One day.

In the loudspeakers pilot announced that the temperature in Oslo was minus fifteen. I was sitting in the plane to North. To the place where i think is my home. But as soon as I saw all Norwegian coming back from Morocco I thought that maybe i belong to that landscape but I never will belong to Norway. I will be hidden in the wind and in the flakes of snow. yes snow. I arrived and now I am just sitting at Oslo airport. I went outside and first what I felt wasn't the cold, I wasn't surprised because of the snow. First thing that completely got me on the knees was the air. So fresh. So unpolluted. So clear. So perfect. I knew I am back even if till the north I still have two thousands kilometers. I know I am back but my mind and behavior is still this Moroccan. If only we could connect those two, the smell of Norway and mentality of Morocco than it would become utopia. I try to speak Norwegian because I understand what the guy is asking me but instead I answer him in mix of French and Arabic. He looks at me confused. I excuse him trying to explain in English that last seven weeks I was using those two completely new for me languages. And now again I am afraid that I will forget all my French which started to be understandable. With Mohamed we were only using French. And now again this Norwegian that I cannot articulate and English that became so bad since last I have been here in the North. Yes in the North not in Europe. Europe is in Poland or in Spain. Here is North and that how it will remain for me. And my mothers language - Polish. Hope it will return easier then all the other that I mentioned. But what I wanted to tell is a story from Morocco that began yesterday evening and probably still continues here. For the first time during my changes of places of habitant I don't feel the gap. That when I am coming here I am loosing what I left in Morocco and I have to start again rebuild all. No, not this time. Today is two o'clock in the morning, Oslo airport. In less then twelve hours I am supposed to meet with Dennise and visit our common friend Laurent. If only the wind will blow into direction of Hakoya I will encounter again ones of my best friends on Hakoya. In the city is waiting Maya Mi and polish gang. I think I can easily say that I am coming back home. but at the same time I left the home in Tetuan with Julia, Berange, Oriane, Ale and other people in the city. And that is actually what I want to write about. From the beginning, linear story, without any exceptions on the secondary anecdotes. But unfortunately all this story is an anecdote. So I begin........

