The Olive writers Anthology ENG workshop

The Olive Writers

The Olive Writers

​Stories and Poems

By Moroccan Youth

Contents

Forward What does it mean to be TOWer ?

Acknowledgments AHMED Mdarbi ​CASABLANCA ​ ​ Fadwa AALIL

​ERRACHIDIA​

Mariyem Lillian Gamar

​Agadir ​

​1 ​2 ​6 ​11

Khadija Gourri

​Oujda​

​18

Soumaya Zaki

​ Meknes

​24

Ibrahim Aitbarka ​Zagora

​28

Wiam Afifi ​ Fez / Indonesia

​33

Houdna Rguib ​CASABLANCA

​ 38

​ Agadir

​48

Abdessamad Aadaoui ​Marrakech

​52

Nada Afa

Imane Elbacha

​Rabat

​57

Tlaytmass Saou

​Safi

​ 64

Oubai Abdelkarim ​ Sale ​

​ 72

Ahmed Beqqal

​ Fez

​76

Forward The Olive Writers. All Writers.

TOWers. The ultimate question that was asked, and still being asked, is why the name of the program is ‘The Olive Writers?’ My ultimate answer, that I’m sharing for the first time, is the following: No one knows, it means many things, and it means nothing at the same time. The Olive Writer is someone who doesn’t get old, s/he simply becomes ancient. The Olive Writer is keen on tolerance and acceptance, s/he is someone who valued himself or herself, and who is valued in every setting. The Olive Writer is someone whose lead other people to follow. A TOWer is there, beyond space and time, a TOWer is there for rescue, a TOWer is there for people to pass by and explore the history and cultural heritage engraved in its every inch. The Olive Writer is someone who is selfless, who sees himself or herself as part of a community liberated through the arts and societal impact. The Olive Writer is an artist who delves into life with an insatiable desire to filter darkness, and to see and communicate beauty in everything.

25 young writers, from different backgrounds were brought together at the American Language Center Casablanca by their passion for writing. They represented Moroccan youth in a way that has not been represented anywhere else before. Regardless of gender, religion, hometown, social class, or sexual orientation, they were selected based solely on the talent they exhibited in their craft and the originality of their ideas. A musician, a singer, a lesbian feminist, a human rights activist, a painter, an English teacher, a translator, an architect, a MacDonald’s part timer, a dancer, an entrepreneur, a photographer, a cultural activist. No matter how different they were, the connection they share to the written word has brought them together in a way that no one had ever anticipated. They all came with expectations, prejudices against each other, and differing values. These values would be transformed in six days. ​Six days in an environment that would give them voices, nurtures their individual identities, allow them to get to know each other, communicate and share ideas. It was a respite from the drudgery and stress that often accumulates in the lives of Moroccan young adults. ​It was an outlet built on values of respect, mutual understanding, and meaningful communication. ​In the end, they left the program with some questions answered and, perhaps, with even bigger questions to explore. The discussions that were begun at the camp continued later on. The family bond established there was too strong to end even as they parted ways. They remain in touch still talk to each other. They still meet. They still embrace their TOWerness to the fullest, and give back by helping to make the experience possible for other youth.

In answer to the question,: ​“What does it mean to be a TOWer?” the participants submitted, mind-boggling responses that , and demonstrate the impact of the program.

What does it mean to be TOWer ?

● Ibrahim Aitbarka , Zagora said: “Being a Tower means remembering the time Ahmed told us his lame jokes, when Meriyam defended women and sparked the feminist part of each one of us, when Morgan and Elvis made us feel the meaning of music. I understand the question as, “What does it mean to be a part of a family that you belonged to your whole life?” I was in search of a life, of a nest of my own. To surprisingly find myself BELONGING. Because there was a time when I had nowhere to go... TOW is a story that began and that will never end, a story that is being told by me, you and all those who were there to form the intimacy OF BEING A TOWer.”

● Mariyem Lillian Gamar , Agadir said: “I found home. Not in the city or the quirky hotel that charmed me with its simplicity and its Irish Bar, but with the people I met there. Being a TOWer means finding a family after long years of searching.

I rejoice that for once it wasn't a mirage. In the barren soil of my country, which kills the ability of seeds to flourish, a patch of fertile land was unveiled within the TOW camp, and it nurtured ideas through creative writing. I have always been overwhelmed with a feeling of loss, but being a TOWer gave direction to my writings. I knew it was the right path as it allowed me to find ears, eyes and souls that devoured my writings and voices that sincerely gave me guidance. I was no longer afraid of being censored by the state and society. Being a TOWer means being courageous, purposeful, punctual (which took great effort to maintain) and responsible for oneself and the others. What struck me the most, though, was being a leader.”

● Khadija Gourri of Oujda, summed it all up: “After the camp there are two types of writers in the world. Writers and Olive Writers. The Olive Writers are not just a writers; they are a whole entity. An entity of new characters, new realms and new ideas that are held so tenderly at the hearts of their creators. Created with passion and, before reaching the world, they reach the favorite olive that brings us from the dark. Fearlessly addressing taboos, sensitive areas, and topics in our community. Although it can be dangerous, an Olive Writer proudly takes that risk. That is what differentiates Olive Writers from other writers. Writing as a TOWer is a cause, a belief and a lifestyle.”

TOWers have always been more than just writers.

Mohammed El Wahabi Founder and director of ​The Olive Writers

Acknowledgments

This project was made possible thanks to the tremendous efforts and contributions of the following people and institutions: ●

American Language Center Casablanca : ❖ Richard Martin, Director ❖ American Cultural Association , Rachel Holskin , Executive Secretary ❖ Cat Wilson, Events Coordinator

●

US Embassy Rabat: ❖ Erica Thibault, ​Cultural Affairs Officer ❖ Loubna Arrach, Alumni Coordinator

●

Morocco Library Project, OliveSeed Foundation : ❖ Barb Mackraz, President

●

Our Instructors : ❖ Christine Aziz (UK) ❖ Nesma Gewily (Egypt) ❖ Hodna Nuernberg (U.S.A)

●

Our Guest Speakers : ❖ Naima Lahbil (Morocco) ❖ Eileen Colucci (U.S.A) ❖ Soukaina Habiballah (Morocco) ❖ Zineb Beladel (Morocco) ❖ Leila Lalami (U.S.A/Morocco) ❖ Zineb Ladioui (Morocco) ❖ Salma Tacky (Morocco) ❖ Achraf Jazz (Morocco) ❖ Chris Merill ( U.S.A)

●

Our Reading Committee : ❖ Hannah Iruka Hall (Japan/U.S.A) ❖ Ibrahim Bharmal (U.S.A) ❖ Sean Zhuraw (U.S.A)

●

Our Advisor : ❖ Karim Alrawi (Egypt/Canada)

​AHMED Mdarbi CASABLANCA

AHMED Mdarbi

The Olive Writers 2017

Untitled In a universe so vast and boundless, I was a little dot of insignificance and neglect. Just one more dot of insignificance and neglect, just one more life that the universe selfishly vomited to witness its existence and acknowledge its being, shamelessly filling in the space and eating away the time, only to be brought back again to the nothingness and robbed away from consciousness with a death even more ridiculous than my birth, I was thrown into this world involuntarily, gifted a god above the stars watching me dwell into my fights for freedom and continuous trips to find myself. I wanted to tattoo freedom on my neck a state I sought hungrily but in vain, my fingers failed to feel it magically floating around my bones, as I had imagined it. Even the dictionaries cheated me, the word freedom held no meaning, nothing but a mere blank space on the page, I ran my whole life, searching for ink to paint on my flesh, my breath never steady and my tears never dry, I searched in familiar words, in my mother’s ranting lips and my father’s cold hands. I searched in dark corners, empty deserted, under the night’s sky, when the villagers were asleep, in a man’s warm touches and lusty kisses. And ridiculously, my journey to freedom was sucked out of existence when I made friendly promises with death, my name became heavy on the lips of my family and villagers took pleasure in spitting on my face, It was a fault that the devil dared not to commit, throwing away the values and rules of the world, taking off the self I was wearing and revealing the values and rules of the world, taking off the self I was wearing and revealing my bruised nudity to the shortsighted eyes, was a mistake, to the imprisoned and veiled minds, that only stones can wash off my body. I still remember that day when I took off my wedding dress, to wear my red short one, saying loudly to the villagers “ I won’t bring shame to you “ , my fingers trembled, almost fooling me into believing in a lusty scream for a cigarette to cling to, almost distracting me from the heavy desire to kill myself all over again, I was staring at one deserted stone blue armchair that leaned perfectly on the ink black wall blinding me with perfect homogeneousness of colors and a horrendous combination of forms, which only suffocated me with a nauseous want to break the scenery with imperfection.

Perfection was a plain concept, a line perfectly straight, colors neatly sitting inside the lines, a body virgin of scars, I failed immensely to envelop myself in a beauty coming from such empty, dead figures. The beauty I sought was in the cracks covering a bowl, in the dirty mauve scars on the skin, in the disorder and mess of a room, it was there, in ugly faces, in ill minds, in places full of stories. Scars that hold tales of pain, cracks that reveal moments of failure, or violent acts that painfully express ugly emotions. I wanted to fill the world with imperfection, to free my eyes from this prison of perfection. To cover the wall in a blood red pain, a color that singles itself out from the blue, red as the bottom of my favorite shoes, red as little red riding hood, oh! I almost forgot, in my country, little red riding hood killed the wolf, the grandmother and even the consciences, I think I should break the calm posture of the armchair. Thinking about the images of beauty that simple scene would turn the word patience, for I had been waiting for the man who hides the magical spell to a world swimming in ugly beauty, for years.

2

AHMED Mdarbi

The Olive Writers 2017

I tapped my foot loudly on the floor, and cracked my fingers, my eyes roaming from a clock to another, erasing pieces of time as it travelled forwards. The bell rang, my body came to a halt, and a small shiver of excitement revealed itself through a little smile on my lips. I made my way through the havoc of broken vases. I opened the door and a pretty lady came to view which rendered me perplexed and utterly surprised. My visitor was supposed to be a man, one in his late thirties, thinned out by the hurdles of life, his shoulders leaning to the ground, barely lifting his head, one too heavy encaging a mind so messy and noisy that it rendered his visage a lifeless leaf, eyes sinking into his skull and lips drying, almost breaking into dust.

His weakness and fragility were a perfect embodiment of beauty. And I had imagined him sitting on the armchair, melting into its color, thus strongly creating a bond that tells the tale of a life barely lived, a pain immensely felt and death wishes numerously made, I had imagined him for years at the end he was a woman, like me, but she was too pretty like an angel, even if she carries death with her, maybe she will sympathize with me, maybe she will have mercy upon my poor soul, looking in her beautiful big black eyes, no words were needed, we completely understood each other, she knows about the struggles of life, the cruelty of Humans, the pain of being born as a woman in a world were justice, equity, equality, democracy and freedom are just mere words. I had entered a world of men and domesticate them like victims like chewing-gum between teeth, do not misunderstand me, all I did was whispering, kissing and hiding between cuddles, having power I felt like superwoman, I had the power the change to a pure vegetarian into the biggest meat-eater, to make them forget about their own mothers and religions just to be with me, I’m an ambassador of all the undesirable intentions, I knew men who can shake the country in the morning and at night they are just like puppets of my own will, Do not underestimate me, I’m the seventh grade on Ritter ladder, if you were my enemy all I have to do is to lift my finger, Inside I was satisfied, I had everything a woman could dream of, yet I constantly dream about having a boyfriend to learn the tango steps with him, watch late movies, hug each other, drawn in his eyes, say and hear “ I LOVE YOU” , come to think of it, I’ve never even had a Barbie doll in my birthdays to kiss her before falling asleep, so I became a doll for adults selling fake love, Love was all I needed, I sold a kiss, I sold love, I sold a cuddle, I sold a body, I sold a heart, I sold a soul, I sold words, I sold dreams, I sold myself, at the end the reality took its rightful place, everyone want a cut of me, who made my soul a whore ? is it manhood to exploit the strength of a soul who has been created pure, wasn’t I a sister ? mother, grandmother ? so why do you call me a whore ? didn’t I live the problems of a nation that kills the dreams of its confused daughters ? today, I stand before you as a woman with no fear, for I, have seen hell in earth, for I, lost everything I held dear in my heart, nothing is wrong with me, the world is wrong, they lied to you, told you, that a short skirt is actually a definition of a bad woman, that a girl should behave like this and like that, like a mere puppet who receives orders from older men, for a moment I thought I was a human, for a moment I remembered that I was little born, an angel, they say that before you’re born, GOD shows you your future and asks you if want to live that life, if that is true why did I accept ? how did I accept to be reduced like that ? didn’t I deserve better ?

3

AHMED Mdarbi

The Olive Writers 2017

I waited for your mercy GOD, I waited for it, where were you that day when my world burned to ashes? how many times I saw father comeback with other women? how many times did I have to erase the tears of my mother? all I wanted to see in this world is one good day, so why GOD didn’t you transform my dream into a reality? Mother, how many times did I think of you before, during and after my cigarette, when it was raining heavily in the city, looking at the grey sky pouring heavily drops of water yet miserably failing to failing to mute my thoughts of you, I think about you before, during and after my cigarette, how many times did I bear the cold of the winter’s nights in CASABLANCA by the sole memory of you holding me so tight under a sky full of stars, “ A night full of stars” reminds me of a Coldplay’s song, how many times did we listen to it without understanding the meaning of the lyrics, except the title, Mother this is my favorite part of the day, when I think of you before, during and after my cigarette, I starting to become colder than usual, a cold I’ve never felt before, Mama an exquisite pain of needing you sends shivers down my spine, My momma told me strong women fight for what they believe in, A sun can shine without the moon, but it’s 10 in the morning and I can’t help wondering do you think of me before, during and after my cigarette ? With tears in my eyes, I realized that life wasn’t that great, and from the beginning to the end of every day, I’m waiting for nothing but the next one, forgetting to live in the present, all my life I’ve been so hunted by my past and taunted by a future I have never had the chance to live, I’ve never said certain words because I thought I will have the time to say them later, I’ve never thanked some people in my life because I have thought I will have the time to say it, maybe it’s for the best, those people can be counted on the fingers in my hand, so at the end there is no later for me, at the end it all stops here and now, I wouldn’t regret any moment when I had affection and hided it, for I, believe people don’t deserve my affection, but I will regret every wish that didn’t transform into reality, I will regret not having the chance to love and be loved, come to think of it, why should I love anyone else ? would they be there for me when something catastrophic happens ? not the casual type of crisis but something far more catastrophic, I have decided long time ago to dedicate my life for myself, to live for myself, to never sacrifice pieces of me for people who won’t do the same, now all I think about is how to get do I get rid of this grey cloud of sadness, how can I start my life all over again ? You probably noticed too many questions yet I’m not looking for answers, that’s the charm of the moment, the charm of death, you don’t need to worry about finding answers or looking for questions, your choice of words doesn’t matter anymore, actually nothing does, from this day on, I will have no worries, have no else’s worries, feel no pain. Inside a filthy and muddy hole, I was dragged and shoved, My screams and cries for mercy were answered by stones hitting my fragile body. They rained on me, stone after stone, dirtying me with the disgust and hatred vomited on them. Among the crowds of heads towering over me, my mother’s was a horrific painting of disappointment, colors of anger and regret on her face hid the warmness of her smile and tenderness of her calming eyes.

4

AHMED Mdarbi

The Olive Writers 2017

As if she weren’t my delivery angel from the void to existence, as if she weren’t the guide that shaped my being, she threw that sole stone at me, I wished for the stone to never reach me, not because I feared the pain, but because I dreaded to physically feel the devastatingly deep hole that devoured the beautiful relationship a mother had with her daughter.

I was leaving the world that the insanity of humans had dirtied. And if I were to open my eyes in another world, I wished it to be empty of morals. It was ridiculous to me, the equality we had on earth, under one sky, living on a dot amongst an infinity, only made me realize how little one was to another, and how free I should have been to act upon my desires and wishes, I was leaving the world, without ever comprehending those unseen rules that floated between people. I stepped on the sacred that they dearly put on the shelves, the were chains strangling me and shoving my mouth up with foolishness and idiocy to keep my lips shut, and I refused to have them sinking in my mind. But when I sought life and freedom in the banned and forbidden, emerged from within them the true colors of ignorance. Unfortunately, I had judged the world falsely, my mind couldn’t meet the unspoken sense people lived upon, their acts and doings were the simple response to absurdity and meaninglessness, and I merely found myself suffocated by them. I couldn’t speak a world that hadn’t ran through my mind for days, or that hadn’t made me sit in the middle of bed spacing at the wall, my mind deeply engrossed in a fight for answers and definitions, but their language was a hazard of meanings, just words colliding into each other, with no net to mix them into a meaning, they swam in the heads and fled them ridiculously, unmet by thoughts to give them their value. As I took my last breath, I smiled at the irony, My story ended, my fights were over, my journey too, yet people I left behind were still, in the vast enormous universe, kneeling before ideas they created and gave power to, kneeling before people they gave power to, insulting people who didn’t have power, like atoms to this infinity, and like an unfunny joke in this vast universe, I disappear ...

5

Fadwa AALIL ERRACHIDIA

Fadwa AALIL

The Olive Writers 2017

POEM - 1 I am suffering and lost I wonder what happened I hear your voice in all places I see your face with tears I want to meet you for only one minute I don’t know what hit me I am suffering and lost I pretend it will be all right I shout from the roof tops I touch my present with sadness I worry about the future I cry every night I am suffering and lost I understand what life means without you I say: thank you for your care I dream to stay powerful even without you here I try to remember our memories I should take caution I am suffering and lost I fill my heart with anxiety and bitterness I feel a bit under the weather It was your magical mystery ride I felt unhappy I’m breathing fine

6

Fadwa AALIL

The Olive Writers 2017

POEM - 2 Nothing will stop our love For making that a reality.

