Six Senses (Larache)

"Biladi abr al hawas sita"

I guess that when you first come to Larache you take a few things with you
For sure the sea, the waves, the boats, the crashing on the rocks
the fish, the fumes, the blue, the "souk", "atay", "sfinj", sand and sun

But what does it mean to me, to people like me?
Me, one of Larache's daughters
Me, one of Larache's emigrants

What is the legacy that my dear grandparents left me?
What do I keep from my childhood summers spent here?

"Biladi abr annadar"

It is safe walks around the block holding the hand of my grandfather
It is a spanish nap, in the lap of my wonderful hijabi grandmother

It is early mornings running in "Peligrosa beach" next to my uncle
It is the fresh juice of orange afterwards
It's the little things, the same man, the same orange stand, the same ritual
The little things that never change even if I do

It is that fresh air, those early walks
The "Balcón Atlántico" sunrising with us

It is the full contrast of the night
The taxis speeding, the lights melting, the zig zagging
The stoping, the rushing, the stoping, the rushing
The flags waving, the fumes flying

The people walking in crowds, in pairs, in families, in friendships

It is to witness youth brightest nights
Avenidas that turn to fashion parades
Youth unaware of their responsibilities yet

Cars wasting gas only to show off among passerbys
Youth eyes, specially the men's, who flirt with just about anyone

The youth that wants to be gangsta for the night, to be cool, to be praised
Yet the morning always comes

And the streets are empty of their shows
And their dreams asleep until noon

The sunrise is for the ones who've lived enough to value the calm after the storms
The sunrise in Larache is for the elderly, the wise, the peaceful souls, the loners too

The sunrise sees lazy cats
Devoted believers who go to the mosque to start the day off with renewed hope
The waiter, the coffee he serves, the breakfast for one that could be for two actually
"Lkhir"

The day goes on, slow
People have no rush here
Shops opening late, almost when they feel like it

Bars filled with lines of men who all seem to be doing the same
Yogis high on tobacco and coffee
And too much thinking, or just going blank I guess

Lines of men in bars, lines of bars in streets

Streets of children
Here children still rule the streets
Here bikes, here football matches just about anywhere
Here running, here laughing, here the old ways of being innocent

Here running errands for your parents
Tsakhar we call it
Children running with bread in the morning
Children flying down and up narrow streets whose walls are the colour of the sky
Children flying because it's time to believe they can

Children running errands with no money because the hanout keeps it old-school
Trust is the currency, customer's loyalty is still a thing here
Tired notebooks keep account of what a family owes for a week, for a month

Sun and "Souk"
"Souk" and people
Horses, carriages filled with watermelons, olives in a range of colours
Warm bread right out of the traditional oven

It is the simple life, it is the happy life
It is the fountains of "Jnan Bidaoua", and people carrying gallons of water home
It is children and moms, carrying "tawa" filled with sweets
It is an oven shared, by whole neighborhoods

Sharing here is still normal, it is more community than individuality
Although sometimes that means, there's just little privacy

Sunsets eventually come
Boats return home,seagulls guarding them
Fish here and there is what they're really after though
People holding onto the last shades of light
Lovers reflecting on the beauty of it all

Sunsets from "Shoumis"
The old tales of the ruins and the visitor's new hopes
Sunsets watching a river older than all your thoughts
A river intact, the same way your ancestors found it
The water though, ever flowing, ever changing
You knowing you're passing too
Aware that life is but this moment
That your tales will be old like the river
But your children's hopes, will be new like its water
You knowing that the cycle will keep on going

Larache is light colourful "caftans" and big "sherabil"
That look way too big on children's tiny feet
Larache is light, soft veils and also, long, soft hair
It's also high heels and makeup, different makeup

Larache, specially in the summer is daily weddings
Daily nights of love and partying and glamour

And food, always food in Morocco

Larache is then, the happiness everyone visits during a wedding
It is way too much fabric in the dresses
Way too high heels in roads, with the worst roller coaster pavements
It is beautiful girls and women all dressed up
Trying not to fall in those challenging streets
With less than little light

In Larache, the light bulbs, do not challenge the stars
The view at night is the starry night
And the starry homes with windows
That tell about the way Moroccans stay up late, very late at night

And again sunrise comes, to find half the city asleep
And half of it sleepy but dreaming awake, while roaming the streets
To welcome a new day

Again
And again
And again