I Have No Intention of Returning, So Take Care

Street in Tanger, in the North of Morocco

Today, the cold is kicking in on Tangier’s streets, numbing my extremities. I sleep on a mattress on the street. I may even freeze to death in the next couple of hours. I suffer from insomnia, but it’s not the sort rich people experience after losing a lucrative contract or some cash, when they get dumped by their chicks and decide to hang themselves. Be that as it may, I don’t really give a damn for the wealthy right now. They can either follow the right path or end up in hell—it is up to them.

Yesterday, the cold murdered my friend and brother on Al-Arabi Street. We had been sharing the same cot made of newspapers and cardboard boxes, and were covering ourselves with a blanket gone to rack and ruin. By no means was it fit to protect anyone from the terrible cold that sweeps Tanger’s streets. At night both society and state leave us to pave the streets with our bodies. What a grand display of generosity!

However, as soon as the sun comes out ...Read more

The Pillow

Rabat, the capital of Morocco

What does this mean on a deaf night? A short walk across an executed land under a vindictive sky made him want to propel the chest of drawers to its rightful place and lean back very badly. Afterwards, he was entrusted with the task of addressing anticipation, which is a path that is illuminated day and night in both the summer- and wintertime where one may meditate, feel, and polish up impressions any time.

Tell me, when people claw their way up, who gives a damn about anybody else? By the time he returned to his safe haven, twilight had set over all corners of the horizon. He pushed the rusty door aside while snarling the way animals do when cohabitating. He stepped inside the room, scuffing his feet as if someone were prodding him to move against his will. As he groped his way along the room toward his favorite spot, while trying to wipe the spider webs off his face, a stranger called to him hurriedly, “Switch off the light!”

He met the exhortation with stunned silence and stopped ...Read more


The fire had spared the conspicuous facial features, the rumors, and the fingerprints left on the white bread. The bicycles, as many as there were people living inside that gray house, had been left unscathed as well. The impression one got from scanning the area, from the color of the open doors to the farther corners lying behind the white scarf, was that of a thwarted welcome, barely muttered by the wind, which made the scarf sway like a handheld fan commanding the outsider to enter and descend to the most dismal place imaginable. It was a spot where the honor of sitting on the ground and reveling in a sumptuous feast ought to be bestowed upon the newcomer. The very first seed had been devised here, the source of all genius and battle.

He started repairing the pedal thread of his bicycle, which had lost some metal teeth due to a failure in the gears charged with stabilizing the chain rings. This time, the kick that usually removed the need to resort to a surgical intervention had not done the trick. ...Read more

Choose your own adventure

Fairness doesn’t rule the world, but since the world can passably be couched in a language that imposes structure and that has been devised for humans to seek compensation for their overall irrelevance through, it is only to be expected that

a) the afterlife is going to be a bowl of cherries.

b) the filthy rich will all die from overdoses.