally, I was off the ground. Casa-Brussels-NYC-home. I was outta there! Phew! Never thought it would happen. Relief.
But then there was also sadness. Ma’salama. I’ll never be the same. But then I mentally blinked–twice–reset.
Wonder what Santa will bring?
Back home. I paused in transit in New York, had to go through passport control and customs. Outside, it was snowing. Thanked my lucky stars to be standing there where at least I hoped I could live happy in the land of the free. The country where we can sleep in peace at night when we lay down our heads.
Last flight…after gathering my luggage, I looked around and thought, I am starting again. LittleWing was the first I saw, then Kate and Sam–they all met me.
Kate joked, “Look who got a Med sun tan.”
Sam observed and, with a smile on his face, gruffly asked, “Did you order this winter wonderland snowstorm?”
But Sachy was the first to wrap her arms around me–eyes all aglow–a huge smile on her face as she ran up to greet me. Hugged me hard and in my ear she whispered, “Home for Christmas!”
I stepped back, looked deeply into her eyes. It was her, Sachy, in real life, in front of me. Could this be? I held Sachy by her shoulders and said, “Lovely weather for a sleigh ride!”
I put my arms around her again, pulled her ever so close and, in the tightest of hugs, I whispered in her ear, “This is not a dream–my heart is warm–I couldn’t have done it without you!”
***
CJ made it home; but Morocco, unbeknownst to him, lingered.
***
If you wonder what actually happened during CJ’s six months in Tangier, pick up the eBook, Tangier Gardens–out of the classroom into the real world–via plant portals, here: https://amzn.to/3HLrtyv
La Baie de Tanger–the beach at Tangier with the medina and Kasbah in the background. No wonder CJ thought he had it made for his term-abroad design study.
What could possibly undo the beauty of this landscape, its plants, its gardens, its sun and sandy beaches?
Or is the question, rather, what could enhance this outstandingly beautiful landscape?
CJ had his hands full.
He tried to explain it in a series of short stories about his six months in northern Morocco. He called his very short stories tales.
Tales?
Tales because in Morocco, for the first time in his life CJ couldn’t distinguish between fiction and fact.
CJ’s tales are the reveal.
***
Those very short stories are, for the first time, being released on Vella everyday between now and Christmas Eve.
The first three episodes are FREE and 16 tales have already been posted. Find them here=http://bit.ly/3B9rJXE
ENJOY!!
All 43 tales will be found under one ebook cover titled Curious Tales and via KDPselect will be offered for FREE on the day of launch likely in the first half of 2023. Sign up here to be notified of the launch date to get all 43 tales for free=https://bit.ly/3q5lcaq
***
If you wonder what actually happened during CJ’s six months in Tangier, pick up the eBook, Tangier Gardens–out of the classroom into the real world–via plant portals, FREE on Smashwords here: https://bit.ly/3SIAfma
In Tangier Gardens, CJ had plenty to examine when he went to Morocco for his term abroad design study; but somethings got in his way…
Somethings?
These are what CJ describes in his curious tales.
***
Those tales are very short stories, for the first time, being released on Vella everyday between now and Christmas Eve: find them here=http://bit.ly/3B9rJXE
ENJOY!
***
All 43 tales will be found under one ebook cover titled Curious Tales and via KDPselect will be offered for FREE on the day of launch likely in the first half of 2023. Sign up here to be notified of the launch date to get all 43 tales for free=https://bit.ly/3q5lcaq
***
If you wonder what actually happened during CJ’s six months in Tangier, pick up the eBook, Tangier Gardens–out of the classroom into the real world–via plant portals, here: https://amzn.to/3HLrtyv
Dracena cinnabari and Dracena draco, found on the islands of the Socotra and Cabo Verde archipelagos.
These dragons’ blood trees are found naturally in only two places, both in the Tropic of Cancer. These two places are separated by a continent and 8,000 kilometers.
The mature dragon’s blood trees regularly have four meters or more clear trunk before the branching and leaves. They are rare and unusual–magnificent trees to behold.
More surprisingly, different cultures, separated by oceans and thousands of kilometers, agree on the paranormal curative properties of the dragons’ blood trees.
***
In the La Montagne region of Tangier, CJ was on his way to visit the old residence of the Portuguese ambassador, now a private villa, named, “Loins du Monde Real”, (far from the real world), when he encountered not one but a forest of dragons’ blood trees. He was reaching his first plant portal—it was real but there was nothing normal about it.
CJ had no idea what was a plant portal until he visited with the Russian and British horticulturists now living in the “Loins du Monde Real” villa. The strange culture, the North African landscape and Mediterranean gardens were not what he expected.
CJ tells about his adventures in his short stories, his tales. Those tales are, for the first time, being released on Vella everyday between now and Christmas Eve: find them here=http://bit.ly/3B9rJXE
***
The first three episodes are FREE and they include SIX tales. Find them here=http://bit.ly/3B9rJXE
ENJOY!!
***
All 43 tales will be found under one ebook cover titled Curious Tales and via KDPselect will be offered for FREE on the day of launch likely in the first half of 2023. Sign up here to be notified of the launch date to get all 43 tales for free=https://bit.ly/3q5lcaq
***
If you wonder what actually happened during CJ’s six months in Tangier, pick up the eBook, Tangier Gardens–out of the classroom into the real world–via plant portals, here: https://amzn.to/3HLrtyv
Majoun, jajouka, gnawa…CJ wasn’t sure where to turn. He just wanted to finish his term-abroad design study. But all around him…culture, landscape, gardens; they were all different. They were all strange. He thought he knew what he was getting into…but did he? He did know one thing for certain—he wanted to be home for Christmas. Read his short stories.
Those short stories are, for the first time, being released on Vella everyday between now and Christmas Eve: find them here=http://bit.ly/3B9rJXE
ENJOY!!
***
If you wonder what actually happened during CJ’s six months in Tangier, pick up the eBook, Tangier Gardens–out of the classroom into the real world–via plant portals, here: https://amzn.to/3HLrtyv
The strange culture, the North African landscape and Mediterranean gardens are not what he expected.
In June 2000, Christopher Janus, an American landscape architecture student at a mid-western university, finds himself in Tangier on a term-abroad design study.
CJ, as his friends called him, could not wait to be home for Christmas.
To complete his Moroccan term-abroad design study, CJ writes about his strange culture, landscape and garden experiences in a series of 40 short stories.
Those short stories are now, for the first time, being released on Vella everyday between now and Christmas Eve.
The great and prosperous 1950’s USA cities are now, 70 years later, looking more often like this.
Decaying, falling down, not habitable. The big tree of hard working people, families and jobs that supports great and prosperous cities–cut down in its prime. Sad.
