a story for the grandchildren, when nana turned thirty she ran off to morocco without a map. spent three weeks chasing cats and finding creative ways to dance around patriarchy.
i miss everything. i miss harcha for breakfast, i miss stray cats, i miss old men, i miss jasmine, i miss the muzzein, what's not to miss?
cats. cats everywhere. how many pets do i have? who will walk me to the cafe, stand at attention by my feet until i toss a piece of food? sorry mech mech, i don't have any meat for you. do you like butter? ah of course you do!
i have too many memories and soon i will organize them and share them. for now, i sigh facing east. i attempt to recreate the chaotic freeform moroccan radio stations at home. the most gorgeous array of random. songs i forgot, songs i will never forget, songs...i can't name the title or the singer, but still remember. my very first night i heard this in the middle of an hour of frenzied chaabi and gnawa songs. and it made sense.