I will do a lot of things to make you always next to me For the rest of our life So, I will lose my mind without you I’m being fortunate to have a mother like you You are the joke That makes me smile You are the movie That makes me laugh You are the song That makes me want to dance You are the dream That makes me hope You are the moon That enlightens my darkness You are the umbrella That protects me from the heavy rain You are the roses of my spring You are the pillow That brings me sweet dreams You are the cure of my illness You always give me your hand When I face problems You encourage me in my weakness You hear my voice When I feel depressed You are proud of your girl I won't leave you when you are older I will be your shining star at night I won’t forget you You will be always in my mind I will be the ray of sunshine When the weather is cold I will be the purest oxygen That makes you breathe You’re the treasure of my life I am a happy person Because you are in my life I am almost afraid of the intensity of our happiness Our own heart always exceeds us I’m on cloud nine When I see your sheepish smile

7

Fadwa AALIL

The Olive Writers 2017

POEM - 3You’re brave and unstoppable You talk for a reason You make change, one day at morning Start right now, hurry up.

You fight till your last breath If you break down, you will cry out only You’re great and invincible You want to change all the visions You try with your intuitions You open up the eyes You touch your future with hope You’ll find a way You’re alive and powerful I believe in you I hope to be always mindful You got stamina You’ve battled demons Don’t give up, never give up, no You are enthusiast and distinctive You charge the batteries It helps you breathe You have so much courage, fire and energy You must control yourself You need to pull yourself together You’re so dizzy and pale The world is beating you down I’m around through your every mood You chain my heart You fell under my spell You couldn’t deny my love.

The seasons have changed again, and it is a great feeling! Fresher, the morning birds are singing again and most importantly motivation is coming back. I’ve been hit with a few new ideas last week, and have found myself writing some new material again in what little bit of free time I have.

8

Fadwa AALIL

The Olive Writers 2017

I closed my eyes and imagined the best version of the right track. That’s who I really am.

I moved on with my life.

I found myself writing some words to complete my poetry: I fix my damages I tell myself that everything will be Okay I keep myself distracted for the sake of my sanity I prefer making myself disappear a lot I keep my eyes wide open I'm about to vanish Perhaps one day When the world will make sense We will meet again Just to start where we left off For now, I am sending my love to the stars They still shine for you anyway I can keep as quiet as I like, but one of these days I will be old .

I was thinking about the eight tops things that I must do in my 20‘s: 1-Traveling alone: have time to be away from everything. Rediscover my purpose in life by going to places I’ve never been before. Explore new things, explore different cultures, learn new languages and meet strange people. Replenish my soul with excitement and exploration.

It will create many opportunities for me, and room for improvement and personal growth.

Also traveling alone will teach how to become independent and confident.

2-Look for my true self: this is the perfect time to make my passion, my profession. Chase my dreams; follow where my heart wants to go. Do things that make me feel happy. Never settle for good enough, be the best version of myself.

3- Cut the clutter: Choose and keep the right people in my life. Associate with people who I want to be like. I’m not going to imitate them; I will learn from them, grow from them, and discover my true voice. These kinds of people will bring cheerfulness; they will motivate me and remind me that I’m on the right track. Creating a positive environment around me attracts success and it makes my vision clearer. It also creates a healing space that fosters growth, and that opens a door for chance and change.

4-Don’t be afraid to take risks: Pursue what makes me happy, risk in order to see the things on the other side of the bridge. I want to be brave enough to quit and start new. I won’t be afraid to stop doing the things that don’t serve my path. Risking redefines my thought processes and it optimizes chances. Because some greatest adventures in my life will come from things I never realized were possible.

9

Fadwa AALIL

The Olive Writers 2017

5- Be grateful: Make it a habit of saying “thank you" to people when they do something for me. I don’t know what kind of storm they are experiencing, so become their rainbow. Share my kindest smile. Appreciate them .It looks like a small effort, but for them it completes and makes their day.

6-Do something different and crazy: Sometimes, being normal is boring and redundant. I need to stretch out of my comfort zone. Putting excitement in my life that I can look back on and laugh hard when I become old.

7-Renew my faith: Being an adult means a lot of work and stress. Sometimes, I lose when things don’t go the way I want to or when all hopes are gone, everything seems to drift away.

The best way to renew my faith is to surround myself with God. Pray a lot 8- Accept the fact that the world is filled with hard times: quit complaining. Do not think about things I can’t change. Focus my attention on things I can act up on. I must embrace change and motivation myself; I don’t let my thoughts run in my tongue.

10

Mariyem Gamar

Agadir

Mariyem Gamar

The Olive Writers 2017Â

 "Mirror, Mirror on the wall, who is the saddest of them all?" a strong feminine voice said.

The Mirror awakened from its sleep quickly saying in praise "You my lady. Your golden hair in my reflection, your eyes like the ocean, opposes to the sorrow and darkness within you in all of their perfection, yet..."

The Queen repeated quizzically "Yet?" The Mirror continued in a submissive low voice " There is a girl yonder, she comes from the orient where sun kissed her skin, yet its warmth never reached deeper, in a land where two seas meets, where herbs grew over sand, in a land called sunset, her brown eyes call for me singing: she is the saddest of them all and she has moved to live within the territory of your empire, she came here running from a haunting past according to rumours".

The Queen seemed furious for she knew that according to the legends, only the saddest and most tormented soul could rule the kingdom of Death, but Oh she will never allow a soul to take over her throne.

The Queen said "And who might dare take over my throne? For I am the light which rules and illuminates this land of darkness and death; have you not seen the rivers of tears?! I made them! Have you not seen the fallen colourful trees?! I demolished them! Have you not seen the dead hearts?! I stabbed them! The darker, the sadder I am, the greater my fair skin, my sunlit hair and my beauty shines the place" The mirror said, "No matter, she remains the saddest of them all, a book so easily read, it always finishes with a sad ending."

The Queen angrily paced the secret chamber of the castle saying "then she will take her last breath, for I will be her death."

The mirror looked uncertainly towards the queen" Mistress, how would you kill a dead heart?" The Queen smirked triumphantly and begun to pace the space in front of the mirror, her black dress morphing in the darkness of the room contrasting her conspicuous fair skin and beautiful face "I am as fair as snow, I am more proud then the goddesses of Sparta and Athens, I am a beautiful morning flower; in the form of light I shall appear, love will be my spear and I assure you it is me the reason why she sheds her last tear."

"But my queen, a dead heart does not recognise love. Forgive me if I find your intentions queer" the mirror added hesitantly in fear from the wrath of her mistress.

The Queen's smirk widened, and in one step she was in front of the trembling mirror, whispering in a husky wicked voice, "Worry not my dear. At midnight's hour, I will send her vibrant flowers and a basket of apples to which I will have had poured great amounts of a potion of love, but what is most exciting is how she will feel love but her subject will remain anonymous, thus she will die of pain in her search of a none existing other significant, and that is how love will be the spear which will end that fool's life" Without waiting for the mirror's reply, the queen left the secret chamber, her tall legs proudly striding through the corridors of her castle, only few candles illuminating their darkness and the luminous moon shedding light on the horrors yet to come to the queen's objection of ire.

11

Mariyem Gamar

The Olive Writers 2017Â

 And through the walls of the castles the lines of the queen's spell could be heard "They say desire, Is a raging fire.

It starts like a spark in the wood Then it turns into flames eating whatever in its way stood.

In love you need to learn, That trust is the greatest prize you earn.

Desire is the fire, Ignited by love's ire.

God blessed us with one heart, Out of your chest it jumps with a start.

With no volition It stumbled into a decision.

It speaks: I no longer within you reside, In their warmth lies my other side.

It is one heart you give, It is one love you live.

Love is the master, lust is the slave, With pride to the despicable you will not cave.

Instead with love you will dance, How holy it is to see its majestic stance.

Little girl you shall never betray, If so, you are theirs to slay.

For desire is the fire Ignited by loves ire."

12

Mariyem Gamar

The Olive Writers 2017Â

 On the other side of the kingdom, where houses stood tall aligning together, the alleys painted in black, ravens and owls stood on the roofs, their eyes standing witness to the air as it dallied, wearing the fabric of Autumn, it crept stealthily, moving in a shapeless form, alone it roams, with rain it cries as everyone hide inside, them closing the windows. There it lies homeless. It was but the messenger of a certain God and Goddess, no more, no less.

It shouts letters like daggers, awakening the forbidding truth, that Gods, they too, suffer from anguish and pain, and oh how they wish for death!There alone it sat, the echo of its thundery words reaching the ears of deaf humans, "cherish your mortality, live with spontaneity, inhale every breath and glorify someone called Death"Startled from her sleep, little Mary woke over hearing the word of death. She is not yet accustomed to life in the kingdom of Death, for she came from a land far away, it was joyful, where sun always smiled brightly and birds chirped happily. Yet she couldn't withstand living there. Little Mary found the indifference of nature towards her sufferings unbearable, thus she decided to resettle in this mournful empire where everything was tainted in sadness and it all was empathic with her. But she also run away from the wars which ruined her country and killed everyone she loved, hoping that in the land of Death she might find some peace.She had black hair, a tanned skin which matched her fit body; still, her eyes were the most captivating of all. They were the color of sunset; they too resembled a beginning of an end. Little Mary looked out at the moon, her eyes glistening from unshed tears as she begun to say: "From behind the sands They came with their God, They shamelessly conquered our lands In the name of the greatest and latest lord.

With their transcripts, they veiled our women.

They encrypted every curve, every breast in the name of heaven.

Written in verses of imperceptible humanity Syllables like the bars of a dungeon, they were Dark, agonizing and where you say 'bye sanity'. looked with delirious horror to the last standing heroine Withering away, stoned to death, blood marring her head For making love to a man in her bed They came and made femininity a crime, A disgrace, a temptation and so they killed our Goddess in her shrine.

Oh let them to their heavens For we will mingle with the specks of sand Make of your hair my beloved a raven, Blanket in no man's land.

13

Mariyem Gamar

The Olive Writers 2017Â

 Mary sighed as she settled on her bed, her eyes roaming her room, its color was dark grey, next to her bed stood a desk of plain wood, and her drawers to the left held the little amount of clothes she had. The room was plain and unsophisticated; Mary thought its simplicity would give space to her turbulent thoughts to roam as they wish.

Still she couldn't shake the looming feeling that settled on her heart; something evil was about to happen.

In the Queen's high estate, through the glowing doors and high ceilings, the queen sat on her throne, proudly happy of her dominion over the biggest empire in God's land.

There her head lulled over her hand as she sat thinking of how open morning's blinking she would cause the death of this girl. She felt no guilt at all for she has forever believed that death is sorrowful souls' plea, yet she begun to reconsider causing this child's death with love, poison is more merciful to this pitiful human!

That moment when she aspire, Murder is what I desire So void she is, I call her the abyss Her dead heart filled with twisted madness She wanders like a lost child Wanting to know, what in every corner resides She found many truths furthermore lies!

But she took it with gratitude, pleas and cries Oh how greedy this girl have become Sometime, I want to call her a scum What is a body with a head but no heart?

It is an artist deprived of his art Like a morning dawn without the breathe of freedom Similar she is to a queen with no kingdom.

No the queen was going to perform this murder with no sense of guilt towards this human, she was going to protect her throne and simultaneously give salvation to little Mary.

Tomorrow apples with poisonous honey shall be waiting at her doorstep, and vibrant flowers will accompany her to her gravestone.

Dawn has neared and little Mary was still lying on her bed, thinking of the women in her country. How many are being sold as slaves to the monstrous hands of their conquerors.

Their screams still resounded in her ears, and the look in their eyes of horror still haunted her.

She had barely run away, leaving behind a veil she was forced to put on her head, a husband she never chose and bombs which often resounded as the soldiers and rebels fought killing every flower and grain on its path. She has looked for God but found only herself and so instead of praying she run away leaving her home, her God, her memories and the woman she loved.. singing:

14

Mariyem Gamar

The Olive Writers 2017Â

 But a sad poet could not be but gay..

In thy breast Lies my stolen heart For you I gave up my faith.

This love never halted Your name I exalted A bitter smile upon my lips, Why exalt, when you are battered...defeated.

But a poet could not be but gay For anguish is what leads this ink astray I gazed into her spirit loving her jocund company But Oh I have not thought, I never thought, That one day, my insides will flutter and dance And after April, when May follows, it still helplessly chants.

Defeated...smiles, tears of all of my life I will love you until oceans gung dry Until rocks melted, and mountains begun to fly.

My beloved...frogive me for the tragedy.

And as Mary was taking the dangerous path of deserts, escaping the giant snakes and witches she kept singing to the indifferent silence of sands A step inside I take What a foolish mistake Pairs of eyes stare In each I can see the hidden lair They look with disgrace Once they see the fragments of my face Why not, when my soul is colored with gray So much it drove their spurious colors astray.

My haunted eyes laugh My bloodied soul cough My smile nonexistent It was long lost somewhere in this existence Such an unbearable vexation I close my eyes & pray : God until when this damnation?

Life's absurdity Is the harmony God listened to before creating this epiphany Prepare for hell Yonder awaits you, with tears a filled well We are lost dreams We are condemned it seems

15

Mariyem Gamar

The Olive Writers 2017Â

 One day we will stand ahead the jurisdiction In the afterlife God will say: Oh have you sinned my daughter! will kneel, look at the angels, devils & all the creation with laughter I will say God forgive me for I have sinned Forgive me for defending the weak Forgive me for being meek I was but a victim to your worshipers To poverty, to agony so I chose to follow Lucifer Forgive me for I have sinned..

For I have lusted after women For I wanted but peace to be a religion Forgive me God for I have sinned For I uncovered my body to the world I wanted to feel their eyes upon my curves I wanted them to see my scarred beauty I wanted them to gaze at what you created with awe God forgive me for I have sinned for, I wanted to dance To escape into this trance To listen to the chanting you have prohibited Music which made my eyes out of joy heavy lidded God forgive me for I have sinned, for I refused to kill the infidel I became against your orders... a rebel For I chose instead to laugh with justice's seeker For I chose to refuse you to be a deemer For disbelieving in you to be a God How come you leave your children to rot upon your soil?

Under your feet they putrid With your mercy you always lie & kid God forgive me for I have sinned For I never understood Why in hell you should torture us Is this life's curse not sufficiently hideous?

God forgive me for I have sinned For I have dared to say with all of my ire That God you are but a wicked liar.

Mary was suddenly stirred from her memories she heard her door ring, she moved upon weak legs to open it, but she was introduced to an empty hallway, few rays of sunrise had just begun to pierce through the glass of the windows. She looked down to find a basket filled with apples and flowers," how strange" little Mary wondered, "A gift at the hour of dawn?

16

Mariyem Gamar

The Olive Writers 2017Â

 But from whom?" as Mary resettled in her chamber the basket in her lap, and the sun started to rise casting it reflection over the perfection of Mary's honey colored eyes.

There was a letter and it read "There jealous I stood, as my lover made love to my multitudes" a smile brightened her face, so indeed she was the object of desire. She held an apple between her hands, honey adorning it from the top, they looked quite delicious and she was quite hungry! Mary took a bite, she gazed sadly from the window, she had a feeling today's sun wasn't going to rise.

The apple fell to the floor, and Mary's corps fell silently unmoving, the beats of her heart quieting and the color of sunset in her eyes fading under her eyelids as they closed forever.

17

Khadija Gourri Oujda

Khadija Gourri

The Olive Writers 2017

The Maniesky papers were the last item in the auction, and as soon as there were only three people left. All the best of antiques were sold. So, Nadine bought them. And bought them cheaply, and easily. And read on the way home, in the bus. It begins.

This is not a book in your hands. This is my dairy you put it down. Fine, you are not going to put it down . But if you are a grammer teacher I’m imagining you like Liam Neeson in that film, repreforming that scene of the call that you make to me , this time ,to tell me the big phrase : I will find you ,and I will kill you . And if you are a writer . Like an actual real writer, well you have already written my name on the wall, you know like bond , James Bond in that film, or the song, I don't know. Anyway, if it is a call, or my name on the wall both mean me is likely going to die. But whoever you are.

You are Beautiful enough that you have opened this thing, and because, off course you are not going to tell anyone, what you are going to read in it. These words are my feelings, feelings from my heart of hearts - SONG REFERENCE- dazzle me-. and thoughts from my brain of brains, I will make this song. and questions from myself of selves.Does that last sentence make sense, it doesn’t have to, not everything has to, and specifically,not here, not on these pages. This is who I am when no one is watching.And I’m not promising a thrill here, in fact, this is so boring that you have to turn the page now.

Sorry for the blank what you want to know why I have a blank well, I had to wear my blue jeans, oh my red one, wait, I don't even remember, but here is an artsy answer " I run out of ideas Andy Warhol“ Man I am amazed you are still reading, dude there is nothing here to read just give up. This is me, just me. Me and all of my other mes,mes that I like and miss that I HATE.Along that there is a philosopher you will hear a lot from, also if you want some new music I use it much, the same as I use quotes, because words and rhymes my friend (if you have read to this far you are my friend, hugs) have such power within, and that power is what I am in the process of extracting. So here is an official invite to my dairy stick and watch how I will do it. Off course you can't see this. You can only imagine, (here we go with the songs) but I use film references also, you can, and books for all sorts of mediums, emmm without further ado. *inhalling* and forgot -to exhale me forgets a lot you know - passed out and found myself alive in the dates in the following pages. flip!

01/10/2016 Now it’s a new month and I need to know something new but old at the same time Is it just me. Or do people as well. This is really serious,I might need outside help on it. Dude, I talk to me. I talk to me like I'm someone else, I'll be literally telling me, It's ok, you can do it, we still have time… As if someone else said it, calling me you, who are you? Who am I? What is this? Now, what is dangerous about this is that I'm feeling a presence, I'm feeling a presence.

I'm creating an image, an image in my head unwillingly of someone else, some non existent figure, dude. And sometimes I literally feel an embrace, literally feel an embrace of a hand, a non existent HAND. now, hold on, this is all in my head, this is all in my head, this is all in my head. But what if? what it comes out.Man! I really thought, I had more sane years.

