Marrakech

It had been 24 years since I started working here in the Djemaa el Fna. I began coming with Father when I was eleven years old. Eleven was a ripe age filled equally with a hunger for knowledge and a hunger for breasts, slightly siding on the side of the latter. I'm not sure why I hadn't noticed them before this time, but this particular summer that I came to the souq with Father, they seemed to be everywhere. Though mostly hidden beneath layers of cloth, I knew that they were there.

Indeed, it has been many years since that growing obsession and I think that I can honestly say that I am through with it. All that remains now is the hunger for knowledge. Father was very good about this. Teaching me. Teaching anyone who sought it out. He considered himself a student of life and he always listened to the teacher. When the wind swept through the alley, Father kept his ears open. When the tourists spoke of foreign lands, Father took notes. After all, he was storyteller. Like myself.

I loved the air here. Something about the life within it. Both literally and metaphorically, the air within the market contained life. When I would arrive in the mornings, the square would be mostly empty. Some remnants from the night before. Signs that the night could not be silenced. Shopkeepers setting up their booths. The snake charmers setting up their baskets. Charmers always looked to be hungover to me. I half imagined seeing a charmer walk into the morning light with a cup of coffee and cigarette in his mouth. Then the cobra would come out of the basket. With a small cup of coffee and a small cigarette. This was always a funny thought to me. And the charmers always wondered why I smiled so widely at them.

There wasn't much required for myself to get set up. I had a small wooden box for listeners to leave gratuities. I had several small pillows to sit on. One small stool made of wood and goat leather, for myself. And sunscreen. I hated being as dark as I was. I was always hot and, maybe this is just my own neurosis, I thought if I applied sunscreen more often I could possibly stop the darkening of my skin. I don't think it was working.

Of course it depended on what day it was, but generally I would have my first listener around 10 in the morning. People have officially woken up, embraced their lives, and now looked for escape. That was my job. And it always began with a question -- What is your name?

The answer to this question alone can inspire an entire world within my head. Names have meaning. Names have histories. Emotions. I once met a man named Thomas. Something about the way he said his name reminded me of a small home in Brussels. I can't quite explain why. I closed my eyes for a few moments. Smelled the fresh waffles. The chocolate. Then I asked Thomas to sit.

I spoke to him of love. As I often do. My mind drifts towards love. This is something that I embrace about myself. All people have things that they want to change within themselves. This "gift", however, was something I did not. When listeners sat with me, they opened their ears first, then they slowly opened their hearts. And with this newly opened heart I would watch them rise and take in the market. It was beautiful. Love makes everything brighter.

Once you have felt it, things are never the same. You can never close that door, though people try. You can never take back the moments. Though I have tried. To have loved and been loved in this lifetime -- Is there anything else? Is there anything more important?

I can say this now because I have lived it. I have loved. I have lost. And anyone who has lost love becomes an expert storyteller. They may not believe that they are, but they are. I challenge you to approach someone on the street. A stranger. Ask them if they have ever loved before and then sit back and watch their eyes. Glazing over, lost in memories. In moments. They time travel to a cafe, to a park. To an ocean, to a bedroom. And they can describe to you the smallest details of that scene. They may have trouble putting it into the right words, but give them a chance. They can do it.

People love my stories because even if they haven't loved before, I give them an opportunity to feel love. And if they have felt it before, I let them feel it again. There is a sublime feeling that rushes over me when I see a tender smile appear on the face of a listener. They are giving in. They are surrendering. Because to surrender -- this is the only way to feel true love.

I was nineteen when I met her. I knew her for only a half of an hour. And I would never be the same.

It was an early morning and I had just finished setting up. Father had recently stopped coming with me due to his increasing health issues. So, I sat alone with my tea. Waiting.

Are you open? I heard a voice like I had never heard before. Looked up into the morning sunlight. She was silhouetted and I could not see her face. I raised my hand above my eyes, blocking the light, and my eyes fixed themselves to the light. Her face became visible. The face that would imprint itself on my thoughts for the rest of my life.

Yes, I am open. You are the first of the day. She smiled at me. That was the first. Please, sit down.

Thank you.

For a moment, I forgot where I was. Who I was. There wasn't any more room in my mind for myself. She consumed all of me. Then I came back. Long enough to ask her the important question.

So, what is your name? No matter what it was, I knew it would be perfect. I just wasn't prepared for how perfect it would actually be.

Shahdokht. Her accent was Iranian.

Tehran? I asked.

Yes. Am I that transparent?

No. I laughed. I am just that good at dialects.

She laughed with me. Her laughter made me want to immerse myself in warm water and float for awhile.

So, are you going to entertain me with a story?

Yes. But first, I have one more question for you. What does your name mean?

She gave me a curious look.

I'm sorry but, Farsi is not my strong suit.

She laughed again. My name means "princess" or "daughter of the shah".

I nodded. Smiled. If I were to name her, I would have given that name as well. And treated her as such. She was petite. Not tall. Maybe a little over one and a half meters. She looked as if she were about my age. Eighteen or so. But not like the other girls that I had known. She was not a girl.

She was a woman.

Her hair was long and black. It reminded me of waves. Not like the violent waves of the world's oceans, but the waves that I see in the great Sahara. Soft and rolling. Her skin was pale, unlike mine. Like a pearl. Unflawed. Her eyes dark like the night. And just as infinite. I could see the constellations in her eyes.

Apparently, I was staring.

What is it? She asked.

For the first time in my life, I was at a loss for words. I didn't know how to answer. I wanted to be honest with her, but I was scared. I couldn't feel an answer coming any time soon, so I decided to just deny the impulse and do what she was there for --

Tell her a story.

Shahdokht, "the princess" -- Are you ready for your story?

I am.

Good. I will begin.

I adjusted myself on my stool. Trying to release some of my nervousness.

Before you start, I just have one question for you. Do you mind if I ask it?

I swallowed my excitement. Unsure of what she would say to me. Most listeners that come to me, just want to be indulged in a story. But I was curious. And I felt young.

Please. I welcome your question.

A breeze picked up. A lock of ebony hair blew into her face. She swept it aside. Licked her lips.

What is your name?

This I can answer. I stood slightly and introduced myself. My name is Amal.

Amal. She nodded. My name had never seemed to fit me as much as it did when she said it. And what does your name mean, Amal?

For a moment I retreated into my memories. I remembered asking Father the same question when I was just a child of five years. We were walking in the early morning. He was holding my hand. When I asked the question he looked down at me. Swept me up into his arms and held me in front of him. He wiped my hair from my face and kissed me on the cheek. Then he answered.

As did I.

My name means "Hope".

She smiled and repeated my name.

Amal.