The Saffron Gate (61 page)

^{'The language of the village — the people are Amazigh Berbers — is Tamazight. With my mother I speak our old language of the Sahara, Tamashek, the Tuareg language. The villagers understand only a little Arabic, basic phrases. They're isolated here, not seeing many strangers.'}

^{Standing beside Aszulay, clutching my woven bag, I was very aware that I was not only a stranger, but a foreigner. I shook my head at all he'd just told me.}

^{'It's complicated. But don't worry. I've taught Zohra a small amount of French. She's the scholar of the family.' He smiled at the younger woman and spoke, obviously telling her what he'd said, for she put her hands on her cheeks as if blushing, and then swatted his arm playfully. It was clear that the village people were informal and comfortable with each other in a way I hadn't seen among the people of the cities of Morocco.}

^{Aszulay's mother patted my hand, in much the way she had patted Badou's shoulder, and this time I smiled at her.}

^{A small crowd of children now joined Aszulay and Badou and me as we walked about the village. The houses were all the same, with small attached outbuildings: sheds for animals and storage, and latrines. While the boys ran along beside us, the girls were skittish, stealing glances at me but immediately turning away if I looked back. They eventually left us, scampering off to chase each other, shouting and laughing. Dogs jumped at their knees, barking. A herd of black goats behind a thorny enclosure bleated in a steady accompaniment. At the small river created by the waterfalls, some women washed clothes, pounding them against the rocks, and others filled goatskin water bags.}

^{'Is this where you grew up?' I asked Aszulay, as we stopped to watch a group of playing children.}

^{'No,' he said. 'We didn't live in a village. As Blue Men, we lived on the other side of the High Atlas, across the Tizi-n-Tichka pass, in the south-western Sahara that borders Mauritania. The women lived in tents while the men traded throughout the Sahara.'}

^{'But why is your family here now?'}

^{'When I was twelve, my father died,' he said. 'It's almost impossible for a nomad woman to live without a husband. She's forced to depend on the kindness of other nomads, and in hard times, it's even more challenging. As it is all over Morocco, a woman alone is not looked at with respect.'}

^{I knew he wasn't thinking of me, but still, it made me wonder again how I was viewed here.}

^{'So my mother and I and my sisters — they were very young then, babies, really, and have forgotten the Tuareg language — came here to live. But it was difficult; I was the man of my family, but still young.' He stopped, as if remembering. 'It took some time for us to be accepted.'}

^{He looked around. 'In spite of that, it was a better place for us than the desert,' he said. 'And later, when I left, I always knew where they were, and could bring them what they needed when it was possible. Otherwise I would never know where they were; nomad families can go years without seeing each other, passing maybe a few miles apart, but not knowing. We might have lost each other.'}

^{Suddenly I tried to visualise him as a child. Had he been like the nomad children I saw today, with their matted hair and ragged clothes, their limbs sturdy, their knees and elbows scabby from playing on the rough gravel of the countryside, seeming happy-go-lucky as they chased each other and played with loud voices? How had he moved from living in a goat-hair tent, travelling in a camel caravan, with no schooling, to the man he was now, with his mastery of French and his European mannerisms?}

^{I looked down at Badou, always close at my side. Although in Marrakesh I had thought him to look much the same as the other city children, here he stood out because of his shining hair and his clean djellaba and cotton trousers and bright
babouches.}

^{But his face did not reflect the light-hearted frolic of these Berber children. He stayed back, obviously wanting to join in, and yet somehow fearful.}

^{Aszulay called out, and one of the older girls — perhaps eight or nine — came to him. She kept her face turned from mine as Aszulay spoke to her. Then she took Badou by the hand and led him towards the other children. Badou walked stiffly at first, as though reluctant to go with the girl, but she chattered to him and he looked up at her, his eyes wide.}

^{'Is your language — Tam . . . I'm sorry, what is it?'}

^'Tamashek.'

^{'Yes. And the other one, the Berber language these people speak — are they taught in your schools?'}

^{Aszulay looked down at me, smiling slightly. 'The Berbers have no schools,' he said. 'And the languages are only oral, nothing written.'}

^{'So . . . you had to learn Arabic when you went to Marrakesh?'}

^{'I already knew it, from the caravan routes. We had to be able to trade with many peoples.'}

^{'Can he understand what the other children are saying?' I asked, watching Badou with the girl, and Aszulay shook his head.}

^{'Our visits are too infrequent. But children understand in ways other than language,' he said. 'Children everywhere are children.'}

^{The girl took Badou to the shade of a house where a dog lay on its side. The dog lifted its head as they approached, and as the girl leaned down, one corner of the animal's lip lifted as if menacing. And yet the girl paid no attention, and I saw, as she straightened, that she cradled a tiny puppy. She carefully put it into Badou's arms as the mother dog sat up and watched, alert.}