18

Khadija Gourri

The Olive Writers 2017

And this isn't sane, this is insane, you know sane, insane. I love it when things rhyme, it does feel like I'm in charge, balanced. Sometimes, I wish my life was a song, or better yet an album. Emm, that is not being possible,that is impossible *deepens voice and says: Indeed * Now, I didn't even get to the real serious problem, real serious problem. Is that sometimes, I'm told things I don't know, as if an info, this phantom, it knows too much. Now, what should I do? I Googled it. What a time to live in. Mostly everything is some fingertips away.But that is just data. A lot of data to deal with. I would have appreciated more the purposeful moments I would have had, if I was supposed to go somewhere for that data. But google was not bad as well, google is a good guy. I think I'll buy a turtle and name it Google, and then I'll be searching for google, not in google Anyway, I have a serious problem here, and that is I'm going crazy soon. Buckle up, that will be fun. I should write a will. “ I love Google my beloved turtle, to whomever buys it for me, and leave all my other possessions to whomever will take care of them. My bike, my guitar,my computer, my room, my toothbrush, my favorite blue shirt, and all the other shirt, My favorite red jeans, and all the other jeans. All of my collection of calendars over the years, yes I do collect calendars… You know whatever I own, I do not treat, as a thing. I can't count how many times my bike got crazy herself in the middle of the way, I'll be like come on baby, not now. and I mean it. and It works (because I'm lucky, not because of the baby talk, of course *Head high * years. I once was with a girl, waiting for the library to open ( someday in time, but not that day). Said she: Sell it and, find more money, and buy something else. Another rocket to take me to places.Said me : No, I like it. Even if I'll need another, faster rocket, this is my first bike. I am not selling my first bike. (approached another human,this specie is everywhere, a boy this time,the library is not open in time, but that humanity is in time with me) Said we: You can't sell your first bike... Did I cover my bikes ears,meaning the sides of, when the girl was making a point that it is just a bike, yes I did. it is not a bike, it is Jasel, and it is mine simply, and all what is mine is felt. Now, the phantom does not contribute in these acts that are funny by my human perception. I do it all alone.Man, I know there is no phantom “I got guns in my head and they won't go, Spirits in my head and they won't go”"Spirits Trumbellas -Song. in just a bit intimidated, that's all, I do believe in mental illness, But I asked a wise man, and he gave a great example, a real life one. like right now the pen is in my hand,but in the rush hour 100, I can't see it, so I keep searching though I have it in my hand, so all of what is said in my head is mine, ffff. It is me. But I really need to stay in check.And if I was ever insane, take whatever you want.Just feel it.Oh, and google said... I’m ok, I guess.

03/10/20 1 6 The feeling of Admitting that yes, I'm feeling something, or yes, that is what I'm thinking, or expecting, anything... Just that using two things makes is vast, so vast that I literally feel more relaxed, literally an actual thing is moved from on top of my heart. I do not have to be embarrassed to tell myself, THAT I LOVE FOOD, and I hate sharing it,especially food that I made myself. I waited until everyone went outside, and I made pizza,yes, pizza. and It has always been a dream to eat, a whole pizza on my own, what a dream. They should build me a statue in Italy, grabbing those pieces of pizza, pushing them right through my face hole.

19

Khadija Gourri

The Olive Writers 2017Â

 I was really scared that someone, would come and I would have to share, and the statue will fall apart. Sigh, you know it is hard for me to admit that yes, that makes me feel good, Yes, I do just want that pleasure. I'm human eventually, (and you when something happens, and it's so hard to grasp, I'll be like yes.... yes... but there an explanation to what happened) there is nothing wrong about wanting pleasure, nothing. Hear myself.I've never been, I've never been spontaneous. I always state everything as words, because When words I can think of them, and I think that when using logic and logic, it will be ok. But no, it is neither.I'm unable to connect to me first, or anyone else.Man, I don't even want to share a pizza, Like if someone was crying in front of me, I wouldn't know what to do, I think hugs are stupid, it is not like a hug would solve the problem, oh man, how did I turn up to be this cold. Silence for a moment. Now, I've been held before, and yes in the process, you are under so much body pressure, that the solutions might come out, they juice it out of you, or it is just a reminder of simplicity the ultimate sophistication, said DA Vinci, that things like that, things that people can only feel like hugs, or anything, all the small pleasures still matter in this world. The unexplainable ones, better yet dancing, what the hell is dancing? Really, what the hell is dancing? Said the one who is literally incapable of moving my galaxy, meaning my body, but the man! I asked someone, that someone is an acquaintance, I don't remember where. what is dancing? Sigh, he said " letting go " Awww, now that, that was not cold, that is hot, sir, that is hot, that wait, I'm going to dance a bit. and come back. Oh god, It didn't work, It has to be spontaneous, and I'm not, but hopefully will be, somehow, sometime, somewhere, soon.But I came to a realization, that I do not have to be ashamed of wanting. Any Kind of wanting, physical, or emotional, or logical... but when do I need each type, well it depends on the day I guess. Have a good day! oh, and I'm a food monster by the way, what a tendency! I love that word tendency, oh, I'll get of you now pen. I'm just practicing not being ashamed, being a food monster, being a dream monster, being a quote monster, being a song monster, being a film monster , being a life monster...

04/10/2016 It was a good day, it was the best day, but a Monday will always be a Monday. I always knew it was going to happen, I always knew I was going to lose all my identities at once, even the identities that don't really matter. Like my bus card, wait that one matters to me.My ID, my empty bank account card, my scholarship card, even the library card, and a memory card man! Not even mine, but my brother's. Side fact: You know when you have siblings, you have more things, four computers, more shoes, more clothes, everything is doubled # Blessed, and I'm not showing off or anything *Coughs slowly* I'm just using Adele's advice " Count your blessings to find what you look for (woah) - Rolling In The Deep " Me loves that song.But I didn't find what I was looking for, for my wallet. I kept searching the room, finally cleaned it , under the hope of finding it, it is the wallet , in trash , no . It's funny how my hope this time was situated in trash . That's how miserable I was . How weak I felt , and how helpless , and pre-tired I was just under the thought of going through all those procedures to get me back . Rolling in the deep , indeed .Though really appreciated the family support, I do not appreciate that I can't express, AAA, I mean man, come one, it's not like I'm going to be 20

Khadija Gourri

The Olive Writers 2017

happy, yes, I understand that crying, crying, crying, and more crying, Idid wasn't really going to get it back, but man, why is the one thing spontaneous in me, oh it comes floating, but so ugly. But It was a burden. Do not add the burden of me having to hide how ugly I'm feeling.

It is enough, that I'm ugly feeling.Yes, they're just trying to HELP, thank You.I get it, but man, I mean, I’m not just going to be happy about it. Ok, lost my wallet, with money in by the way. Let's have a cup coffee. I'm being grateful, but I can't deny these feelings, denying is another burden. All I needed to have as a burden is the fact that I lost my wallet, and I'm tight on time, and lot all shit going on. So let me grief, please... I do not ever feel bad,that I'm feeling bad, man all I'm feeling is good, at least I'm feeling. Ouch. You know the philosopher said that the philosopher said "Happiness, and unhappiness are sisters, or twins " So really, it made me wonder about how accepting we are as a species of laughter, happy moods of people, and how we always try to oppress crying, and sobbing, and unhappy moods of people. Now, if I was to laugh with someone, I would cry with them as well. But crying is ugly, and wet.And nobody wants to get wet, I guess people like heat more. So if it ever rains like the song that is on says " Ever since the rain, I’ve been living days too slow. Lay around and wait for a heart I used to know “ The Rain - Oh Wonder. I suppose you guessed it.

Anyway, this is just a thought that buzzed over my head, and it is not entirely, or at all,right, and I'm only saying this in order to question my perception of reality, what can I get from a literary criticism class? I can get the habit of questioning me… But I learned, alright, I learned. The first thing I learned, is that I will never carry a wallet again.I will never carry a wallet again. I. will. Never. Carry. A. Wallet. AGAI N. And I learned that tags are not that important, those are just cards, not me. You know what happened wasn't that big. But it really touched me. It went deep. Because, you see, it wasn't happy, because being happy is not some normal state, it is just a state. I really think that the everlasting state of humans is that there will always be a state, and no state is better than the other. And I'm embracing all the states.

There will always be pain... I need to stop buzzing here. It was a sad state. But there is in sadness as much as there is happiness. What there is? Am, well, I don’t know, (I don’t know) but whatever it is, it is vast, and expands, and I feel like I have grown a tiny bit. And I found my wallet on Tuesday BY THE WAY (Today is Tuesday, it's just that I was too busy to write.crying and stuff, you, know) And I’m so happy.These things don’t happen to no one, these things only happen to me. “Not anybody knows that I am lucky to be alive… “ LuckyAurora.Aaah…

Monday does not play like that again.

10/10/2016 To say no. Sigh, I was given a small, small, small, cookie that took me back, to them days, when I didn’t even know that the cookies were bought, haaaa, whatever, man! I am still a student, it is a normal state to be broken, just another state, sometimes I feel good about being poor, I sense stuff more deeply I guess, or maybe it's just I am who I am that happened, not because the poorness all over, man this dairy I'm writing on. I just found it unwanted at home, at some room, through some door, there are no handle doors you should know, and there never were. It gives the impression that we are open, that we are as tolerant a family, are we?

21

Khadija Gourri

The Olive Writers 2017

* raising the left eyebrow * Noah! It's going to take me a while to decide, and find the word of how it really does feel me that there are no handle doors. I guess it is a prototype of how I'm supposed to use every chance, I guess I just gotta push through, just push, fully in, and here I am inside what then, oh yeah, sometimes where I live it rains inside. That also means the same thing, you know, water is always good, except when it's over flowing under my feet, INSIDE. but, hey looking at the bright side, it's just water, and it will not last forever, nothing ever does, funny earlier these days my mother was watching a film, and a great comedian was in it, and he poured a cup of water at someone, that someone was furious, and my comedian said " Don't worry man this is dry water " It left me smiling from cheek to cheek. You know water reassembles goodness, and it came to me INSIDE. Now it could have called me on my cell phone, I could have gotten out of it, but now it has to come inside. Now I'm never cheap, it's been actually while since I was broke, can you believe that when I got my last scholarship I spent it all ON PURPOSE, just because I wanted to feel light again. To feel human, just to feel, man! You know money stress me out sometimes all the time. As if I have someone to take care of, and I thought it was supposed to take care of me, now the truth runs wild- Song Reference, it does take care of me, it does, but what's the word? It's not what I want. You seem like all of the great people spoke, I'm now on a mission to find a purpose. Really! Yeah, and I figured that it is not money, A PLAUD please. Yup, Chank yours. (Meaning thank you) I feel like I'm telling myself somehow, duh! duh! sigh, because if money is it, I can just go work, work, work, work, (Guess the Sun) and do nothing different, and never make it out of the town where NOTHING ever happens, never play again, never really get somewhere the way I want, the time I want to get, never have any memory of anything small, small, or big that I suppose to have considering my age, oh how young I feel, and how old is the thought of getting old is in my head, can you guess, no, you can't.but I'll have money, then I'll have money. Wait, there is no denying that if I find a penny on the ground for free, I will be HAPPY, there is no denying that if it was free, it is for me,any free thing, But.. I think you get the idea :3, or not. Now, I'll sleep, so I can wake up, so I can go study, so I can get a degree, so I can get a job, so I can get money. I'm not told that I have to pass this grade. I thought I was supposed nobody is telling me to learn.

11/10/2016 Do not think about it all at once, do not take it all at once. Do not do it all at once, AAA. I want to do three things, I need to go the gym, and I have raised the bar, so I'm lifting more weights. I need to be there, for the birthday, and I need a gift with me. Now about gifts I know what I'm going to do, I always have, and the truth is I'll give a gift to anyone,because I feel like it will a reminder of me, I always wanted to be remembered, and because I watched too much TV, cartoon particularly, I always thought that in gifts there are superpowers. My brother's birthday, now my gift has superpowers indeed, Dark Chocolate.I didn't have to put much thought into it, I know the guy, It's easier when you know the person, and knowing a person is also a superpower that I do not have much of. What is not easy is going to many places, at different times, even if I know what I’m going to get, the dark chocolate, it’s a

22

Khadija Gourri

The Olive Writers 2017

Sunday, damn.and I cannot sit still in the happy birthday to your mood if I have something to do. I also have a match, the boys challenged me, that I should have no more than 0 goals for me. I can do that, ha! and I also have a book to return to the library or they will take my card this time, oh, that card I'm getting to know again. Speaking of numbers from 1 to 10. I'm coping well with these boys. I guess it's just because they mostly suck as players "the truth runs wild" Song reference. But, as people, they are that type of people. They are my favorite type of people, they are people, the people that you do not have to fake it with, the people that you do not have to think before you speak with, now it flows, the words on the canvas, they flow, they are the people you don't ever have to weather a conversation with, *oh it's cold today! is it, nobody cares *.the people who don’t care about brands, the people who would all talk at once and still make sense, does that make sense? the people who would not ask you about what you don’t know. The people who would care for you,good people… They are the type of people who you could just be a person with. Just be. so, yeah, I need to be there. I, need to be there,not another version of, not the expected me. and me needs not to mix me with others. You know, sometimes I need to remember the limits of how deep to open myself, now, ain't nobody needs to know what's in there.Don't ever give anybody that power.

Hear my self! Cause I myself don't know what to name what's in there :3 years. and I HAVE A RESEARCH, now this time Mrs. Wilson is going to call my mom. I guess I drained all my luck on the wallet, the wallet, (btw, I'm carrying it again words don't chain me, if addressed to me by me. But if by others, words chain me hard).Because, there is no wifi, ERROR detected.and I kept leaving it until later, later, later, until later is tomorrow, at 4 : 00 pm, I really need to graduate. So, I have three options. Go buy the gift. or give the book back, or work on the research, or go play, or go left.aaa, ok , ok , ok . I need a plan, it starts by deep breaths.Do not think about it all at once, do not take it all at once. Do not do it all at once. I can't do it all, I'm not superman, and I'm having a financial crisis, until the scholarship comes, because I'm a good student. was, at least!WHAT HAPPENED TO ME. SOO, I guess, then people. and then I guess I should go work on the reach in the library, I do not cope well there.

I feel unease there. and chocolate it doesn't have to be dark, does it. we’ll see. Now if can just space it all, all of the duties. I need to try and make space factory this week. because I NEED to graduate. I feel uneasy in high school as well. I just want to feel a bit more in between my heart and chest. in between my brain and my skull, in between my flesh and clothes, in search of space. It ends. Nadine thought that the best decision she ever made with money was buying this paper, and now she planned to find the rest. In search of the Maniesky dairy.

23

Soumaya Zaki

Meknes

Soumaya Zaki

The Olive Writers 2017

Mother I can’t wait to be a mother so I can know the secret of them finding lost things so quickly!

So I can say heavens are under my feet carrying me; Showing me the way of success.

I can’t wait to be a mother so I can lead my children to success I can’t wait to be a mother so I can look at my child and say “kiddow! Don’t lie to Mommy You’ve been a resident of my tummy for 9 months” I can’t wait to be a mother to teach my children the difference between the good and the bad Between the happy and the sad Between their mother and their dad I can’t wait to be a mother to teach my children to live their lives to the fullest because after their life comes their death I can’t wait to be a mother so I can give my children what I didn’t get.

But mistakes of my childhood I will never regret I can’t wait to be a mother to feel the pride of my child’s first step and walk … cry and talk …

I can’t wait to be a mother to feel how strong are the moments of every accomplishment of my child and every joy I can’t wait to stand, smile, point at him and say “that’s my boy!

That successful man is the reason I am proud” Those laughs and tears struggles and fears paths and careers watching them growing through the years are what make me looking forward to being a mother.

I can’t wait to be a mother so I can get my child a book in his first birthday, and when he reads it, buy him another so that by the time he’s eighteen he’ll know how to survive a fight against ignorance and not be drawn.. he’ll know just enough to lead himself to success when I’m gone.

24

Soumaya Zaki

The Olive Writers 2017

My Hijab. My decision. My choice.

If modesty, dignity, honor, and self-respect are the definitions of oppression in your dictionary than I am very oppressed But last time I checked, oppression still means abuse, maltreatment and subjection. You certainly have made a mistake because my Hijab matches none of those.

With my Hijab, I am feeling blessed Things got really mixed up for you and you’re confused by certain words and their definitions.

I bet you can’t tell your east from your west Let me help you! Naked doesn’t mean free, so stop coming up to me and telling me I don’t have to wear all this I’m free; I should just take my clothes off and rest Naked doesn’t mean free, naked doesn’t beautiful because beauty is in owning my dignity not in showing my breast You say I’m free to show my body, thank you, but if I’m not free to cover it then what is the meaning of freedom?

You’re not making sense and with killing my voice you’re just obsessed You want to kill my voice. You want to hunt my brain and fill it with the illusion that if I’m not a super-model or look like one than I am defined ugly, and I have failed my beauty test And you didn’t even tell me that face to face, I just felt it even though I’m in my bedroom, because you found ways to reach me and make feel depressed But you will not change me! I will cover my body because my body belongs to me and by your propaganda demons, I will never be possessed Because I, understand that covering body and keeping away from your harassing stares is only for my best My religion has taught me that I’m a precious diamond protected by a veil that no one can invade or infest

25

Soumaya Zaki

The Olive Writers 2017

Smoking on the train!

I was smoking on the train!

Except he was holding the cigarette sucking the life out of it, I just happened to be sitting next to him I choked on the problems he used for an excuse to smoke and coughed a bit too loud not too loud to break the window glass for fresh air to come in, but loud enough for him to get the message and open the window Better!

But now I’m freezing!

Not from the cold breeze but from the ice in his soul Too much of it, it made his lips blue and his eyes blind!

He smoked even though right in front of him hanged the “no smoking” sign Perhaps if the sign was as attractive as the women passing by, he would have noticed it!

Or noticed me for that matter Or noticed his life that’s leaving him with every inhale he takes!