If you have never been to Morocco you just have to close your eyes and imagine the country where to talk to people is like breathing. Where none looks strange at you when you are just starting with him five minutes conversation. If you have been to Belgium it is very similar. That's maybe I like Belgium so much.(I promised without anecdotes and already the first occurred). And you have to imagine constant motion of people, not like in India but still. And with your closed eyes you have to sharpen your ears to hear all those sounds, all those incredible noise that is becoming the song of the city. When you can hear it then open our nose and grab all the difference smells of the street. We enter the fish market, please don't puke, it looks amazing but your eyes are closed so the nose order you o follow farther. Next one are spices. There you can breath briefly but not to deep because then your mind will get dizzy of too much smells that you don't know. When we enter the street of food, then all those two markets become one, the fishes this time smell with the crunchy burned skin, couscous covered with vegetables spread the smell that at once makes you feel hungry. So you are there in this galimatias. Imagine that you are there for seven weeks. You go with me to the bus stop. We buy a ticket and the last time we watch the city. The atmosphere we create is really seldom. I am leaving all good people behind me, all my thoughts, all my experience, all that I learned, is behind me and now I am supposed to take a bus at eight p.m. BUT!!!! The bus is not there. The next one in two hours. I invite you to go with me to visit my house, because sitting two hours on this obscured bus station is not what you shall remember from your last hours in Tetuan. But I forgot to tell you that the same days morning I was just in Chefchauen where I visited Candelaria and Mohamed and Pau. I have to tell you about that place because it is amazing. Now you have to imagine the city, doesn't matter how it looks like. And now if you have an image take a blue pencil and color all the houses in this saturation. And I only have to mention that there is one house where your dreams start to come on the straight line without any curves of unpredictable devils in them. You sleep like new born child without any distortion. So you have to know that I just came back from Chefchauen in the morning and now I was supposed to take a bus to Marrakech. But what to do with those two hours. We take a taxi and we drive straight to home. When Berange encounter me at the doorstep she is shocked. -What the hell are you doing here- she greets me with smile. I answer that I love her so much that I couldn't have left and fuck all this Europe I am staying with them. She laughs and try to get the truth. I continue this play but finally I tell her why we are there. She cannot see you because you are there now, not then. But it is just the matter of construction of the time. But no anecdotes so I will not even begin. So last two hours we spend in completely cheerful atmosphere and then finally take this bus. All night bus. I arrive to Marrakech at seven in the morning and walk directly to get some breakfast. I pay as for gold, but have no energy to argue all the time about this fucking twenty euro cents. But this time I should because in my pocket there is only fifty Dirhams. Next I go to buy two boxes of tea and i am left with fifteen. I still have ten Euros but in polish bank-notes so no one want to exchange me that. Because I believe in Buena Vida – or at least try – and take the things as they come, and because everything is almost closed I just sit close to Jama Elfna in this beautiful morning light, without any tourists and locals around. I just sit under the huge green tree and smoke a cigarette. It looked as if we had an appointment. After two minutes Mohamed Wazazir arrives. He sit close to me and start some kind of conversation. I explain him my trip and that I don't have any money, and that maybe he knows where we can exchange some polish dinero, and that I will not pay him if he follows me because I am as poor as he is. He agree and we go together to one place where maybe I can exchange this polish forty zloty. No chance. Today is Saturday and all is closed. Woman tells me come back tomorrow or after tomorrow. Jasne! Then we go to one place where people are boiling cafe since the morning in the large pot. We are still fifty meters from Jama but for that coffee we pay two dirhams instead of eight. And this one is not actually coffee but some kind of liquid based on coffee with lot lot of strange herbs that make your pinga growing. Why not – aphrodisiac from the early morning. Mohamed explains my story to the all morning coffee people. They are all homeless as he. We share those moments. I am in need, same as them, and they can understand that. Suddenly from that crowd of tourists I became a beggar on Jama Elfna. I still have my juggling balls that I found on the streets of Tetuan so i take them out form my rucksack and start to train. You cannot tell it juggling – it is miles from the art. I just try not to loose all the balls at the same time. After a while convincing myself that i am the best juggler in the world something is working out. But then I see one Spanish woman who looks for me so familiar. I walk to her and ask if maybe U haven't met her in Granada or somewhere there. She answers that she is from Madrid. I explain her why I am juggling and walk away. After five minutes she comes and gives me twenty dirhams. I am so glad. I hug her and thank her for this gift. Later on one shoe cleaner sees what I am doing that i try to collect some money. The SHOECLENER, he comes, buys me tea and give bread. BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE!!!!!!! I LOVE THEM!!!!!!!! AND ALL THOSE WHO WANT TO BUY YOU FOOD WHEN YOU ARE TRAVELLING WITH THEM!!!!!! I LOVE THEM!!!!!!!!!!! (anecdote – I am in norwegian plane. I talked a little to my co-sitter. He says that they took with his wife a taxi from Agadir to Marrakech – 280kilomters. He doesn't ask how do I feel, how is my family, how am I. He doesn't mention anything about himself as well. he just says I took taxi from Agadir to Marrakech. Later on the stuardess asks if we want to eat something. Of course I want but pretend to watch a movie that is screening. The guy is taking two large sandwiches, coffees, coca-cola, my stomach is crying and makes a fucking huge noise just thirty centimeters from this guy ears. - Nothing. No question whether he could buy something for me. A cookie at least. Nothing. More you have less you share.)
So i got this bread from this SHOECLENER that I just finished to eat on Oslo airport :). After we got twenty dirhams from that Spanish girl we could go to eat some cheap lentils with Mohamed. but i first asked him to go to print my ticket on the internet. And when I was checking emails – EUREKA!!!!! - while I travel I always put the coins from the country that I am leaving in one place in my bag. And last one was Spain. AND!!!! HAPINNESS – I found seven Euros. I give two to Mohamed and five exchange for food and cigarettes and bus to the airport. After that we are going to eat. He explains me his story. And now maybe thousands of voices that I was cheated. Maybe but I saw the tears of touched boy in his eyes when I gave him my polar jacket, after he said it is really cold to sleep on the bus stop. I can imagine. I was freezing in the bus and what about the open space on the bus stop. I know I am coming to minus fifteen but what a hell, i just gave him this jacket. And that forty zloty as well with hope that maybe he can exchange it somewhere. The boys eyes shines!!! He is a tough guy who lives on the street, each day he starts with empty stomach drinking this coffee for two dirhams and smoking cigarette. He sleeps on the bus stop. he want to get a job but he was stolen his Id card and now he doesn't have enough money to get back south to Sahara where he lives. And have no choice. And maybe all that was just stake of bullshit telling to the tourist but I don't think so. I was drinking coffee with those poor people and they treated me as one of them. When I shared all I got to share with that boy he wrote immediately his number and his fathers number and the name of his village and he shook my hand with unstable voice telling thank you. For this morning he was my friend. My good friend and I didn't care about tomorrow. He was there I was there, I could help him and I did because I know that tomorrow maybe someone will help me. After that I took bus to the airport. And then this long fly to Norway.
When we got out from the plane and were waiting close to the belt for our luggage's, there were few Moroccan in the crowd. I saw one guy staring at me. i looked into his eyes and felt so strong connection. My heart started to bit faster and in his eyes I saw that he recognized me. Recognized me as a person with the same attitude, with the same mood, with the same pleasure of sharing. And not money, but life, smile, talk and presence. Then he turned back. For a while I thought – What the fuck,did I become Muslim? And what does it mean. That I love people and want to give them love. If so Inshallah :) Habdullah :) I can be a Muslim.

And only the last sentence about Norwegians. They are also good and generous. On this airport I have already found the bottle of Pepsi and cheeps :) They share but different :)