Sleepless Night at Kasba Dounia

October 30th, 2019

The stillness of the night and the absence of any light permeating the room wakes me up from my slumber. The room, atmosphere of the Kasba, room temperature, and the aroma were what I needed after driving 8 hours from Jebel Tazekka to the Kasba through the RN15 and RN13. For some reason unknown to me, I am unable to sleep beyond 30 minutes.

At 11:30 PM, I leave the room with my journal and pen in hand, prepared to write anything that comes to mind. I sit myself down at the table on the south-facing wall of the indoor courtyard, wearing my black and gold djellaba, and I click my pen. The next-door over creaks open a second later. “Drats,” I think to myself, “I woke someone up!” The owner of the Kasba meanders out of the room and invites himself to sit across from me.

In broken English, he asks me why I am awake so late and how I’m enjoying my stay. I respond in broken French stating, “Je souffre insomnie, mais je suis tres satisfaite. Le Kasba est magnifique.” He nods in agreement and proceeds to ask me questions in broken English, inquiring where I’m from, what brings me to Morocco, and where I’m traveling to next. I answer his questions reluctantly and eye him with suspicion. I am wondering what intentions he may have for being so friendly.

He notices my suspicion and says, “You teach me English. I need to practice.” I tilt my head back, arms crossed, saying, “D’accord, tu m’enseigner Francaise et le langue Arabe?” He nods, and we shake on it using our right hands. He introduces himself as Sam, and I share my name. Sam invites me to sit at the table on the roof and make myself comfortable. “I stay here. I am looking for my cat,” he says.

I take his suggestion and follow the stairs up to the roof. I find the table and chairs, which rests along the east-facing ledge, directly above the main entrance to the Kasba. For the first time since arriving in Morocco, I look up at the night sky. There’s no light pollution, no cars speeding by on the RN13 below, and no clouds in the air. I am in awe staring at the constellations that reside above me when I feel something pounce on my lap.

I look down and see a five-month-old kitten making itself at home on my lap. I hear the crunching of gravel underfoot as someone is approaching the table. “You found Simba!” I hear Sam say. “No,” I reply, “Simba found me.” I pass Simba to Sam, and he once again sits across from me. We continue in conversation, his English as elementary as my French.

Around 1:00 AM on October 31st, a drunken man pounds on the front door of the Kasba, me and Sam still in conversation on the roof. The man asks, yelling at the top of his lungs in Arabic if there is an open room. Sam responds, stating there are no rooms available, that he needs to walk an additional kilometer to the nearest town of Guers Tiaalaline. He turned to me and said, “that’s not true; you only one staying tonight.”

We watch the man zigzagged walk south on the RN13 towards Guers Tiaalaline when Sam says, “I hope he does not have a wife. Women are responsible for men. Men can act like kids, but women can’t get away with anything.” Curious, I ask Sam cultural questions such as: why there are a lot of stray cats and dogs in the cities, the prices of goods and services to locals versus tourists, how the government treats Berbers in all capacities, and how the healthcare system operates.

He struggles to find the words in English and resorts to French, which I struggle to comprehend fully. Sam finds my profile on Facebook and sends a friend request, saying, “so you can still teach me English, and I teach you French and Arabic.” I nod in agreement and thank Sam for the comfortable stay. He excuses himself to head downstairs with Simba chasing after him. I fall asleep in the chair on the roof.

Present Day

Sam is still operating the Kasba, which has been mostly occupied by locals and medical staff during COVID-19. Simba left the Kasba one day and has not returned. Practicing French and English over text is not the same as practicing in person; it’s too easy to resort to Google Translate for everything. I hope to someday return to Morocco to visit Sam and the Kasba once again, with a fresh perspective on the country and the places I visited on my manic journey across the globe.