26

Soumaya Zaki

The Olive Writers 2017

Children of war Alone, between the wrecks of what’s left of her home, sat a 6 year old girl!

A child!

The sky above her was no more blue, but with shades of black and grey it was tiled She was wearing, what I wouldn’t call a shirt, but a piece of fabric that can’t possibly protect her fragile body from the roughness that the air around her carried She was staring at a piece of wood that belonged to the dinner table she used to gather around with her family, whom by their love she was cherished Her face expression defined the word ‘pain’, and her ultimate silence screamed HELP, hoping that someone with a heart will respond She knew deep down in her heart that there will come a day where her voice will be heard in every part of the world where she belonged She was 6 years old, yet she refused to leave her home, even though of her home there was nothing left but wrecks and ashes She refused to leave because she actually understood that home is the only place where she can be safe from battles and clashes The child I’m talking about is not one of her kind, there are hundreds of them all around my home town, their houses are bombed down, their families are torn to shreds and their childhood is being raped My children live in a horror movie they shouldn’t be allowed to watch and the nightmare of torture and blood to their minds is taped I’m asking, why? What is a reason with sense that would lead you to torture my children?

There is none and you have tortured too many I wanted to suggest we do this man to man but I remembered you don’t have any All I’m hearing are bombs, gunshots, shouts, and people dying.

I am losing my people and the number is mounting A thousand, a thousand one hundred and forty, one hundred and sixty, one hundred and seventy, two hundred are killed … I stopped counting You kill my children because you are afraid of what they can become, even you know my children are heroes and they won’t stop fighting until their country is free They won’t stop until their rights are given back to them, their freedom, their homes they will get them back, from the first piece of land to the last olive tree

27

​Ibrahim Aitbarka Zagora

Brahim Aitbarka

The Olive Writers 2017Â

 The Sad Ghost Abbas left his house 36 days ago, now he is lost in desert suffering from hunger and thirst , but at least he could feel a bit secure away from what made him see nightmares all day and all night. His wife's ghost was chasing him.

"Sometimes I feel her near me, she goes and comes back, she is here, and she is here, following me" He used to sing while crossing this Endless desert.

With every step he takes, he hears the crack of his old house and the walls trembling. With every breath he breaths he smells the blood on that floor where his unborn son died. He sadly remembers his wife's desperate cries. He was drunk that night when his pregnant wife was about to give birth to their first baby. He did not give it any thought, and kept drinking, kept ignoring until she passed away. Days passed, bodies buried, and spirits awakened. His wife's ghost kept appearing in his dreams and turned them into nightmares since then. Once he put his head on the pillow, the suffering starts. Voices, screams and a little baby's cries. He decided to go out from that cursed house, and started his journey of regret crossing the wild desert of Sahara.

Abbas found himself in the middle of the Sahara, begging the passersby for a piece of bread, or some leftovers of their meals. 36 days across the desert was not that easy; You might start seeing weird things. A flying donkey, a speaking camel, or a dancing palm tree. However, the worst is when you are thirsty as hell and your mind starts that dirty game of a Green oasis, it could be just a mirage. "I either try or just die" Abbas convinced himself to go the Oasis he saw from far away. "It is not a mirage!" he told himself, and run toward the river that was surrounded by palm trees, and the green grass that was all over the ground. There, near the bank of the river stood a ghost, but Abbas had not seen him yet, all he saw was the fresh water he would be drinking after these 3 meters that are left. As he knelt down, Abbas put his hands together to fetch the water but suddenly he felt a strange wind passing by his ears.

-"Do not dare to drink!" The ghost shouted -"Who..who; are you ? Who's speaking?" Abbas asked in frightened voice.

-" AM who is speaking, Am the Ghost" replied the ghost in a Great voice.

- "Ghost! here ? In the desert! But I am thirsty and I will drink any way, I don’t see what can stop me from drinking."

-"Just do not drink or you will be cursed, I will hunt you in your dreams and turn them to nightmares "the ghost warned - "Don't you ghost have something else to do instead of stopping me from drinking. I thought you are more than river Guards!" Said Abbas In mockery though the rough times Abbas never gave up his sense of humor.

Abbas then drank until he fell on his back saying his word of satisfaction, Ahh! -"You will pay for this, you will pay for this. I will show you, wait for it!" The ghost said in anger.

-"Huh yeah, I will wait "Abbas hesitated.

28

Brahim Aitbarka

The Olive Writers 2017

The sun came down; the stars raced each other to take their usual place in the sky and Abbas was in search for a place to spend the night. The riverbank sounded like a good place to do so.

He went on sleeping. Meanwhile the ghost came to take his revenge from Abbas, he came to appear in his dreams and turn them into nightmares.

The ghost tried to enter to his dreams but he could not, it was like a wall that impeded him from entering. The ghost then stepped back to think of another way to enter to his dreams.

Seconds passed and Abbas started screaming, he saw a nightmare for sure. "Something is going on," the ghost thought.

Abbas started kicking around and the ghost watched in surprise.

The morning light reflexed on the burbling water, Abbas moaned and woke up. He was tired; he washed his face trying to collect the pictures of his last nightmare. Bloody celling, the crack of the floor, the baby's crying came from all the corners of that house, a glass of wine and Abbas recaptured himself on the couch, DRUNK !

Abbas loved his wife, Fatima, so much; he remembered how they fell in love when they were young. She was the shiest girl in the whole village. Red and sweet cheeks, blue wide-open eyes, blond hair. Abbas never believed or wanted to believe that such a beautiful girl could exist in such a miserable village in the wildest Sahara.

A soft wind broke his flashbacks. It was the ghost again.

-"What are you?" The ghost screamed.

- "A human I guess!" Abbas replied.

-"are you alive or dead! Are you a ghost?"

-" I wish I were, I am neither alive nor dead, since my wife died, uh since I killed her. I was stuck in between, alive to drink and eat, dead to feel and to live as a normal creature" -"You killed her? your wife?" the ghost asked in surprise -" Yes, I did, I killed her with my addiction, with those bear hands, a bottle of wine ruined my life" Abbas started crying, covering his face - "I thought Men don’t' cry" -"They do CRY "Abbas shouted " they cry when they feel insecure, they cry when they lose their beloved ones, when they are stuck in between nor alive nor dead they CRY when they kill their unborn babies" -"I can't understand, how did you kill her?"

Abbas told the ghost his story about that cursed night, about his pregnant wife, their unborn son and the sufferance he lived since then -"You humans are such Murders."

-"you can say whatever you want, and you? Why are you preventing people from drinking from that river? It is not yours" -"This is not just a river, this is a story of my sad wife"

29

Brahim Aitbarka

The Olive Writers 2017Â

 The ghost told Abbas about his wife; about how sad and broken she is because they never had a baby. Actually, they will never have one, she was sad because she was never going to feel what a mother feels. She found in crying her escape. She cried days and nights, she never stopped .Her tears broke into the desert and formed the river. The ghost explained that he could not let any one drink his wife's sadness. Moreover, if someone did, he will pay for it the ghost will appear in his dreams and turn them into miserable nightmares.

Last night and for the first time in his "Life", the ghost found it hard to enter to someone's head.

-"I think you could not enter because my wife is already torturing me and I guess that two ghosts at once is an impossible thing" -"Yeah that's obvious," the ghost agreed.

"Is life cruel?" Abbas asked-"Yes Life is. Life deprived me from having a baby, could it be any crueler" -"No, life is not. We make life that cruel. By our deeds and bad habits. Me for instance I killed my wife and my unborn baby. This is the cruelty I am talking about, being haunted by your past, I regret the day when I first tasted the wine, I regret the day when I preferred to be drunk than saving my wife's life and my baby's and Mine as well.

-"I guess you have your entire life to regret!"

This was the last sentence that day between the ghost and Abbas.

In what looked like a throne made of palm tree leaves, the ghost's wife settled down crying and weeping.

-"Someone drank from my tears!" The ghost's wife exclaimed.

"Yes my dear, a lost man drank from your tears"-"You punished him right? You entered to his dreams and made him see nightmares, didn't you?"

-"No unfortunately I could not!"

-"You could not, you said you could not, do you consider yourself a ghost?" The ghost's wife said angrily.

-"But he was already occupied by another ghost and you know that two ghosts can never be existed in the same person's dream" -"You have to take revenge. He just cannot drink your wife's tears and you stand unable to do anything, GET ME HIS TEARS" the wife ordered -"Alright my dear" The ghost waited until the night came and the stars in the sky, he waited in silence for the moment when Abbas will fall asleep and waited for him to start his crying and kicking habit.

Abbas started crying and the ghost came near, took his tears in a little bottle, and went back to his wife.

30

Brahim Aitbarka

The Olive Writers 2017

-"Here are his tears my dear!"

-"Oh yeah! Good job my husband. You did well. Now look at these little tears oh how sweet!"

She took the bottle and started drinking, when she finished she also said her satisfaction word, Hoo! -"Are you satisfied now?" the ghost asked -"Yeah, I am, I won't let any lost dog just drink my tears and runaway" The wife had a strange desire to stop crying! She never felt so. She asked her husband if he could make her a romantic dinner, and he did, after that, they made love on the highest white cloud in the sky.

The morning came and the wife could not cry! She hardly tried but she just could not.

Her belly strangely grow! She was surprised and she called her husband to witness this unusual event.

-"Oh your belly, look at it, ARE YOU PERGENANT?" the ghost exclaimed -"I think I am, something is moving .Oh my God, touch it, I feel it" she started crying, this time with tears of happiness "The tears, the tears. That man's tears did that," the ghost's wife added.

-"Abbas tears did magic" "What is the story of this Man?" the ghost wife askedThe ghost told her about what happened to Abbas' wife and his unborn son.

-"Oh! That is too sad. You have to bring me that Man. He can't just help us and let him go!"

The ghost went to the bank of the river and found Abbas meditating, he was watching in surprise this creature, is he really a human? He had just done magic and "gave me a baby".

-"Abbas!" the ghost said in a soft voice.

Abbas turned slowly as if he were frightened of what he might see next.

"The river!" Abbas said -"Yes I see, that's because my wife stopped crying, that's because of you!"

"Me and what else I have done and I don’t know?"-"You have given me the source of happiness that I would be drinking from all my life. My wife got pregnant after she drank the tears I have taken from you" -"My tears! "Said Abbas in surprise "and what kind of magic is that?" Abbas attempted to laugh but he suddenly stopped he knew that the river was the source of life in this oasis and now the ghost's wife stopped crying then how would anything be alive it is only a matter of time before everything gets dry and turn the whole place into a miserable desert.

-"Abbas, listen, my wife wants you. She wants to see who helped her" The ghost took Abbas to his wife.

She received him.

"So you are the sad man, the killer, the murder, the human but also, the savior of my life, the key of my happiness.

My husband told me that you are haunted by your wife's ghost .Don’t worry I will help you to get her out .Now after you have given me what I badly wanted in my whole life, I would do you this favor" 31

Brahim Aitbarka

The Olive Writers 2017Â

 Abbas had to spend the night on the bank of the river .When he started dreaming and his wife came again ,the ghost's wife came near , she saw him crying kicking again, then she decided to broke the logic of ghosts. She surprisingly entered to Abbas' Head; she encountered his wife Fatima; -"Fatima, I know you are hurt, and broken I know you seek revenge from your husband. I do know that a mother can forget everything but not the loss of her child, your husband is suffering, but today he did something that you would be proud of" "What has he done again?"-"He helped me to have a baby, the dream that never would come true without your husband; the tears of his sufferance got melted with mine. That means his deep sorrow was connected to mine. They gave me hope. You see My baby is your unborn son through the pain your husband lived. I can see that it is hard for him to continue handling that, I want you to forgive him and the son you lost, it is never lost; he is here, in me. MY baby is YOURS" -"I just wanted him to know how hard it was for me to die like this and to kill another soul" -"I truly believe that he learned and suffered enough. Please get over that, and I promise you that your child will be safe with me" Fatima added no words, she let go of Abbas knowing that he suffered enough and learned from his mistake.

Abbas woke up feeling good like he never felt. He saw the ghost couple holding their baby( In ghosts' world the pregnancy takes only 3 days) Abbas looked in his eyes and he remembered his wife and himself but the ghost 's wife told him that he will never see her again, at least in his nightmares because she is in his son's eyes.

The river that once was made of tears of sadness became a lake that was known as the lake of hope, every unlucky couple came to it in order to have a chance and have a baby.

For Abbas he lived with the ghosts in the desert there in the middle of the nowhere! Happily for ever and after.

32

Wiam Afifi

Fez / Indonesia

Wiam Afifi

The Olive Writers 2017Â

 Witnesses August 2017 That afternoon, the house that builded over a land of 8x11.3 m2 looked busy. Noises heard from inside the house, the owner seemed to be doing some cleaning, he was going to move, and the house was being emptied. However, far away from the INDRA of the busy two-legged creatures, transporting large pieces of furniture into the truck, a serious conversation took place between some of the duty-free electric furnitures in the living room.

Who could ever imagined that they were the history witnesses, of the life in that house for more than two decades.

TV sony from 1998, which is located in a cabinet made from jati wood, displayed on the larger side of the living room's wall, facing the dor, which made it free to see the movement inside and outside the room. He tried to start a conversation with the other furnitures. He deliberately choosed this time because at the meantime all the electronic devices in power off, no one were being absent in this meeting, coz no one were turned on.

TV: today is our last day here friends, we should celebrate our farewell with a fancy party.

AC (an old LG brand, located on the opposite side of TV): do you think we will be taken out?

Are we going to be with the unemployment furnitures? I don't want to join the pensioners.

They called electronic goods that are not functioning as pensioners, who are obviously unemployed and just waiting for time to be destroyed.

TV: I heard they offered us for sale at an old electronic store. the old refrigerator, I heard he will be immediately thrown into the garage, he will be destroyed immediately.

DVD: well, that's his destiny, he's too old now. By the way, who had ordered to emptying this house? anyone see who is he?

TV: I saw him, he is Bima. Our Bima.

Everyone surprised and shouted: Bima? !!

Lamp: how come I did not see him?

DVD: how can he managed to come back here after all this years? How did he look like? Is he well-dressed? Or did he looked poor?

Lamp: how was he? Did he has a job? Did he smoke?

Phone: did you see any tattoo on his body? Or piercings? I mean did he looked funky or ordinary?

AC: I didn't see him either, I can not see what is outside the room from my position. do you think he is happy or angry?

33

Wiam Afifi

The Olive Writers 2017Â

 TV: oh wow wow,, patience please. One by one. I was also surprised when I saw him, but you were all turned on. I think they were checking whether you're working or not. I could only see him in a glance. He was handsome, I guess he must not be older than 25 yeras old. with a neat shirt, a tie, and a glasses, he resembles his mother a lot. I expect that he is working in a big company now, but certainly not his father's company, because it went bankrupt. I didn't see any tattoo on his arms when he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, but i don't about other part. He didn't not seem like smokers, coz he didn't accept it when one od the workers offered him a cigarette, or maybe he was not in the mood to smoke. One more, that watch on his left wrist ,,, looks obviously expensive. It was sparkling from afar.

DVD: ahh ..we already know about your obsession with sparkly tools. But today, even cheap watches looks sparkly. What about his shoes ? Shabby or neat and expensive ?

TV: it looked neat and.. Yeah,, new. I bet he is now a successful man. I used to bet he would succeed and be able to forget his past, you lost the bet buddy. .

AC: actually we all lost the bet except for you, because we all agreed that Bima will never set a foot in this house again , after all the trauma he faced, and that's the normal thing. Your opinion was different, But we stillbdo not know whether he had made peace with the past or not. That's what matters most.

Lamp : as the oldest among you here, I really hope he is like what TV had said. Bima was a good boy. I hope he no longer hate his father.

Telephone : you are being too optimistic , do you forget? Bima had swore never to return to this house?,Iam sure he just came to emptying the house and selling it. Maybe he needs money at this moment. Look at this, this is a wallet lying in front of me, I'm sure it belongs to Bima, it made of leather and looks expensive. There's a photo tucked inside. Every now and then Bima will come pick it up, if he opens it we can see whose photo he kept there.

DVD: so, are we going to bet once more? I am pretty sure I can win this round. Whose portrait is there? mother or grandmother? I bet it will be a photo of his mother.

AC: I bet it is his grandmother' portrait, after all she loved him the most and he was soo dearest to her.

DVD: I agree with you. Grandma had never scolded Bima, she gave her a love that he could not gain it from his busy parents.

TV: but do you remember about the time wheb he ran to hug his mother before her mother left the house? And didn't you all agreed that Bima went to look for her mother when he escaped from this house ?

Lamp: well, this time I agree with TV. Bima is another witness beside us who had seen how his father and grandmother treated his mother. He must understand the pressure that his mother suffered from, so he always came to comfort when his mother is crying.

34

Wiam Afifi

The Olive Writers 2017Â

 Telephone: somehow my hunch says that he didn't keep both of them, neither mother nor the grandma , because he couldn't choose between them. Maybe he kept a picture of his girlfriend , or his wife. If so, then he had already forgotten the past and lived a happy life with his new family. And the proof is that he returned to take care of this house after being abandoned for more than ten years. But more than anything else, we hope he won't be like his father. Right?

They all agreed in silence. Even though they weren't sure enough about this conclusion but they hoped it is the fact.

What happened in this house was a dark history. The house itself with all the fancy classical furnitures inside are the real honest witnesses.

For them, It was sad enough just by remembering it, they doubted the nature of human's destiny and humanity. They couldn't find the justice that is always echoed in the news. They wondered, how many similar cases are out there, how many child suffering in their own home. **** August 2002 Prrraaaannngg ....

The sound of a broken glass blaring, mde the glass of window wavering, makes the whoever heard that sound, would run for hiding.

"Bimaaaaaaa !!!" that's father's voice "come here !!! If I say come here! Come here now! You son " Dugg "ahhh .. stupid!! " he shouted in pain after kicking the kitchen table.

It was the ninty fifth night father had came home drunk. What they called home yesterday, right now is no more than a prison. Dark, gloomy, no breath of life.

