I saw him wandering the streets just like me. The garden had been our meeting point, but it was closed. I knew I would see him if I just hung out outside long enough.
Hicham wasn't with a friend like I thought I heard. Instead, he held hands with a toddler, his son Abdel Rahman. This changed Hicham's appearance entirely. I tend to disassociate with the rest of my community. We usually hung out in my apartment, in my miniature American world. It always surprised me to remember that he has extensive family in town. This would be my first time meeting Hicham the father. He beamed with paternal pride.
I lifted Abdel Rahman to my side and he didn't care. Hicham said he was getting over a cold, but he seemed full of curious energy. He was still young enough to realize that the world is a miracle. Even though he could only speak individual words, it felt like his comprehension of Moroccan Arabic was better than mine. He walked balanced, and even could break into a clumsy run. Abdel Rahman was whatever age it is that a toddler reaches maximum cuteness.
"I have news," Hicham said as we settle into a corner of the garden that remained open. He tried to begin his next sentence in English too, but settled for French. "My family is back together now. My son and my wife, we all live together." His life was full of sudden twists.
Not long ago Hicham was living in Bulgaria. In an attempt to discover a sense of freedom in Europe, he had spent four months in a prison set-up specifically for illegal immigrants. In that time he witnessed gut-wrenching tragedy, while becoming well acquainted with racism. With some foreign interference he was allowed to return home. In his first months back, he was trying to reroute his life. At first he talked of traveling to Malaysia where "people love Arabs," but now he seemed very focused on his wife and Abdel Rahman.
It came as a relief. I always encouraged his adventurous spirit, his quest for freedom, with a guilty conscience. Hicham's philosophy, was inspiring and deep, but always overlooked his fatherly responsibilities. "He is your new adventure now," I referred to Abdel Rahman. Hicham smiled in agreement and we watched the movements of the garden.
Already in April, the earth baked during the day, but in the morning shade, the garden felt like a paradise. Why do I spend so much time inside? I was a little out of touch with the breeze and the sunshine. Watching pedestrian traffic captivated me. I was living in the most beautiful place on earth.
"I have work now," Hicham grinned. This too was news. He had been searching in Casablanca for a security job. He also had it in his head that he could work as an actor for commercials. Hicham has a certain charm, and he seemed convinced he could network his way into a comfortable lifestyle. In the past he used to work as a guard for the presidential palace in the capital, but at 250$ per month he could barely afford transport costs to the palace. "I work right here in this garden. In the mornings I water the plants and clean up garbage. I take breaks in the flowers and greet friends passing through." I congratulated him, proud to see him develop some stability to his life.
A small group gathered across the walkway. They tied their dog to a bench and congregated at a table belonging to a cafe. Abdel Rahman clutched his dad's leg in fear. "Dog," he pointed to the over-sized puppy, much younger than he was. He let go of the fear after a breath. Then, he approached the dog cautiously. From ten feet, the dog shifted his position, sending Abdel Rahman running back to us squealing with adrenaline. I explained that this kind of dog was good and he didn't need to be afraid. Again he approached the dog, getting a few steps nearer, before kicking his legs into panicked run back to our bench. "Taxi," he yelled suddenly distracted by the street. He returned his focus to the dog, again creeping closer. On his fourth attempt to get a close look at the dog, he talked to the owner, pointing at the dog trying to communicate important information. Now multiple parties intently watched a toddler discover a dog. But, this time, to everyone's surprise, the dog lunged and snapped at Abdel Rahman. Tears stained his panicked run as he reached for the arms of dog's owner. The show was over. Hicham went to recover his son.
Abdel Rahman had soiled his pants. Hicham took him home and dropped him off with his mother. Then I had him over for some coffee. In my house, away from family, away from judgmental opinions, he let himself escape. He let himself be free without shame. He discussed his dream of immigrating to Malaysia.
Hicham wasn't with a friend like I thought I heard. Instead, he held hands with a toddler, his son Abdel Rahman. This changed Hicham's appearance entirely. I tend to disassociate with the rest of my community. We usually hung out in my apartment, in my miniature American world. It always surprised me to remember that he has extensive family in town. This would be my first time meeting Hicham the father. He beamed with paternal pride.
I lifted Abdel Rahman to my side and he didn't care. Hicham said he was getting over a cold, but he seemed full of curious energy. He was still young enough to realize that the world is a miracle. Even though he could only speak individual words, it felt like his comprehension of Moroccan Arabic was better than mine. He walked balanced, and even could break into a clumsy run. Abdel Rahman was whatever age it is that a toddler reaches maximum cuteness.
"I have news," Hicham said as we settle into a corner of the garden that remained open. He tried to begin his next sentence in English too, but settled for French. "My family is back together now. My son and my wife, we all live together." His life was full of sudden twists.
Not long ago Hicham was living in Bulgaria. In an attempt to discover a sense of freedom in Europe, he had spent four months in a prison set-up specifically for illegal immigrants. In that time he witnessed gut-wrenching tragedy, while becoming well acquainted with racism. With some foreign interference he was allowed to return home. In his first months back, he was trying to reroute his life. At first he talked of traveling to Malaysia where "people love Arabs," but now he seemed very focused on his wife and Abdel Rahman.
It came as a relief. I always encouraged his adventurous spirit, his quest for freedom, with a guilty conscience. Hicham's philosophy, was inspiring and deep, but always overlooked his fatherly responsibilities. "He is your new adventure now," I referred to Abdel Rahman. Hicham smiled in agreement and we watched the movements of the garden.
Already in April, the earth baked during the day, but in the morning shade, the garden felt like a paradise. Why do I spend so much time inside? I was a little out of touch with the breeze and the sunshine. Watching pedestrian traffic captivated me. I was living in the most beautiful place on earth.
"I have work now," Hicham grinned. This too was news. He had been searching in Casablanca for a security job. He also had it in his head that he could work as an actor for commercials. Hicham has a certain charm, and he seemed convinced he could network his way into a comfortable lifestyle. In the past he used to work as a guard for the presidential palace in the capital, but at 250$ per month he could barely afford transport costs to the palace. "I work right here in this garden. In the mornings I water the plants and clean up garbage. I take breaks in the flowers and greet friends passing through." I congratulated him, proud to see him develop some stability to his life.
A small group gathered across the walkway. They tied their dog to a bench and congregated at a table belonging to a cafe. Abdel Rahman clutched his dad's leg in fear. "Dog," he pointed to the over-sized puppy, much younger than he was. He let go of the fear after a breath. Then, he approached the dog cautiously. From ten feet, the dog shifted his position, sending Abdel Rahman running back to us squealing with adrenaline. I explained that this kind of dog was good and he didn't need to be afraid. Again he approached the dog, getting a few steps nearer, before kicking his legs into panicked run back to our bench. "Taxi," he yelled suddenly distracted by the street. He returned his focus to the dog, again creeping closer. On his fourth attempt to get a close look at the dog, he talked to the owner, pointing at the dog trying to communicate important information. Now multiple parties intently watched a toddler discover a dog. But, this time, to everyone's surprise, the dog lunged and snapped at Abdel Rahman. Tears stained his panicked run as he reached for the arms of dog's owner. The show was over. Hicham went to recover his son.
Abdel Rahman had soiled his pants. Hicham took him home and dropped him off with his mother. Then I had him over for some coffee. In my house, away from family, away from judgmental opinions, he let himself escape. He let himself be free without shame. He discussed his dream of immigrating to Malaysia.
