We find that with French we can hold
interesting conversations. It's fun for him to practice English, and
I appreciate him listening to my Arabic, but when we aren't
necessarily looking to improve our language skills, French is our
medium. We still stumble, but that's what makes our conversations
charming. At one point Hicham wants to say “dice.” Instead of
searching for the right word that I would understand, he flicks the
lighter in the air, catches it, looks at it, and announces “five.”
Immediately I understand his charade, and the conversation resumes.
Shortly after I fall into a fit of laughter. Why the number five?
Together we make dinner for his last
night in town. I fry some veggies while Hicham figures out how to
prepare the sheep shoulder. Neither of us can cook well, but I've
been experimenting and Hicham says he remembers seeing his ex-wife
bake mutton. So we have some fun in the kitchen.
Hicham can be an intimidating. He is
big; tall and muscular. His passion erupts with every punch he
throws in kick boxing class. And he is so loud. Whether he is
serious, or upset, or happy, he is so loud. I've never heard someone
laugh harder. I've had neighbors tell me to be quiet on nights that
Hicham comes over to hang out. However, behind his massive frame
hides a philosopher, continually trying to work out his purpose in
life.
He has let me into his thoughts,
trusting that I won't think he is crazy. He worries about love,
hoping to one day know a girl he can feel passion for. He worries
about freedom, complaining that Moroccan culture limits his
potential. Contemplating life's purpose since childhood, he has
always felt different. While most other Moroccans found the answers
within Islam, Hicham decided to look beyond religion. He studied
biology at a University in Al Jadida, but struggled, and became
frustrated with the education system. This followed with years of
seeking pleasure through partying. When that did not fill his
emptiness, he succumbed to family pressure and got married and had a
boy. Again, he felt dissatisfied, lacking passion, feeling as though
there was still another path out there that would lead to passion and
happiness. He got divorced.
I have been told not to hang out with
Hicham. Other friends of mine warn me that he is a little crazy and
that I should be careful. He is a divorced father. He doesn't pray.
He doesn't fast during Ramadan. From a Moroccan perspective these
things are bad. Only a bad person would decide to not practice
Islam. Only a bad person would see divorce as a solution. From an
American perspective, however, I understand that Islam is not the
only way. We don't agree on everything, but we listen to each other
and learn.
After we eat my eggs and veggies, and
my sweet potato fries, and his baked mutton, Hicham asks a favor from
me. He is shy about it, but manages to politely ask for a suitcase.
I agree to give him a backpack. He needs it. He is about to embark
on the scariest of human experiences. Tomorrow, Hicham will board a
flight to Istanbul and begin the clandestine life.
He is leaving everything to begin his
search for freedom and happiness. He won't have shelter. He won't
be able to communicate. Things will function according to a
different set of rules. Everyone will be a stranger. He will be
very alone. His existence will be illegal. No one will care about
him. No one will love him. He will have no one to love.
But, he says he is excited. He says he
is not afraid. He says he is so happy. He says he has been waiting
his whole life for this. He says he needs things to function
according to a different set of rules. He says he will find freedom
and all the beautiful things in life.
Peace Corps is hard. Being an illegal
North African immigrant in Europe is infinitely harder. Good luck
Hicham. I hope you find your freedom. And thank you for showing me
that migration is not always an act of desperation for the sake of
survival, but sometimes an expression of freedom.
Hicham's best quotes:
“No freedom, No life.”
“If we could all get a Visa to go to
Europe or America, there would be no one left in Morocco but the
King.”
“Adventure is magic.”
and finally, in an attempt at English,
while talking to me on the phone on his way to my house:
“I come in you.”