TV: this is really bad, where is Bima? He shouldn't leave his hiding place.

Refrigerator: he's hiding in the bathroom. I Wonder if he can lock the door properly. Let's prah that father is too drunk and fainted so he wouldn't find Bima and beat him.

Telephone : why do you think father is getting worse and worse? Is it because mother has left him behind?

Telephone: it's impossible, he doesn't care about that anymore. I think it is because the chaos at work, looks like his company is in the verge of bankruptcy. Yesterday afternoon, he called a lawyer to take care of the defense in court later. They report him of fraud case and a stock split or something similar, I don't know exactly.

35

Wiam Afifi

The Olive Writers 2017Â

 Lamp: we must all remain vigilant, we might as well become his next target to break another glasses. Because at the meantime they can't repair us soon if anything happens to us.

AC: shhh.. I don't hear any movement? What is father doing in the kitchen?

Refrigerator: he is talking by himself, a little delirious.

AC: what did he say?

Lamp: fridge, aren't you working? Shouldn't you be on duty for 24 hours a day?

TV: Shh, you are interrupting our conversation. Go on refrigerator.

Refrigerator: ok, the electricity bill is so high, nothing works well except for the emergency lights. And that's why we can have a talk now. It was unclear what father had mumbled, but occasionally, I hear Bella's name mentioned often.

AC: do you think he regretted having an affair ? Did he missed his wife?

Lamp:no way, you witnessed already that they slept separately long time ago. Their harmonious marriage lasted only until 1996,when Bima was only a three years old boy.

Maybe he is just stressed out because the company went bankrupt. Bima should run from this house, otherwise he will starve to death.

The next day, at the dawn.

Gubrakk .... sound of the front door opened violently. Uniformed policeman with a gun in their pocket entered the living room,, and they scattered in the house .. "who are you ?? !!! What do you want? !! No.. Leave me!! I'm innocent !! !! Leave me you.. !

Aaaaahhhh .." it was father's husky voice heard from kitchen. A minute later, two policeman returned to the living room, dragging father who was handcuffed and struggled to escape.

"I'll sue you guys later, it's definitely not the deal" roared father. "we bring the arrest warrant to arrest you on the charge of fraud and counterfeit. please come with us calmly, or we will be forced to sedate you" said the police chief firmly.

"I am scheduled for last trial today, I will win the trial, you have no right to arrest me now, fuck with your rules."

"Mr. Herdi! you've lost, no more trials, evidences of your crime had been accumulated, and there are more than a dozen witnesses, your lawyers have also retired, so please calm down and join us." Without waiting for a hia agreement, they immediately took father roughly and walked out of the house.

36

Wiam Afifi

The Olive Writers 2017Â

 Father's hysterical roar was still echoing in the living room "I was tricked, I was cheated .. this is not fair, I am innoceennnttt...." silence again ....

A few minutes later, there was a movement inside the house. Bima staggered out of the bathroom. As if he had planned it long time ago, he went directly to the master bedroom. soon, he came and went to the kitchen, took a bottle of water and left the house in a hurry ..

TV: where do you think Bima will go to?

Lamp: my friend, lamps in the bedroom tild me that Bima had taken a red wallet from under the bed, it looks like his mother wallet, do you think she deliberately left that wallet for Bima?

AC: I do not know. But what I believe, Bima will not pursue his father. Has anyone remember how Bima had his father's portrait?

Refrigerator: really? It is new to me. When did it happen?

To be continued...

37

Houdna Rguib CASABLANCA

Houdna Rguib

The Olive Writers 2017

A beast to harness Part I: Sidi Bennour, Saturday 01st April 2017, 22:39

The day I got HIV was the most intense day of all my life. It was a day of an epic battle, where a mighty force rebelled against the odds to keep me alive, in spite of my vigorous attempts to get myself killed. I shot lights, exceeded speed limits, drove against the direction of traffic and took the longest way back home to increase my chances of having a road crash, yet I arrived home in one piece. However, if you slit open my mind during that day, you would find complete chaos caused my agonizing thoughts and fears, both racing faster than the speed of light, then bumping against the rigid and icy barrier that is my skull, to cause a loud and deafening blasting.I remember parking outside my building, my hands and teeth were clutched to the steering wheel, to suffocate my bitter screams and prevent my own hands from hurting me physically… The more I tightened my grip the more pride I have lost and the more I came closer to succumbing to the instinct of self-harm, which is engraved deeply in the roots of our Moroccan inheritance, no matter how zen we try to be. It is in fact the rawest and most instinctive form of the womanish Moroccan identity.

It was a petrichor perfumed morning. The neighborhood was lonely and silent except from the sound of my crying, which I doubt anyone could hear, and the monotonous sound of brooms brushing the wet ground. My car’s windows were fogged up and I couldn’t see what was happening outside and vice versa. I gathered up my thoughts after many unsuccessful attempts, I tied my messy auburn hair in a low ponytail, then wiped my smudged eyeliner with some unscented baby-wipes. I tried to look presentable enough that it leaves no room for my husband’s suspicions. He must have reckoned I had a rough night shift when he saw me in that lamentable state.That Sunday morning was the last one that I have spent with my husband Omar. I laid next to him in bed, just contemplating his chest rising and falling peacefully and sinusoidally, while thinking about how effortless these movements look. In fact, every movement is extremely complicated. It happens often that I start thinking about the many possible ways these movements and phenomenons can go wrong.

The homeostasis ​1 of the blood running in his thick veins and giving him that beautiful and lively rosy color, the odor of his sweat that cools down his temperature and therefore protects him from dying of hyperthermia, his lungs and their complicated haematosis ​2​. It can all suddenly go wrong for no apparent reason and he would die before my eyes. I have seen similar cases before, of bodies shutting off for no reason.

38

Houdna Rguib

The Olive Writers 2017

Thinking about our loved ones medically drives us doctors completely mad.I admired my husband, he was perfectly put together, responsible, caring, kind, dashing and witty, he was so flawless that it made me loath myself and consequently mistreat him. He was the textbook husband that every woman wishes to have, but ironically, he ended up with me, the woman who deserved him the least. He was the sinew that held my life together, the sound of reason and the camouflaging costume that gave me a correct reputation and an enviable life to rub at my enemies’ faces. I never understood where all of my stubbornness came from, neither why was I never good to him, I just chose not to. I lied, cheated and been pretentious ever since we met, and he was an even better actor, pretending he didn’t know about it. I guess he was waiting for the best occasion to pay me back, and what an occasion it was! He seized it without hesitation and I could see how liberating it was for him to finally get rid of me. It is understandable, I was a threat to him and to our son, and I could have possibly contaminated both of them.

___________________________________________________________________________ 1 . Any self-regulating process by which biological systems tend to maintain stability.

Ex: Acid-Base blood homeostasis.

2 . The conversion of venous blood to arterial blood by oxygenation in the lungs.

39

Houdna Rguib

The Olive Writers 2017

Part II Hospital Ibn Rochd, Casablanca Tuesday, 7th March 2017, 02:47 AM -“Hello bestie! Merriam? Are you somewhere around the ICU”? Said Dr.Siham, who was at her 4th year of anesthesiology residency.

Dr.Merriam increased the volume of her phone and left the embrace of her secret lover. “Yes, is everything okay?”

-“I have excruciating cramps, I really can’t stand up, they need someone to urgently place a central venous catheter in the visceral surgery unit, can you fill in for me love?” Siham paused then insisted. “Pretty, pretty, pretty please?”

Merriam sighed and accepted, then turned to her lover and gestured that she will be back soon. “What’s the case?” asked Dr.Merriam.

-“I am so gutted for not being able to be there, because it is a very intriguing case. A twenty years old male, without any worrying medical history. He’s been admitted to the ER thirty minutes ago for displaying signs of hemorrhagic shock ​3 ​” Siham paused then continued “Wait for it… he inserted a glass bottle in his privates, it broke and left sharp pieces of glass inside his rectum! Can you believe it?”

-“Oh, my god! Not again… they should really consider letting sex toys into the country!

Rectal hemorrhages are the heaviest, I better get going” exclaimed Merriam while on her way to the visceral surgery unit.

-“Yes you should! Thank you so much, Merriam, you are the best” Merriam wished her best friend and co-worker to get well soon and hung up the phone.

Merriam got dressed into some operation theater haute couture: a sterile light blue surgical gown and tight surgical gloves. She proceeded on placing the central venous catheter; a medical revolution that was invented in the late 20th century. It’s a catheter that is placed inside a large vein to accelerate the rate of transfusion in case of severe blood loss that acquires massive blood transfusions. She inserted it in the internal jugular vein to go all the way to the right ventricle of the patient’s heart. Merriam explained all this to the extern doctors with pride. She loves her job; she describes being an anesthesiology doctor as the most suitable job for adventurous people who seek adrenaline rushes and like feeling useful.

Her job was done, she needs to stitch the catheter to the patient’s skin to keep it in place. She took off her gloves, because she can’t suture neat stitches with those tight gloves stiffening her steady hands. The patient’s skin was very rigid, it’s not easy to insert the needle in it. She struggled a lot to finally complete the stitches and she carelessly poked her thumb with the bloody needle in the way.

40

Houdna Rguib

The Olive Writers 2017

The patient was stable, and progressively recovering a satisfying blood pressure thanks to Noradrenaline ​4​. The surgeons started working on stopping the internal bleeding. Merriam cleaned her hands with antiseptic soap and alcohol and went back to her lover. She noticed some bloodstains on her green scrub, she checked her hands and noticed a profound wound, which is not new to her… She cuts her fingertips many times a week.

Hours later they call her back in the visceral surgery unit, the patient was dying. Six defibrillations and three ampoules of adrenaline later, Merriam gave up on recovering his pulse. The nurse anesthetist took the patient’s index in her hand and directed it upwards while muttering Al Chahadatayn ​5 on his behalf. ​“Achhadou an la illaha illa-llah, wa-achhadou anna Mouḥammadan rassoulou-llah”6 -“Time of death: 04:36 am” Said Merriam.

Another patient that she could not save. She sat there devastated, next to her colleagues; they all started reciting some verses of Quran. Death was even more terrifying at night, the halls are empty, the lightning is dim and depressive, and people looked tenser. Merriam wondered if they look so because they are tired or is it due to some religious conflict that is raging within themselves… Merriam have witnessed many deaths, prevented a fair amount of them but it never made her any more pious, she has grown angrier and more devastated with religion every time an innocent child dies, every time a helpless woman is violated, and every time an extra minute could have been enough to save a life.

-“You know, he was raped several times by some tyrant in his village, a Caïd ​7​, a respectable Hadj. We only knew that after we joked about his case” Bassam paused to take off the several surgical gloves he was wearing. “No one alerted the authorities, not even his coward parents, they have stupidly chosen to remain silent because they were ashamed of being victims. They were afraid everyone would pity them and accuse them of being bad parents, or accuse their son of being homosexual, so they have simply let it happen again and again and…”

He suddenly threw the bundle of bloody gloves into the wall as hard as he could and knocked off the surgical table while screaming with extreme rage, the bloody blades and tissues went everywhere on the blue ground: “I…hate this country, I hate its people, I hate it to every darn last bit… I would set fire to every inch of it and throw everyone in a gigantic and everlasting bonfire!”

Bassam massaged his tears back to his eyes, then turned around to look at Merriam whom he will see crying for the first time. ___________________________________________________________________________ 3 Hemorrhagic shock occurs when the body begins to shut down due to large amounts of blood loss 4 A hormone given by injection to treat life-threatening drops in blood pressure.

5 Two sentences that Muslims must say before death, and in many other circumstances, (terror, prayers, joy…)

6 There is no god but God. Muhammad is the messenger of God. 7 A chief especially of the Berber tribal communities of the Atlas region.

41

Houdna Rguib

The Olive Writers 2017

She looked shocked and pale, her pupils were dilated, she asked with a shivering tone: “Why…are you all wearing several gloves”?

Bassam got on his knees and took Merriam’s hands in his and started panically inspecting every inch of them. “Patients with sexual deviations are potentially HIV positive, his family confirmed that he is, indeed, HIV positive. Please don’t tell me you have cut yourself?

Merriam you need to focus and answer me right now” Merriam didn’t say a word, but her warm tears poured down her face like a demolishing flood, she held her head between her hands and screamed her lungs out.

42

Houdna Rguib

The Olive Writers 2017

Part III Casablanca, 19th March 2017, 11:30 AM -“Do you hate us this much Merriam? Do you actually hate your son?” Asked Omar in disbelief.

-“First of all, YOU FORCED me to have this child, you manipulated and FORCED me, in order to save our marriage” protested Merriam.

-“Wow, you are messed up in ways! You actually refuse to feed your baby?” Said Omar while rocking his 3 months old son Walid.

Merriam sighed and asked pleadingly to be left alone and promised to pump more milk later.

Omar nodded and left the bedroom, he came back and said “I gave you infinity and you can’t even give an inch, yet I forgive your senseless hatred for me, but to hate my son… I mean… a dog wouldn’t let her child starve” He paused to place a gentle kiss on his crying son’s forehead and continued. “You are a horrible person, a disgusting cheating lying wife, and a shameful mother… you are despicable and sick, and you certainly don’t deserve to have a family” Merriam burst into tears, she thought Omar didn’t know about her secret life. She fragilely whispered: “You have no idea what I’m going through Omar please take these hurtful words back… please, your words are killing me” -“What did you say”? He put Walid in his crib, then hurried to be next to his wife and grabbed her by the hair “You…! What is more important than your family? Hein? Another lover broke your heart? Do you think I’m oblivious to your adventures, do you think no one knows about them? Hein? Do you have any idea how much shame you’ve brought on yourself and on ME? Then you say I don’t know what you’re going through? Do you know what I’AM going through for you and for our son?”

-“Omar, I am HIV positive, I spent the entire night considering mixing my blood with your smoothie” Said Merriam with a relieved smile and an empty cold gaze.

Omar let his hand fall on Merriam’s shoulder, for a moment she thought he would take her in his arms and never let her go, she missed him, like you would miss someone who you are starting to fall in love with. Or even better, she thought he might strangle her right there and then, but the next thing she heard is the echo of a slammed door, no more baby cries, just perfect void, like crystal clear glass shattered by Merriam’s last scream.

43

Houdna Rguib

The Olive Writers 2017

Part IV Ibn Rochd hospital 07th March 2017, 05:54 AM -“Listen Merriam, it will be okay, tomorrow morning we will alert the staff affairs bureau, we will all testify for your favor and it will all be okay, everything will be okay, you might even not have the virus even though you’ve been exposed to it” Said Bassam.

Merriam kept crying silently, she thought about her son, her precious Walid who restored her faith in having a happy marriage life… She thought about the last time she could breastfeed him and feel his warm and soft skin against hers. The last time she held his tiny hands and sniffed his stinky feet. The first smile he gave her, the one that cured her postpartum depression. Her husband won’t certainly miss this chance to punish her, he will rightfully take her son away and she won’t see him again. She thought about her job, about twelve years of her life that she will toss away. Both Merriam and Bassam sat on the floor, waiting for Mr.Serhane to show up, he is the one in charge of work accidents. Bassam have been calling him every fifteen minutes. The sooner he arrives, the quicker they can start the PEP ​8 and save Merriam. Meanwhile Bassam kept talking about statistics and facts, he repeated many times that it’s possible not to be contaminated even after being exposed to the virus.

Merriam couldn’t care less about what he was saying as her cut was profound and was already picturing the worst case scenario in which she will lose all she has.

Siham joined her friend for a crying séance, during which she expressed her sincere regrets and guilt, for it was she who asked Merriam to take care of the patient, then offered her some food and juices which Merriam silently declined. She spent the last hour puking her guts out and she still feels very nauseous. Mr.Serhane showed up at almost 10 am, he was welcomed by a furious Bassam, who grabbed him by the collar while insulting him for being unethical and late. Bassam explained the situation while Siham held Merriam in her arms and caressed her back. The head nurse Mrs.Naji suddenly entered Mr.Serhane’s office and said: “I had to come down here as soon as I could, Merriam, The head Professor Pr.Yakine and I had an urgent conversation this morning. We have heard a lot about your lousy reputation, and we have seen it with our own eyes. We aren’t even sure you got HIV tonight, we suggest you go test your multiple sex partners and see who contaminated you, but first remove yourself immediately from the hospital for the safety of the patients and your colleagues” Bassam slammed the desk with his hand and screamed “Unbelievable, you can have her tested right now and the result would be negative ​9​” -“Is that what you would like to believe? Were you one of her lovers?” Said Mrs.Naji ironically and continued: “Everyone testified against you, everyone knows about your affairs, you should be ashamed of yourself, you are a married woman for god’s sake” -“I will get myself tested right now and bring you the result and I will have that PEP” Said Merriam while trying so hard to look strong, but her tears and shaky voice exposed her.

44

Houdna Rguib

The Olive Writers 2017

-“Fine, do whatever you please, and we will do whatever we want, we will call the police, and sue you for your unprofessional behavior”, replayed Mrs.Naji firmly.

-“You can’t be serious, we have tests that prove the patient was HIV positive and everyone was there when she did cut herself” Said Bassam.

-“According to the witnesses, she did not say anything about the cut until hours after it happened, we are sorry but it’s time for her to learn a lesson, she’s already not clean and we can’t cover up for her anymore… Anesthesia drugs use, corruption, adultery, fornication…

We can’t let people like her be in charge of innocent people” Said Mr.Serhane with sincere regrets.

Merriam had enough, she knows she lost this battle and there was no chance for redemption if everyone is against her. Now she needs to pay for her own PEP confidentially and keep this incident away from her husband as long as she can.

45

Houdna Rguib

The Olive Writers 2017

Part ​IV Sidi Bennour, 01st April 2017, 22:40 PM. The PEP didn’t work, hence I am indeed HIV positive, and I have lost everything that I have dearly held to my heart. I spent the last few days pacing in my empty apartment, taking my pills and wondering what I should do with my life. Should I take revenge on my husband?

