Learning to ride the carpet...

Learning to ride the carpet...

Tonight I was reading "In Arabian Nights" at Segafredo cafe when I saw Momo walk in. Momo, that is, as I assume, Si Mohammed, the "most beautiful of all footballers" as I call him in my mind, a Moroccan soccer pro from Paris who lives near my station. The first time I spotted him, years ago, my jaw dropped, he was sooo breathtakingly handsome. Ever since he has been known among my girlriends from my tales as "the most beautiful of all footballers". Meanwhile, he has aged a small number of years, is no longer playing professionally but rather teaching and managing soccer, and we have become friends. I know most of his Moroccan friends from other places, we sometimes talk over coffee and he likes the books I read. Since I was there with "L'elegance du herisson" he always asks what book I am reading. Sometimes it is an Arabic one. Once he even asked if I could think up a movie script for him, to do with Dodi and the Princess.
So, today he walked in, without any of his friends, smiled at me and sat down at a table at a little distance. When I left, I walked over and said:"Look what I am reading now!" and handed him a book that had an image of a blue Moroccan house on it's cover. He turned it over, opened it, leafed through it and said:"But this is not...? Who wrote this?" "Yes, it is not Arabian nights, it is called 'IN Arabian nights' and the author is Persian. He writes about his life in Casablanca where he moved with his Indian wife. It is very interesting. For exemple, he writes about how his servants are always complaining that there are Jinns in his house..." "What??", said Momo. "Jinns-, you know, ghosts.." I went on, and told him the story. "Where do you find these books?", he said. "Oh...this one I found at..." ,and I named a large bookstore 45 minutes away from where we were. "Hm..." he said. "I will give it to you when I have finished it!" I offered generously. This was not what I had been meaning to do with the book but who would be better off with my book as a gift than the beautiful Momo who is Moroccan himself even if he does not live there?
Then I started telling him about Rajasthan. "I have been to Rajasthan this summer", I said, "I have learned how to veil myself and how to wrap a turban and ride a camel through the desert..." "Where is that?" he said. "North of India. I went to Delhi and took a plane to Jodhpur and from there a bus 5 hours into the desert, near the Pakistani border, and 5 hours back and then I traveled around the whole country on 5 hour bus rides, by myself." "I am not gonna go. Weren't you scared?" "Yes, I was, but there was this dancer I wanted to see, he lives in Jaisalmer..." "A dancer? He is a man?" he asked. "Yes, a gypsy" I explained and smiled. "Yes, of course I was scared but I wanted to go, so what I did was I told all my friends that I am going to go to Rajasthan and aren't I great and so on, so I would not be able to chicken out without embarrassing myself. I tricked myself!" He seemed to understand that. "But it was good for me, now I feel stronger, so next time I wanna go to a more dangerous country, I want to go to Morocco. Maybe I'll take the bus from Tangier to Marrakech...!" I said dramatically, pronouncing the Moroccan city names with a French accent. Momo softly shook his head. "Morocco is nothing", he said. "It is not dangerous. As long as you don't go to any strange places like the Souk and such. If you go there, they will steal from you and that's it."
"You know what I'll do? When I was in Rajasthan, I sometimes put a scarf over my head and.." I made a movement like I was veiling my face, "And then everybody backed off. It was so easy! Just this" I made another movement of drawing a veil over my face "...and -peace! I am gonna do the same in Morocco. " He gave me a long look into my eyes. "They were Muslims." he said slowly and firmly. "Yes, they were Muslims." Then I went on to tell him that Rajasthan means "the country of kings", that the Rajputs lived there, I drew long curved lines into the air, dramatically outlining the scimitars and swords they were carrying, and that Rajasthan is full of palaces, the Palace of the Winds in Jaipur, and Mehrangarh Fort Castle where you can walk through and every hall you enter holds another miracle and when you walk over the theshold they play a song for you, there is the man with his flute sitting on the door step...
"Do you come here often?" Momo said, as though he did not know that. "Next time when you come, we will sit over there again, together, and you will tell me more..."
I want to become a storyteller. All these Arabian and Persian stories are inspiring me and looking into Momo's dark eyes and the chiseled nose and his flawlessly clear Kabyle-white skin inspire me to talk in more colourful and dramatic ways...I want to draw more pictures in the air and build castles in the wind, creating treasures out of fantasies and memories, taking listeners' minds on a journey... All a storyteller needs is memories and a good muse. ; )

Wed, October 14, 2009 - 9:37 AM