^{Badou looked down at the puppy, then lowered his face to rub it against the little dog's tawny fur. He shifted so that he held the pup on its back in the crook of one arm, then stroked, it with his other hand, lifting its tiny paws and examining the minuscule flap of an ear. The girl, bossy now, her head waggling as she said something to Badou and pointed at the mother dog, took the pup out of Badou's arms and returned it to the female, who sniffed at her puppy and then, obviously satisfied, lay down again, flopping her head against the soft earth as the puppy nuzzled back in amongst its siblings.}

^{The girl took Badou's hand again, this time leading him to the other children, and, as I watched, Badou's face relaxed and he smiled, a tentative smile, and then joined in the game of tossing pebbles into what looked like concentric circles drawn in the earth.}

^{'He is all right now,' Aszulay said. 'He forgets, between the months we come, how to play with other children.'}

^{I thought of Badou's reticence in joining the nomad children at the stream, and remembered him watching the boys playing ball in the street, forbidden to play with them.}

^{Zohra approached us then, and spoke to Aszulay. He looked at me. 'Zohra will decorate you with henna, if you wish,' he said.}

^{I looked down at my own sun-darkened hands.}

^{'It is a gesture of friendliness. Of acceptance,' Aszulay said, and I was ashamed for my hesitancy.}

^{'Na'am
,' I said, looking at Zohra. Yes.}

^{At the foot of the village, in the middle of the circle of tents was a fire. Over it hung a huge, bubbling black cauldron. A very short old woman, her face a myriad of lines and damp with sweat, stood with one hand on her hip, regularly stirring whatever was in the pot with a stick almost as tall as she.}

^{Other women gathered around us as we sat in the doorway of one of the tents; Aszulay had gone to drink tea with the men. The women all sat gracefully, cross-legged, with their skirts draped over their knees. I couldn't do the same because of the inflexibility of my right leg, and had to sit with it straight out in front of me.}

^{'You take,' Zohra said in French, and I frowned at her, not understanding. She touched the laces of my shoes. 'Take,' she said again, and I realised she meant I should take off my shoes. 'I make feet henna.'}

^{I shook my head. 'I can't walk without my shoe,' I said, and she looked puzzled at my words. I tapped the built-up sole of my right shoe, pulling up my kaftan to the knee and touching my leg, and finally she nodded. 'You can do my hands,' I said, putting them out in front of me.}

^{She smiled, unwrapping a little roll of cloth, and held up a slender pointed stick.}

^{Then she set the stick in her lap and picked up my hands, turning them over, studying them and murmuring to the other women. By the movements of their heads and the tone of their voices, I knew they were discussing what designs would be best. Two little girls watched, crowding against Zohra, and when one tried to climb on her back, another woman took her away. I assumed the little girls were Zohra's daughters.}

^{Finally Zohra held the wooden stick in the air, and they all fell silent. Someone set down a small earthenware container of green paste, and Zohra dipped the end of the stick into it. Holding my right hand firmly in front of her chest, palm up, she bent over it, dipping and drawing, painstakingly but deftly covering my palm with an intricate pattern of geometric swirls. The tip of the wood touched my skin with the lightest sensation, almost like an insect making its way over my palm; the paste was cool. When she had covered the whole palm and fingers she turned my hand over and created a different pattern on the back. My hand grew tired, holding it so still with the fingers spread, and when it trembled, slightly, one of the other women gently held my wrist in support.}

^{Zohra finished the right hand and took up the left. She reversed the pattern, so that the palm of one hand and the back of the other were the same.}

^{When she had finished, she demonstrated that I was to keep my hands very still; another woman brought over a blackened chafing dish, its coals glowing. Zohra made it clear I was to hold my hands over the heat to help dry the paste.}

^{Then she took the hands of the two little girls and left me, still sitting on the ground with a few other women. They stayed there, talking and embroidering. My right leg ached from the unaccustomed position. More and more women came to the centre, taking turns stirring the big pot, and setting other pots on the edges of the fire. My hands were warm over the chafing dish. There was the comforting smell of cooking meat, and I realised I was very hungry. I hoped Badou was all right with the other children.}

^{Eventually Zohra returned with a pot of warm water. She gestured for me to stand, but I was embarrassed; because of my leg I couldn't get up without using my hands to push myself off the ground, and I didn't want to spoil their design. One of the women said something to another, and then came behind me and put her hands under my armpits and rather unceremoniously helped to haul me up. I smiled, in a kind of grimace, at my awkwardness, but the woman smiled openly at me, saying something in a friendly tone.}

^{The paste had turned black, and as Zohra gently washed and peeled it away, the designs, dark reddish-brown and delicate, emerged. I held out my hands, turning them over and admiring them.}

^{'C'est magnifique,
Zohra,' I said, and she smiled proudly, then gestured again, this time for me to come with her and eat, saying,
'Manger, manger.'}

^{The whole village and their guests were now gathering around the fire. Badou appeared with the older girl, and sat beside me; Zohra and her two daughters sat on my other side. I didn't see Aszulay; surely he was with his wife, I told myself.}

^{One of the older women briskly stirred the pot, and then, with a huge metal lifter, pulled out a large goat's head. I thought of the heads I had seen in D'jemma el Fna. I didn't think I would be able to eat it.}