Why would I? He didn’t do anything wrong. On my friend Siham? I can’t blame her for what happened, since it was obviously meant to be as I am a horrible person who deserved to realize that the hard way. On everyone who testified against me and denied me the right of getting a treatment? They were oppressed by the common ideology, and vexed by my freedom and independence. On the patient who contaminated me? He was already dead and was, himself, only a victim of an oppressing and senseless community! I can’t quite fathom what were his parents afraid of? I can’t put a finger on a logical reason that justifies why they would remain silent and accept their fate without fighting back, why would they put anything anyone would say above their child’s happiness? All this overthinking about this messed up, handicapped and exasperating society will eventually drive me insane. I can’t believe we still live an era where people are judiciary uneducated and simply give up on their rights.

-“And some rights should be taken, Hadj Mustapha. See, what happened here is that, the multiple times you have raped and molested Jalal messed with his head, his behavior, his desires, and eventually his life. You know sexuality is very fluid, and can be manipulated and changed under the right or the wrong circumstances” Said Merriam to the chained, mouth cuffed man who sat wriggling before her. She has indeed harnessed her beast.

Hadj Mustapha, an authoritarian Caïd of a village in Sidi Bennour powerlessly pleaded with his eyes, he moaned and shifted in his seat while Merriam was injecting some pure insulin ​10 in his vein. It was not difficult for a pretty woman to capture a man with animalistic and unthoughtful desires. -“You raped him, you have made him an easy prey to your other messed up friends, then when he got HIV, you unleashed him in a judgmental society, where sexuality is a taboo and everyone who doesn’t follow the orthodox frame is doomed to get himself killed. He was way better than you, he will remain better than you to everyone’s eyes and I will let everyone know that. He preferred hurting himself to please his desires rather than contaminating someone else.” Merriam paused and remembered that he couldn’t prevent contaminating her, then continued: “Your cells will use all the insulin to the last molecule, your blood sugar will severely drop, you will lose consciousness, then you will stop breathing, and your heart will stop pumping. When they will run the blood tests, there will be no insulin left, hence no murder weapon, and no way to trace them back to me”. Hadj Mustapha’s eyes starting moving slowly, the insulin started working and it won’t be long before he loses consciousness, Merriam gave him a stinging slap to hiss one last thing to him: “You know, I could have been much more creative, and this could have been very painful, but I would rather fight for a better cause than to get incarcerated…I hope you rot in hell”

46

Houdna Rguib

The Olive Writers 2017

Epilogue: Ibn Rochd Hospital Tuesday, 7th March 2017. 03:00 AM Instinct is a destabilizing word. It evokes and justifies crimes, infidelity, homicide… All the horrific actions we humans do to survive. I like instinct, it’s the pure and honest essence, cleansed from hypocrisy, lies, protocols…It also justifies Siham’s ardent love who led her to take an irreversible choice.

Siham was on the phone with her best friend Merriam. They were friends ever since their 4th year of med school, throughout these years Merriam involved Siham in every part of her life, her wedding, her family vacations, her success and her failures, but unfortunately, instinct was stronger than friendship, and tonight Siham will let her instinct and greed overcome the promising friendship she had with Merriam, but perhaps it all happened to harness a beast, just like a butterfly’s effect.

Siham crumpled up the serology test that proves Jalal M, is HIV positive. She was the first to see him at the ER, she knew Merriam isn’t very careful with blood and needles, she knew she wouldn’t say no if she asked her to fill in for her.

-“Hello, Omar!” Said Siham.

-“Siham, what’s wrong my love, why are you calling me up this late at night? Is everything okay? Is Merriam okay?” Said Omar with a sleepy tone.

Siham paused for a minute, she hesitated, she needs to call Merriam and take back her request, but no, she feels like she has to do this. Merriam is a horrible person, she will be doing her husband and her son a favor, and on the plus side she will be united with the man she loves. But at what cost!

-“I… Need you to listen carefully to me, if Merriam comes back home, don’t eat what she cooks and don’t let her breastfeed the baby, only formula milk okay? And don’t use any razors” -“What the…? Why are you asking me this? You need to explain what’s going on right now?” Said Omar.

-“I can’t explain now, I will stay up all night praying this would work, if it does we will be united forever, and you will get to keep the baby, we will be so happy Omar. Goodnight my love”.

In memory of J.X, I believe you are in a better place, where no one can hurt your pure soul.

End.

47

Nada Afa

Agadir

Nada Afa

The Olive Writers 2017

1

Reflections.

I’m you, With a different face and a different skin tone.

I’m you, with a different name and a different voice.

I’m you, with different tastes and of shorter height.

I’m you, with smaller feet and crooked teeth.

I’m you, with hopes and dreams and secret fears.

I’m you, with hidden scars and a fake smile.

You’re me, but we simply haven’t met.

We’re two numbers that blend into one.

We’re two bodies linked by invisible thread.

It just happens that yours is rotting under the dirt, And mine is walking upon it.

We’re us, eternally divided by life.

Dance little marionette, For the poor and the rich, For the dead and the living, For the joy and the pain, For the truths and the lies, For the love and the hatred, You harbor in your wooden heart.

What a sad destiny you have.

Dancing and thinking you enjoy it, Dancing and thinking you choose to do so.

Ignorant of the threads that move you.

Oblivious to the public that judges you.

Blind to the master that controls you.

48

Nada Afa

The Olive Writers 2017

2 I woke up feeling hazy and lost, covered in sweat, and with a bladder a couple minutes away from exploding. He was sleeping next to me, reeking of cheap cigarettes, alcohol and God know what else. I don’t even care anymore. My head feels heavy, and my feet swollen. My insides feel uneasy, and I knew the nausea wasn’t too far ahead. After a couple of tries, my feet finally decided to move. I dragged myself across the 2 meters that separates the bed from the bathroom. My cheap colorless pajamas felt sticky against my skin, and the fabric disgustingly stuck to my painful breasts and hardened nipples. I remember when I used to only wear fleece pajamas that felt pleasantly cold against my skin in the summer. I remember its colorful fabric, and the smell of my night cream and morning toner. I entered the bathroom and looked at all the cosmetics I own; empty bottles and a low-priced trashy pink lipstick. As I peed in the silence of the tiny bathroom, I could hear his snoring. I flushed the toilet and started washing my hands. I looked at my reflection, and instantly felt repulsed by my own face. Strands of greasy hair rebelling against my messy bun, dark eye circles and chapped lips made me look 10 years older. Two pimples stood proudly on my forehead, red and sickening.

When did I become this person? I don’t even want to think about it. I walked back into the room, and slipped into my uniform, tight on my breasts and belly. I reached for my old faux suede bag that was originally black, but has now become a dreary ugly accessory. I put a bunch of useless stuff inside. Things I wouldn’t probably even use, but just put there anyway.

I remember my old hand bags. I only carried designer bags, and had a large selection of clutches that made all of my friends jealous. I used to be the one that was constantly described as “glamorous” or “stylish”. No one from my past would be able to recognize me today.I’m not even the shell of my old self. Even the shell broke a long time ago. I’m just its shadow, its much heavier shadow. I sit down on the bed and try to put my blue sneakers on.

My swollen feet wouldn’t comply, so I give up and wear his nasty trainers; the only thing that fits my feet nowadays.

“Baby you’re leaving?”

I answered with a “mhm” while putting on my black smelly bomber jacket.

“Baby can you lend me some money, I don’t have any, and I need to catch a bus or a cab to go print my CV and look for a job”.

I don’t even give him an answer this time. Not even a nod. I took out my wallet, took two bills and threw them on the bed.

“Babe that’s not enough, how about couple more bills. Look, I’m trying to get my act together here, I’m even taking night classes and shit…Would it kill ya to be a bit supportive Poussin? I’m not asking for much, just a little money to get back on my feet”.

Oh right. The get back on my feet and night classes monologue. A classic. He hasn’t brought it up in a while. I smirk. I reached for a scarf laying on the floor and put it around my neck.

49

Nada Afa

The Olive Writers 2017

“You’re such a bitch Maha, you won’t even talk to your husband, hein? Acting all superior and mighty aren’t ya? Well you ain’t shit without me and you know it. You can’t even last a day without your man…” I walked off the room, with the music blaring through my headphones. “…You just wait and see…You BITCH are gonna beg on your knees for my forg…” I walked off our tiny apartment located on the 6th floor of the building. I could still hear him yelling. Same old, same old. It felt weird at first, frightening even. Him, so sweet and nice, so caring and loving, transformed into an alcoholic gambler, a roaring beast, a pitiful man. However now, I find comfort in his yelling. It’s comfortable because it has become familiar. I get scared when he doesn’t yell, because that means something is off. I hate it when something is off. I like routine, routine is predictable, and what’s predictable is easy to manage. The cold frigid air of 6 am felt like a slap against my cheeks. I stood for a while, and then leaned against the wall to catch my breath. The elevator was obviously broken for the past 5 months, and no one was going to fix it anytime soon. So I had to walk down the 6 flights of stairs. After couple minutes, and a few deep breaths, I proceeded to walk. I didn’t want to be late again. The manager will then yell and call me lazy, unprofessional, unpunctual, and whatnot. And I’ve already took all the yelling I can take this morning. No need for more. A woman, dressed in a slick black dress, and classy light gray coat was walking towards me. Her auburn hair looked shiny and soft, and her heels made a “click clac” sound on the pavement. She was holding the hand of a child, probably her son.

They were both laughing at something. A man was walking by her side, dressed in a dark blue suite, flashing a smile and holding onto a leash attached loosely around the neck of a small golden retriever that was yapping happily. They looked like they just walked out of a TV advertisement or a magazine’s glossy page. They looked happy. I hate happy people.

They annoy me the most. With their radiating smiles, their rhythmic laughter and their positive attitude. So revolting. I quickly looked at my watch. I am already late, might as well light a cigarette or two. I sat on a bench couple of yard away from the grocery store where the manager was probably pacing and waiting for me to enter through the sliding doors to start a long angry tirade of reprimands. I took out a cigarette, and gently lit it with my green BIC plastic lighter. I took a long drag on the cigarette, and finally felt awake. An old woman dressed eccentrically walking a small poodle dressed in a light blue doggy sweater walked by. She looked at the cigarette, then at my belly, and had this outraged angry expression on her face. I didn’t break eye contact. I took another drag on my cigarette, and gently exhaled while the smoke gracefully danced around my head. I dared her with my eyes to talk to me, to say something. She just shook her head in disapproval and disappeared on the corner of the street.

I took off my headphones, then took out a second cigarette and smoked in silence. I looked at my watch; 6:27. Seventeen minutes late. Not too bad. The grocery store wouldn’t be unable to function because one cashier is late. People make such a big deal off silly things. My manager especially. He needs to chill. I finally got up and walked through the grocery store’s sliding doors. As soon as I walk in, it hits me. The smell of freshly cut flowers, and freshly baked bread. I feel the vomit coming up in my throat, and try to control it. I’m late, I can’t head into the bathroom right away.

50

Nada Afa

The Olive Writers 2017

“Isn’t that mighty princess Maha! How about a cup of decaf and a fresh croissant to start your morning? What is that watch for if you can’t ever be on time? The other cashier is swamped with work, she had to do it all by herself for the past half an hour, and handle all of the customers by herself...”

I looked around. The store was empty except for Mr.B, a sixty year old man who usually picks a loaf of bread and red rose for his wife every morning. Sara, the other cashier looked bored, and was flipping through a magazine, reading celeb gossip. Swamped indeed. I try to control my laughter.

“If not for your pitiful situation I would’ve fired you a long time ago. But I consider you as family…”

Definitely. Yup, Family. I bet he was “considering me as family” when he brushed his hand against my breast, or when he jokingly smacked my ass when I first got here. He was definitely treating me as family when he summoned me to the back room when I was late one time, and said that he care for my wellbeing while kissing my neck. However, when I made it clear that I wasn’t interested, suddenly his soft “you should come on time, you are a valuable worker here” transformed into “I am only keeping your lazy ass here because I’m nice and charitable” that he says in the same tone you would say “the bathroom has been clogged for three days”.

“Now get to work. Or do you need a bathroom break again? Or to lay down?”

“No, I’m good. Thank you for asking though. I’m sorry for being late, this is definitely the last time I promise”.

My tone was a tad sarcastic, and he looked at me with an appalled expression.

“How about you brush your hair and put some lipstick on? You will scare away all the customers. What is happening to you lately? Being pregnant doesn’t mean you should wear dirty rags and come with messy hair” “What makes you think I’m pregnant? I’m not. I’m just really fat and naturally ugly with a swollen face”.

He looked shocked for a while. He wasn’t prepared for this answer. He thought I’d defend myself. I don’t need to defend myself anymore. He stared at me for a while, sighed, tightened his dark tie, and walked away. Excellent. I got off easy this morning. He’s getting tired of playing this little game with me. Couldn’t be better. I felt a sudden kick in my belly. Little sucker. I hate when this happens. I walked to my assigned cash register.

“Hey M. What’s up?”

“Living the high life, what else.” I say sharply.

“Are you okay? What did he do again?”

“I see that Brangelina is no longer. Interesting.”

“M I’m serious. You seem really down lately, I think you need to get help or something.”

I let out a dry laugh.

“Down? As opposed to my lively bubbly self?”

“Wait, did you smoke?” She asks her eyes wide open in surprise.

“I don’t need a lecture, okay? Cut me some slack.”

51

Abdessamad Aadaoui

Marrakech

Abdessamad Aadaoui

The Olive Writers 2017

Boredom strategically infiltrated the room. It was like a vigilante warrior about to attack a tyrant tribe and free the slaves. The walls in the orthodontist’s office were shattering from the impact. And we, the people, were left yawning and resting our cheeks on our fists from the nuclear radiations of the boredom attack. In a word, I would’ve very much rather watched a baby’s skin wrinkle or trees grow than be there.

The tone of a new human that came to inquire about something, make an appointment or add their name to the long list was enough to make us turn our heads and listen attentively as they were about to give us the answer to the “Where did humans come from?” question. It kind of lessened the pain of waiting; you know…Watching people talk to the receptionist. People from all walks of life walked in, an unlettered old lady that threw more questions than Manny Pacquiao throws punches in a boxing round, a perverted middle-aged man whose jaws was on the 7th earth with devils dancing around it and poking it with their little fiery pitchforks when he saw the hot receptionist, a pre-teen boy whose mom sent him to make an appointment, an attractive raven-haired girl my age that I kept staring at…etc. I kept observing each and every one of them, guessing their story, their age and what brought them to the office. Some of the other patients waiting chose watching the TV as an escape. Most of them weren’t paying attention to what was airing, they were inside their heads trying to unearth solutions for their marital or work problems. Others were skimming through the torn magazines on the glass table. I loved that glass table! I was fantasizing about being a 80s Rock star doing lines of cocaine on it with groupies. Other patients weren’t so patient, they opt for leaving.

The receptionist called my name, at last.

I got in and I knew that I was in for a “treat”. The doctor seemed angry, and she was always aggressive when frowning. The moment she commenced pronouncing long French words, I knew she was about to wage orthodontic Jihad on my mouth. The long French words always stood for sharp pain-inducing tools. The doctor was insulting her assistant and at the same time lousily driving metal tools into my braces to tighten them.

When she finished with me, my head was spinning. My mouth was sore and my braces were tighter than a virgin. I was wondering how I was going to kiss my date that day. I sent her a message to cancel of course.

I went home that day and slept longer than the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus. I woke up around 3:00 AM of the other day to my phone buzzing. It mirrored Mardi Gras with colors popping out of its censor indicating that I had new messages. I loved all the attention I was getting. I was guessing who the messages were from. My curiosity was more aroused than an inmate with high sex drive that’s serving a 70-year sentence on his 12th year.

I opened them and they were messages from 2 people.

The first was from the girl I was about to take out on a date. Apparently, she never received the message I sent her for whatever reason. She went to the date and waited for me for hours.

She must’ve felt the exact same way I did at the doctor’s office. So I understood why she had nasty insults for me in the messages. I didn’t blame her.

52

Abdessamad Aadaoui

The Olive Writers 2017

The second was for my special friend Hind. She invited me to her apartment the following day. At least I had a reason to smile after getting a bit hurt by the insults.

I head to her apartment the next day, and we hung out. A few minutes later after that, boredom was getting ready to attack me again.

“Hey, what don’t we do something?” I said “Something… Like?” She replied “Hmm, invite some of your friends over” “What friends? I can’t have anyone while you’re here…Do you want my nickname to go from Hinda to ho?”

“No…I meant someone cool, like Ines and some other girl” “And what are we going to do?” She asked “I don’t know…let’s play some game! Cards? Ouija…?”

“I don’t have any cards or Ouija boards…”

“Oh hold on…I GOT IT! The perfect game!” I shouted “Which is…?”

“THE TEAPOT GAME!” I yelled “What teapot game?”

“Moroccan Ouija! Please don’t tell me you don’t remember it!”

“Oh yes! Yeah…Yeah Of course! I’ve only played it once as a child though” “So can we invite your friends and play it?”

“I guess I could call Ines…And Dounia” “Who’s Dounia? Is she cute?” I asked “I’ll go bring that teapot that collects all the spider webs in my kitchen…” She said while ignoring my question about Dounia. I loved how she jealous she used to get even though we agreed to keep our relationship open and casual. Right after that, she called her two friends who were down in a second.

53

Abdessamad Aadaoui

The Olive Writers 2017

“We need candles too! We don’t want to piss her off” I yelled.

And by “her” I mean the ghost. I can’t even mention her name. They say gruesome things happen when you do. They refer to her as “The Unmentionable” instead of her real, ominous, name. The Unmentionable was a female ghost that lived in 1890s Morocco as a human. The legend says that she was hauntingly attractive. She was sociable, bubbly and sweet. She had a married female best friend she used to visit. Her friend’s husband was infatuated with her.

