Anfa Thus Far

Holes all over the place: the pulled teeth of trees or cables or maybe another emptiness altogether. Skies that are blue or dappled or overcast but never dull. It's cold in the morning but by noon we're carrying our sweaters. Cafes with all the chairs facing out, making a parade of the sidewalk. The chairs are all occupied by men. It is impossible to tell the difference between networking and not working but I have opinions. Sometimes women can sit inside, upstairs. In one medina the men are so aggressive that it's almost scary, come and look come and look. There are chickens in cages, slabs of meat on hooks, rainbows of caftans. In another market the sales pitches are prerecorded and played through tinny megaphones, like and unlike the call to prayers. We hesitate outside one bar and the waiter comes out and tells us we can come in, yes yes just dessert is okay, and we have creme brulee and chocolate mousse upstairs in peace. It is hard to make myself understood to a degree that pulls me back to the clowning of my youth, and I feel that I do an excellent job of enacting effervescence, although the water is sometimes still despite my efforts. In the pharmacy buying magnesium is oddly easier than most other purchases. Crossing the street requires a whole new kind of bravery and faith in my immortality such as I have not felt since my teens. On the trams, young women stand in the doorways on their phones, oblivious. There are women in hijab and not, and I get used to it so quickly that when I see a woman in short cap sleeves it seems like a lot of skin. We learn the word zebiba. I generally give up on orientation in both space and culture. We walk about 10 kilometers every day which is not a fraction of it. We eat couscous on Friday. The churches are new and white as chalk, barely used  and often locked, though we smuggle ourselves into one with a tour group; the stained glass is lovely and on our level. The similarly recent mosque is equally clean and described in terms of how Moroccan it is except this piece and that piece and the other piece, but otherwise entirely. The ocean fades into a gray horizon and is occupied with waves in the foreground; the wide beach is occupied with soccer games farther than the eye can see. Nearer us are abandoned beachfront hotels that reek of the sixties, images of abandoned bygone eras, like casinos or horror film sets. There is no way to capture it all and I haven't even mentioned the cats yet. I pick up my camera and know it's impossible and set it down, then pick it up again and try to remember something with it.