One unfortunate day, as the Unmentionable came to visit her friend, she was let in the living room waiting. The husband was watching her from another room and salivating at her captivating beauty. His wife barged in at the wrong time or right and caught him. From that moment on, she pursued a vendetta against the Unmentionable. The wife hatched a devilish plan. Months later, she arranged a meet to make peace with the girl; only to stab her in the face 70 times with glass from a broken window, roll her in a large white cloth, throw her the sewer and burn the body. The girl’s ghost of course came back for vengeance. She guided the wife and husband to commit suicide by burning themselves alive. She terrorized the whole village until the biggest Chouafa (witch) there captured her in a teapot. Now she dwells in it and if called on, she answers. You ask her any question you wish and if the teapot’s spout turns to the right it’s a yes and to the left it’s a no. The rules are: 1- Repeat the mantra three times without messing it up. 2- Focus on the teapot and do not look around or behind. 3Light 6 candles and turn the lights off. 4- Repeat the mantra three times again to close.

Hind’s two friends knocked on the door as she got out of her room with a whole box of candles—they resembled Cuban cigars. I visualized being 53 years old and puffing on them in a white yacht with topless French models.

They introduced me to Dounia, and I was quite disappointed. She wasn’t the best looking and had acne all over her face, seemed nice though.

The girls caught up as I threw a few jokes here and there. It wasn’t too hard to win Dounia over. She was a bit cold to me in the beginning so I just kept expressing my personality until it naturally clicked.

“Let’s open our arms wide and welcome chills to slide down our spines, ladies!” I said All I heard was screeches. Hind was jumping up and down drawing the curtains all the way shut. She circled the 6 candles around us as we stood straight and held the teapot with the index and middle finger of both of our hands.

“Remember girls, don’t mess up the mantra and focus on the teapot!” I said “Ready?” Hind said We yelled the mantra in one voice, three times.

“Who wants to start?” I asked “I’ll do it” said Dounia.

54

Abdessamad Aadaoui

The Olive Writers 2017

“The Unmentionable, will my acne ever clear out?” She asked as we all struggled to suppress a chuckle like a pillow suppressing a bullet. It was like taking a body shot in boxing and pretending it didn’t hurt.

“See? It doesn-” Ines was saying when she was interrupted by the teapot trembling on our shaking fingers and turning right, as a yes.

“Of course, it works Ines. Show some respect to the Unmentionable” Dounia said with a huge smile knowing that her acne will one day vanish. I wasn’t surprised; I knew it was going to work.

“Whose turn it is now?” Hind inquired.

“I want to try!” Ines replied.

“Will my parents find out about what happened?” She asked.

It turned right, slowly this time. Ines’s eyes got watery. We couldn’t ask her what was up, not until we finished the game.

It was my turn, at last.

“Will things work out with the girl I was supposed to have a date with?” I asked while Hind pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. I tried to pay no mind.

The spout said yes faster than an unattractive poor bride when asked if she takes Mr. Joseph Giovanni, an Italian-American model with a net worth of 200 million dollars, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, ‘till death do them part.

Right after that, a scene from Gladiator was reenacted. Maximus was walking through the field of the erect hairs on the back of my neck and letting them run across his hand ever so tenderly. It gradually intensified, which urged me to turn and take a quick glimpse. Of course I didn’t. Are you crazy? I couldn’t. I wasn’t dumb. It wasn’t normal, the vibe. If I tried to move my head back half an inch, I would’ve probably bumped into some solid surface, and the wall was so far behind me. I wanted to speak. I couldn’t either. It brought me those flashbacks of when you were a child and had middle insomnia. You wake up in the middle of the night in your pitch black room eclipsing the unknown, something or someone. You’re in a dilemma of whether to sleep facing the wall or the room, whether to pull out your hands and cover your head with the blanket or just stay where you are, whether to call for your parents or that would alert whoever’s in your room if they hadn’t noticed you before.

I gave the girls a look that said “Did you feel that too?”

Indeed. “We all did” their eyes responded.

Hind shook her head side to side like when you play with one foot on the weight scale, indicating that she didn’t want to play anymore. Our eyes agreed with her head movements.

55

Abdessamad Aadaoui

The Olive Writers 2017

We nodded at each other and repeated the mantra to wrap the game up.

As soon as we did, we counted until 3 in sync in our heads, dropped the teapot in a quarter of a blink and ran to sit on the couch. Dounia was giggling while I, Hind and Ines were drained of blood like an Ice Truck Killer victim, looking around the room for a woman in a white cloth with stab wounds in her face and burns all over her body like if we were watching tennis. Luckily, she wasn’t there! But her vibe was.

By some miracle, we were sitting right next to the light switch. I raised my hand to turn it on.

The girls released a huge a sigh because we were 100% sure nobody was with us in the room, nobody visible at least.

In the middle of that sigh, the light bulb winked at us like a failing student flirting with her professor to pass her last year at college.

Ines looked at it and let out a piercing scream. Hind and Dounia followed her religiously with more screams like if she was the leader of a cult.

“Girls, girls…Hind just hasn’t paid the electricity bill” I tried to switch topics and talked about nonsense.

“Why can birds fly but other animals can’t? Imagine a snake flying!” I kept presenting them with thought-provoking hypothetical situations that require you to imagine more than John Lennon, hoping they forget about the unmentionable and her vibe.

56

​Imane Elbacha Rabat

​

​ Imane Elbacha

​ The Olive Writers 2017

A Survivor I loved him, I really did …

I couldn’t open my eyes, the darkness blinded my sight. My body was so heavy as if I was the prey of the injustice of this world. I lost every memory of what happened last night, I can only hear the sounds of torture and pain, crying and screaming, it’s my mind trying to wake me up, telling me: « you’re in danger! Go! Run away faraway! He’s a monster, he can kill you! He will kill you! » The fear opened my eyes, chock my body and begged it to get up, to save the last breath of life. My legs seeking for peace walked to the door, every step was an eternity in hell, every contact with the walls of this dark empty room was burning my body and martyrizing my soul.

On the wall facing the door, a broken mirror was reflecting the image of an old woman with blues under her dark brown eyes, a small nose, generous lips with dry blood on its edge. The woman who she’s looking at didn’t seem to be surprised to see herself with bruises on each part of her body, she knew that it wasn’t her, it can’t be her, but it’s her! the tears drew a curve on her soft cheeks, she didn’t move, didn’t put her hands on her face, she stopped breathing to prevent any sound, she wanted to enjoy this short moment of dignity.

I’m the one standing in front of this mirror, I’m a young lady next month I should be celebrating my 27th birthday in a chic restaurant with my friends or maybe with a gentleman, wearing a dress that feeds my femininity, with my curly hair the pure representation of the freedom where I want to live. I’m a feminist, I believed in potential and in all women, I worked on myself alone didn’t ask for help, I built my dreams and drew the path to my success. This seems as a normal attitude of a modern woman, but not in my country, not in morocco, not in the Arab world, here women live to work for men, to feed men and to amuse men, nothing more nothing less, just as the Arab proverb says a shoe that men throw after they’re done with. Actually I’m a survivor, I went to a good school, I had the best results, met great people, built my company in the middle of Casablanca. Even though, my story isn’t that happy, I didn’t talk to my dad for years and my mom didn’t share a word with me for ages, it all started when they knew that I wasn’t a believer anymore, I didn’t tell them but they guessed, with all the books on atheism, the sexism and violence in Islam, Sartre, Nietzsche…After all I had to admit the death of God*, but nobody in around me could get over his greatest love, and his biggest fear, an utopian image of the obsolete infinite of power, life and they mostly add love and mercy ; If God exists why do children starve in countries in south Africa, if God exists why do innocent people die in wars, if God exists why is he so wrong in its self.

57

​

​ Imane Elbacha

​ The Olive Writers 2017

As Muslims we are not allowed to ask this question because the only acceptable answer is « God is wise, everything has a purpose, we humans cannot know anything about, just pray God listens to his poor creature. » this is the words I use to hear from my parents, pathetic!

Meaningless! I was unsatisfied, I had to look for answers somewhere else. From the moment I opened this door my parents denied me I’m a shame, mom worried the most about what people will think that she didn’t know how to educate her daughter, her single child, that she’s not one of them, one of the hypocrites!

My parents are another story, my mom, Karima, is an Islamic education teacher in public schools. She was a beautiful women dark eyes with long lashes, short curly hair, with a dark chocolate skin, long legs, and an amazing character. As a young girl she always wanted to be a police woman; I guess her first love was a police officer maybe. She always told me « Nour follow your dreams, work hard, never listen to what people say, it’s your life live every moment as if it was the last one » but as time passed this meant praying more than anything else. I lost her through the suffering of a bad marriage, in which she always thought that I was the only good thing, I think I disappointed her after all. The invisible man, my dad, he polluted my childhood with painful memories, and mom’s pillows with tears, dark nights where I heard my mom praying until the light of the morning blinded her red eyes. I was obliged to love him, because of that one night when he made my mom happy, kissed her as a real lover, I can see her smile with him at least that single moment. He wasn’t loyal, he never loved her, he spent our money on other ladies who trusted him. He used to tell them that he’s divorced and his ex-wife cheated on him, that he loved her, respected her, took her to the best places, I can even imagine him saying that he used to work day and night to buy her the best clothes, best jewellery, that she stole his money, his house and every single thing that he had but as a strong man he rebuilt himself, and now of course he’s looking for the right girl, a mature sophisticated person, someone he can trust and live with. Such a creative mind! After all, in our phallocrate society men detain the autocracy, it’s the «second sex » who must be careful, she’s the only responsible if a man breaks her mentally or physically, she becomes useless, the man has to savour the glory to be the first one, other way the girl is labelled impure, for the only reason that she chose to be free in her body to taste the pleasure that she deserves and wants as a normal human being. Ahmed, my dad wasn’t a really different man, a sexist homophobic anti-Semite Muslim, the ideal statue in an unaware unlettered ignorant society. Once, I found under my mom’s bed a small notebook titled « the journal of my sufferings », as a curious child I open it, I read stories about my dad with other women she knew everything about them their names, their age, job, friends, family, the only thing that she ignores that all of them including her were the victims of a heart breaker, a selfish arrogant manipulator, but at the end of each story she wrote «I loved him, I really did. »

58

​

​ Imane Elbacha

​ The Olive Writers 2017

I hated him, I really did…

I heard heavy steps coming from the other side, the fear doubled the pain, twisted my stomach, paralysed my legs, my heart was beating so fast I thought it was going to explode inside my chest and flood my body with blood, sweat and tears. I panicked, it must be him he will hurt me, beat me, torture me. The steps were getting closer, and my dread growing as a demon inside me. I can hear the keys, there’s only one obstacle between us, a door. I wished high walls separated me from this monster. he opened the door, I can see the light coming from the other world; sometimes light doesn’t mean hope. I had to find a way to save the single chance to stay alive, I had to think faster, I felt a flow of blood burning my head, sounds screaming « run away as fast as you can! ». I turned to the other side, the mirror; the woman looked more wretched that any other time; her eyes were seeking help, she took her between her hands, she was determined to destroy the glass on his head and this woman with it. He opened the door completely, but she couldn’t see his face, the light was sculpting his huge mass, he can’t be a man it’s a monster. He stepped inside the dark room, I saw his face, it’s him.

My heart left this madness to a soft memory: I was in my office when my mom came that day. I was so happy to see her, this meant that she finally forgave me. I wanted to hug her, kiss her, tell her how much I missed her, how painful it is to see her far away from me. She had tears reflecting the light in her sweet eyes I couldn’t say more than: « _ I miss you, mom … _ I miss you too my girl, look at you a stunning young lady; she said with a large smile keeping her daughter between her hands. _ yes mom I worked hard as you always told, just to see proud of me _ my dear, I hate myself for what I did to you that day I want you between my arms. my dear I want you to warm my heart as you always did. my sweet heart who deserves my love more than you do? » That day, that bloody day, it was Ramadan, I can even remember what time it was, around 1pm, I was writing an article about how atheists survived this month in the middle of an Islamic society, where eating is worse than stealing public money, where losing your virginity is worse than losing your life, where looking at a young girl selling tissue on the street in a rainy day is easier than seeing a couple kissing, where love is a sin and ignorance a normalcy. At this moment my dad opened the door, took my laptop pushed me away as I was trying to get it back. He closed the door and left me screaming inside. After a moment, he came back, pulled me from my hair, I was crying but who cared, I’m an atheist I have to experience hell on earth before facing God. He gave me the laptop, and ordered me to sit and read the text I executed not because I was afraid but because it was the truth « Ramadan, the month of charity, humanity and spirituality, the 9th month of the lunar year. On this month, God sent his angel Gabriel to his prophet Mohamed for the first time. Muslims fast this month to feed their mercy and feel the pain of poor people whom the social disability made the whole year a holy month.

59

​

​ Imane Elbacha

​ The Olive Writers 2017

It is known that during Ramadan the doors of paradise are opened and the hell’s doors closed, and the God’s generosity feeding all the Islamic world, which is paradoxal knowing that driving accidents break the records, the production rate decreases, employees work half the time, everybody seems angry: they’re under the holy pressure. Thanks God, I don’t have to participate to this public show, I’m a convinced atheist » when I pronounced this words the best actor slapped me, broke my laptop and started beating me off, I held my breath I didn’t want to give him the pleasure of hearing me suffering under his mercy. My mom watched this pure hypocrisy without saying a single word. That day I left that house, it wasn’t a hard decision since I had where to sleep I was a great student my university offered me a full scholarship. After all its better to live alone than to live in a lie.

Now she came back, I understand her she was petrified, her body couldn’t endure anymore more pain, neither her soul. I’m sure she cried long nights pleading her God to forgive her for her single child disbelieving begging him to guide me to the right path, but her prayers were vain, sometimes God is so busy doing some important work, he has the entire universe to listen to. I felt guilty when I left her with that heartless man, even if she loved him I hated him, I really did.

I was the happiest person on earth that day….

He’s in front of me, with that bloody smile on his face he deserves death more than anybody else in this world. Actually he’s just one of this monster, who beat their wife. Yes, he is my husband. You must be wondering how an intelligent woman can end up with such a stupid man. Sometimes life doesn’t ask for your opinion decides and blows you up with an entitled frustrating painting.

I’ve always asked myself how my life would be if I had been married to my first love. Often our best dreams never come true as if life couldn’t allow this absolute happiness as if the universe could crush into a single heart. A soft smile appears on my face to the sight of this memory: love is the pigment of this ephemeral existence.

In front of a Picasso’s painting « The Frugal repast », at the national art museum of rabat, he stood next to me and said «His long fingers imprison her body, but not her heart », I turned to see who’s that man, I knew that he’s the one who’s going to imprison my heart. We started talking as if we always knew each other since forever, his eyes were holding a warm flame, he put a spell on me. He was an intelligent man, a promising student from one of the best engineering school of rabat, a science person with an artistic view of life he always told me « Art feeds my soul, releases my mind and now enchanted my heart with the masterpiece that you are. » We were so close, we perfectly understood each other, we loved each other with no striges attached We were the same person in two different bodies we used to name each other «Mindmates ».

On our first date he invited me to a wonderful restaurant on the top of a famous hotel in the Medina, the emotion fills my heart when I relive this night in my imagination:

60

​

​ Imane Elbacha

​ The Olive Writers 2017

We were alone under the night sky filled with desire of each other lips, hearts and minds. We danced all the night long with bodies, feelings and words. « _I’ve always wondered how I can turn life into a living dream, a fantasy... I never knew but you did you stole my heart! _ love is a smoke raised on the fume of sights a madness drenched in syrup and choked with rage! life isn’t more than a hazard in the middle of the universe sinfonia,it is deprived of any sense, a madness where only love can make miracles and save us. _ I wish everybody out there can experience what we’re feeling right now! _I wish that too! But life is unfair or to be realistic people are hard on themselves, live half a life deprive your body and brain from pleasure in the name of meaningless beliefs, they almost forget to be conscious of the now _Their existence never surprises them. They accept simple answer to hard question. Who am I? Do I really exist or I’m just in the imagination of a seven years old kid? Why do I exist? these existential questions that build your consciousness in this universe must be asked by each one of this creatures who claim intelligence. _ We live in a reckless lifeless society, with narrow minded people where culture is inexistent and dreams are destroyed before being built, buried under poverty and illiteracy. A pathetic educational system, public schools are more of a public circus, teachers inculcate hypocrisy, disloyalty they create learning machines, without any intelligence or critical thinking what development are you seeking with this kind of individuals! _ We detain the responsibility of waking them up we should release them! Get them out of this nightmare! _ They lose even the meaning of pure love! They are on the highway to hell on earth! _AC-DC! Do you hide anymore surprises out there?! _You’ll need time to discover every piece of my complicated puzzle, I wish you good luck! » My eyes drowned into his deep soul, I wanted him, I had a yen for him, I desired him. I wanted to put my lips right on his lips and make our bodies freak out, I knew he did too. Our lips found a way to each other through the same path of our loving hearts. we travelled to another universe for just the two of us and our young love I was the happiest person on earth that day!

After almost two years of an amazing love story, I received a letter from him: «I always wanted to tell you that maybe some stars in the sky above of us are already dead but their light is captured in the time, like our love it will always be alive somewhere in my heart… but it’s not true. » I couldn’t believe it, he can’t leave, he loves me. I tried to talk to him this was so brutal it can’t be happening, but I couldn’t reach him I wanted to hate him as much as I loved, but I couldn’t.

61

​

​ Imane Elbacha

​ The Olive Writers 2017

Five months later, I heard the news of his death, he was suffering from cancer, he left a letter with my name on, I opened it: « Sometimes life gives us the best, but takes it back from the other side, but we wouldn’t know how beautiful it was if we don’t miss it. My mindmate, I didn’t want to see your tears, I didn’t want you to see me half the path to death. I want you to promise me that you will always love me, you’re a part of me, I know that I’ll always have a place in your generous heart. I believe that we’ve known each other since forever when the big bang happened, all the atoms in the universe were all smashed together into one little dot that exploded outward. So my atoms and your atoms were certainly together then who knows probably smashed together several times in the last 13,7 billion years. So my atoms have known your atoms and they’ve always known your atoms, my atoms have always loved your atoms. I wished I believed in life after death I could have hoped to see you on the other side. I love you! » I want to die, let me free myself from this torture…

I didn’t think, took the glass and broke it on his head, a screaming of rage broke in my ears, he was bleeding but he had all the strength to smash me on the wall slap me … kill me! I couldn’t let him do, I survived to this moment to live the life that I deserve until my body asks to go. I knew what to do! I took the edge of the broken mirror and plant it in his eye, his sharp shout was the announce of my freedom. I’m alive again!

His blood polluted my soul, this blood isn’t the first one to paint my body, I’ve already opened my veins: I used to suffer from severe depression. Nobody knows what it is like until they experience it, they think depression just means being very sad but it’s not. it’s a psychological disorder which symptoms are different from a person to another, most of the time loss of appetite, emptiness, hopelessness, loss of interest and the concentration, feeling worthless… only one idea seems to control the flow of your thoughts, only one picture sticks to your mind: ​death​. You feel like your living inside a bubble with pins on each side, shrinking getting closer to your body until it cuts your skin, no-one can hear your screaming, it’s so painful that mutilation becomes a pleasure! and suicide a desire! The source of my suffering was an existential problem, as an atheist I believed that life was a pure nature project a combination of fertile conditions, humans are just an advanced breed of monkeys on a minor planet of a very average star, nothing special, nothing valuable a pure coincidence.

Humans are worthless, our life is as important as our death; I wanted to die and free myself from this torture!

I’m not the only one…

The say a broken heart is an easy heart, even the strongest minds fall into the darkness and become preys to the hungry wolfs. The dead body agonizing under my eyes asking for help, his pain is feeding the emptiness of my soul. I am and I’ll always be a survivor!

62

​

​ Imane Elbacha

​ The Olive Writers 2017

« _ Good morning, are you, mademoiselle Nour? _ Yes it’s me _ let me present myself, I’m… _ M. Anouar Berrada Kebler’s CEO. Have a sit! _ Impressive! _ Two things you need to know the best: yourself and your enemies. _ But I came for peace… _ I’m listening _ Well, we both know that competition is the fire that feeds our work, pushing each other to our limits to see how far we can go. This implies a lot of financial sacrifices. So why lose when we can both win? _ What’s your offer? _ ..... » We started working together, we developed our companies. In 2016, the young African published the annual ranking of the best national companies, we were the forth two places under Maroc telecom, our turnover was thirty percent better than Addoha; It was the greatest success of the year!

Our relationship started being more romantic than professional, dates, gifts, flowers and kisses. Now that I remember how, this gentlemen, was hiding a monster! We felt that sharing our paths was a great victory for both of us, so sharing our hearts would be a greater accomplishment; so we got married.

From the moment we started living in the same house and sleeping in the same bed, he changed: less nights at home, less dates, no more gifts, no more kisses, more yelling, more fights… He never dared to hit me until that night.

It was really late, I was sitting in the dark, wearing a black suit, cross-legged, holding the paper officialising my divorce, ready to fight for my freedom again! I’m an independent woman, no man in this world can oblige me to live where I don’t want to, I must be treated as I deserve this is my tenet. At 5am, someone opened the door, he was singing oddly, he was walking spectrally around the house, he was drunk. He turned on the light, hardly recognized me, said a few names before finding mine, I wasn’t surprised, I got up walked few steps before throwing the paper under his feet. « _ Ahhe! what is this shit? _ My divorce. » I started walking to the door, I had to go, it was the end of our story, but this is not what happened he took my arm and said: « you have two choices me or death! » I ignored him and opened the door. Suddenly, he pushed me so hard that I fell down, he started beating off with all the anger of this world, he slapped me, he tried to run away but he captured me stubbed me I screamed, asked for help, begged, cried until I passed out.

He is dead now, but there’s other monsters out here beating their wife, raping their girls, treating them as a worthless ware, selling them or killing. At this moment I knew that I had to devote my life to save women because I’m not the only one.

63

Tlaytmass Saou

Safi

​

​ Tlaytmass Saou

​ The Olive Writers 2017

Unfolded Truths

Our deep dark secret unveils itself in the dark Our most desired dream, Ignites as a flame and then turns into a huge spark Our biggest mistake is giving ourselves up to the devil, And leaving this world unmarked Our farewell mysteries would soon fade away, When on the journey of life we embark.

Our feelings are pieces of art lost in translation Our words will either lead us to sinking into slavery Or taking us to the heavens of freedom and liberation Our shadows are our default enemies that cage our souls & hold us back from finding the way to salvation Our verses of poetry are nothing but a trial To shape our thoughts An act of creation

64

​

​ Tlaytmass Saou

​ The Olive Writers 2017

Lines loaded with memories of various situations Feelings struggling under the siege of rationality occupation Oppressed shouts, silenced cries, and lost battles with no confrontations No sense of compromise, no sense of consolation Writing is an attempt to portray reality With the lenses of imagination

Hardships are the funerals of dreams when we allow them to; The meaning of life wouldn’t exist without death And I without life would not know I am who Tomorrow wouldn’t have a meaning without today And wrong is the false of true Behavior is a mirror of the worst and the best in you Your pieces of work are nothing but Pouring out mourns of your heart and joys too That keeps you on the straight pathway in life and guides you through.

65

​

​ Tlaytmass Saou

​ The Olive Writers 2017

That keeps you on the straight pathway in life and guides you through.

66

​

​ Tlaytmass Saou

​ The Olive Writers 2017

WHO AM I? There were certainly moments when you were a child When you started asking universal questions You were told: You don’t know anything, just shut up!

You are only allowed to start asking questions When they think that you have become a grown up It wasn’t because I was rebellious That I neither stopped learning from my mistakes Nor did I stopped asking questions One of which is: Who am I? A universal fundamental question bothered philosophers Caused them sleepless night and so do I Asking myself who am I? Wondering: Is it an easy question to answer?

Is it an enemy we fight against to conquer?

Is it a bad disease to diagnose like cancer?

Or is it defined by religion, social status, or even gender?

Staring blankly at the mirror Asking myself once again who am I? My reflection arised to answer, and I knew it wouldn’t lie It said: I’m the hope that grows inside of you with every sun rise Just like the burst of leaves grow on trees.

I’m the first word you said, The first step you made when you crawl on your hands and knees I’m the different doors of opportunities Waiting for you to come and get the keys I’m the spirit of humanity inside of your heart Without it: The sun loses its heat The moon its light And the time seems to freeze.

67

​

​ Tlaytmass Saou

​ The Olive Writers 2017

I am like you I cry, I smile , I frown , but I don’t judge I love instead of hating and I don’t bear a grudge.

My reflection’s first answer was not enough So I had to ask again: Who am I? And luckily it was there to provide me with an another reply It said: You maybe think that I resemble others and we are all the same Yet, Let me introduce myself, I'm sure you've heard the name I am the music rhyming inside of your head, The voice of change and positivity I am the bright side of everything The reflection of your spirit and personality!

I am part of who you are Part of your identity An identity known for its complexity I am the hand that reaches out the poor for charity I am the glimpse of hope that tighten your heart to joy and prosperity I am the compass that guides you to the inner peace and clarity I am the driven force for sincerity and integrity I am the light in the darkness shining to fill your heart with hilarity I am the soul that matches you in its uniqueness and rarity A soul which reside inside of you for eternity And it seemed that my reflection’s answer once again Wasn’t able to satisfy my curiosity So I had to ask again maybe this time It will answer me with a sense of generosity It said: I am the gentle hand which pulls you away from your creepy thoughts I am the protagonist of your life story, present in all plots I am the wanted victory and the undesired loss I am the shadow that follows you to all spots I am an imaginative mind with a loving heart In a world full of frozen souls and harsh realities I am the one that carries your aches, regrets, fears and insecurities I am your endless dreams and possibilities

68

​

​ Tlaytmass Saou

​ The Olive Writers 2017

At this moment, my reflection took a look And whispered: The answer to your question is for sure Worth to be written in books And just before it faded away, it offered me its last answer: It said: I am the star sparkling in a cloudy misty sky I am the different colors on the wings of a butterfly I am one of those who will mostly miss you when you die I am you and you are I This is nothing but a simple attempt to answer your question: Who am I?

69

​

​ Tlaytmass Saou

​ The Olive Writers 2017

Why it wouldn’t be me?

I still remember when I was in sixth grade And our teacher asked about our dreams She stared at us and then point out her finger at me and said: What is your dream Tlaytmass?

Even if my hands were shaking, my legs trembling, and my heart was beating so fast I stood up with the confidence of a Politician, Took a moment and said: I want to make a change I guess you already know Everybody in the classroom including my teacher started laughing Why? For the simple reason that my answer was not the answer they were expecting They never understood why I said so They only considered me a child who refuses to grow Years later, I met the same teacher, and she asked me the same question I answered: I want to a leader to make a change This time she didn’t laugh, for I believe she learned the lesson And as a confession, I took the word Change to make suggestion Of what every letter stands for: CHANGE C is for dealing with everyday’s challenges and choices with creativity H is for the glimpse of Hope that the world will be a better place for humanity A is for standing for All, taking risks and assuming responsibility N for leaving no room for Negativity G is for the great accomplishments done with a refine sense of sensibility E is for empowering ourselves, changing the world, and being remembered for eternity

Change, a very deep word holding so much meaning The strongest you believe in it, your life starts gleaming.

That’s why, I never tried to explain why I had this dream And yes, they tried to make me give up saying that life is not that beautiful as it might seem It is said that darkness extends in the light, People are always trying to impose their opinions And say: you should do this or you might, If you really want to achieve your goals, you must fight, 70

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​ Tlaytmass Saou

​ The Olive Writers 2017

Don’t make wishes and say I stayed awake all night, Work hard and do your best, At the end of the day, You’ll feel satisfied so have some rest, Bear in mind that People are going to be there To talk about you, watch and stare, As long as you convinced your doing good You shouldn’t care, Everywhere, there is bad and good, Not all things happening around need to be understood.

These are things I learned to be who I am today And I am still as anyone of you trying to make my way See, We were told that in order to survive, keep your head on the ground They set limits and order you not to Overstepped the bounds They say change is hard, and I say it can happen, just look around Change starts from you and from me I am nothing like those who do exactly as they’re told Do as the Romans do when you’re in Rome

Bottom line is, Change needs you to take actions To ask questions and make interactions It doesn’t matter what you got, or who you are Because Sooner or later you will go to earth The only thing that really matter Is what you do between your death and birth So, be an agent of change and try to make the world a better place Because it’s worth the effort.

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Oubai Abdelkarim

Sale

​Oubai Abdelkarim

​ The Olive Writers 2017

In a city of lights she wore a colorless dress reflecting their eyes a book was seized in her hands and the charm of her beauty ended its start she was blind to their looks that she remembered nothing of her face they claimed that the lady seemed lost but they misread her thoughts they failed to learn that she was deaf for the lines of her book was filling her ears she continued walking as a fool under the drops of the rain and her heartbeats obeyed the rhythm of a song she used to hear her name was neither simple nor hard to learn but nobody knew it expect the sorrowful chapter of the book she'd been reading she continued contemplating on the way she was walking in and a young man was portrayed in her imagination she wondered if she ever saw him before but no!

The man was from the song she used to hear his name was neither simple nor hard to learn but it wasn’t mentioned on the lines of his song in a sudden moment she craved a hug of tenderness but she implored god to not be a man’s the lady left at home a child to feed and the echo of his cry hurt her heart a man of her past had died in peace and love forever leaved her heart She was just walking with no target to reach and the mean wind froze her delicate body she could feel how it’s bleak to be deceived by the untruthful sayings of a one day’s love the coldness of the night brought her a desire to be hugged and held in the arms of a man the lady found herself in my words and she implored god to not yearn for love she looked back and saw a lighted candle which flame lighted fire on her fears she didn’t retreat nor she did show her fondness 72

​Oubai Abdelkarim

​ The Olive Writers 2017

to a flame that wrote the half of my words on my way to reach her I heard the echo of their voices when they told me to crush my desire to her inside my heart they added that she’s dark, heartless, and mean but their sayings couldn’t shake my concern of her I reached her and I heard her lying to her heart that she doesn’t want the man that wrote the words she felt inside she was tied up with thoughts of love that died back in a year when my words first touched the emptiness of the papers of the book she was holding with hesitation she didn’t know if she was ready to feel for once again the feeling of a tender existence I expanded my hand towards her and it caught her sparkling eyes and she dipped into my eyes worrying for catching love in a sight I handed her the candle but she declined to take it but she passionately caught my hand and held it and the start of an endless love came to an end I handed her the candle for another time and she looked fearfully in my eyes and that was the look that once took my soul alive so I threw my arms around her and hugged her tight to feel her strength slowly leaving her body I touched her hand with the candle and with no hesitation she took it and slowly her fears were burning inside her heart…

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​Oubai Abdelkarim

​ The Olive Writers 2017

All the stories I heard they were profound dreams I was a child their breath was near my ear telling the story of a myth in short sets of words that made from their sayings a tale on a night in June there was no voice to hear I trembled to the silence of a night of that year the sunset of a life was hard to bear for that was the time when a familiar voice tolerated my wishes of hearing one more story told by the same voice it was all in my ear the profound dreams I hanged near the garden where a blind man used to sit he aged on the roads that are still holding his traces the north the south he was there in a blink of an eye he told me his adventures I grew and I knew they weren’t lies the blind mind recreated the imagination of a child reborn and matured in a blink of an eye it was all in my ear the profound dreams all the stories I heard they were profound dreams…

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​Oubai Abdelkarim

​ The Olive Writers 2017

He could see the rainbow out of his uncolored beanie hat. He could see the fume out of his unlighted cigarette. He could imagine the next life God will offer him. He could imagine meeting himself in the next world. He could probably have reasons to wonder why a day was cruel than its previous one. His dream was of a man with no dignity. His motive was of a man with no soul. And his life...His life was of a man with no beats of heart. His raises barely made the quarter of his falls, and his eyes barely twinkled to the beauty of what was in his sight, though he approved he had a life. He sold his soul forever to God before He took it back, and his dream followed the melody of the birds’ whistling. And he had no wings to fly.

He listened and listened to the birds’ whistles, and wondered how their whistling couldn’t say a word of his dream. He saw and saw the birds flying away, frightened of his dead smile, and wondered how he could remain alive. There was just him…and me, alone. Alone forever.

Thought-naked under the dome of stars. Bells ringing through my ears. Silence traveling inside his ears. My existence was of a body with a soul. His existence was of a legend, nobody knows if it’s real. I heard his words and I saw death in front of my eyes. I looked at his painted face and I felt peaceful waves of heat. Though, he died cold in pain. But I see in my shadow a silhouette of a man of his shape, standing tall, never bending to the blowing of the wind, -murmuring loud words saying there is a hope in our fall. ___________________________________________

And what it means to have an emotional shortage? A discrepancy that gains weight by forged differences? Reluctance hesitates its occurrence and a dignified state of mind is always carrying a heavy load of a deplorable mixture of substance. The most common amount of allowance of everything is always grasped, held to never be released. And once again, everything is pacified as tolerance has no set boundaries. And as control is assessed at totalitarianism and crucial contradictions are the bearers of statements and assertions, sloppy lies would never tell a fairy-tale of untruth. Thereafter, there is evasions which make invasions seem brighter and known for their particular ease, lead to the path of subverting an hour of time that is always defined miraculous and unbeatable. And all what covers the lines of a short legend traveling through time immortally is one word of a newly thought anecdote made by autobiographical items narrating the sections of a somewhat biographical notions heard and in some way experienced reluctantly. And the complex of a heavy unconnected compound surrounds what is known for its simplicity, and then, all the ways are narrow in a way that their small width is narrowing their length...

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Ahmed Beqqal

Fez

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​ Ahmed Beqqal

​ The Olive Writers 2017

"I was crumbling like a piece of overcooked biscuits, I needed him back into my life like an addict needs his drugs. He wasn't lost, he wasn't gone, he was right there, a click away, just in the palm of my hand, yet it felt like we were worlds apart. It felt like he forgot who I was, and we became strangers once again.

I watched him go on with his life and move on to other things without me, while I was left collecting dust in the corners of oblivion like a worn out book no one reads anymore. Why is my luck with love so awful? I feel like I was cursed to only feel loved for a split second then be left high and dry, to only taste happiness with the tip of my tongue with my hands tied behind my back then watch it slip right out of my reach. Am I not worthy of love like the others? Don't I deserve to be happy? What did I do to deserve being destined to loneliness?

These questions roamed the corners of my mind for so long that I started caving in on my own self.

I stared at my phone over and over again in hopes that he might answer, but deep down I knew that even if he did, his reply would've been a cold one-liner to put me out of my misery, or a hurtful rejection that'll leave me frozen in agony.

Days went by and I couldn't sleep anymore. I needed some closure to know where I was heading, to decide a track to tread. So by an act of compulsion, my fingers started typing what my heart has been concealing for way too long. I poured all my anxiety into that message. I didn't care about receiving an answer anymore. All I wanted was to get these poisonous thoughts off my mind, to get rid of this rancidity. All I felt about his opinion was apathy. I wrote a lengthy letter seasoned with pathetic metaphors and desperate attempts to capture best my feelings at the moment. I pressed "send" after a lot of contemplation and hesitation. I re-read the text long after it was sent and I was mortified and utterly disgusted with myself.

I never received an answer. That was my closure. He ultimately cut me off from his life, discarded me like broken glass into the dusty realms of oblivion. This time I didn't wallow in self-loathing and pity. I picked myself up and I learned how to cope with this rejection. He probably laughed at my pitiful message like the saddest joke that was ever told.

It started hurting less and less as my days went by, then it stopped once and for all. I was ready to move on. This time, I didn't move on by throwing myself into the arms of the first stranger to show me kindness. This was a chance for me to reevaluate my life, to set new goals, to rearrange my thoughts, to rehabilitate myself, to learn how to put myself above everyone else and to stop neglecting my feeling to please an ephemeral flame."

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