Author: Rita Tapia Oregui

On a glorious spring day, like those one only gets to taste in Jordan, we decided to go on a trip to the province abutting ours motivated by the joie de vivre floating in the air. The region is extremely compelling this time of the year, with the motley collection of indigenous flowers all in bloom.

While sitting opposite the most splendorous and overall sublime archaeological site to be found anywhere, I started to mull over the probable connection between the history of the place and its strategic location. After all, a medley of assorted civilizations have tainted the landscape over not hundreds but millions of years. I also remembered the teacher I had when I was younger who coaxed the school into hosting a whole team of American archaeologists for two weeks every year during the 1980s. Their job was to unearth all the lumps of stone, mosaics, and churches that I would see displayed before my very eyes half a lifetime later.

Up until he passed away, my dad ...Read more →

We humans have always been into stories of journeys and adventures. After all, who doesn’t love to travel to the various cities our mighty world comprises and discover different civilizations and cultures?

The story I want to tell you is based on a half-mythical, half-historical city lying in Morocco, west of the city of Moulay Idriss Zerhoun. The city is called Volubilis. I went there a couple of years ago during a trip I made to explore several cities in the beautiful country that is Morocco. On the one hand, the city is famous for the region’s fertile lands and, on the other, for the magnificence of its old structures—old as in dating back to days of yore. The ruins prove that the city has been governed by different people throughout various periods of history: the Romans, the Berbers, the Byzantines . . . all of whom have left a touch of their distinctive cultures engraved on the rocks. In 1997, UNESCO declared Volubilis a World Heritage Site.

I have described the city as being mythical because it is where Hercules, the lionized hero, ...Read more →

This time I am resolved on changing dramatically. At the end of the day, garden-variety incidents such as these shift people’s perspectives on life, right? Without a doubt, it is now or never. I tell myself, “This time it is happening for real.” And here I am, already tampering with my perfectly functional routine. Instead of going from my workplace directly home, I am heading to the beach.

For years now I have dreamt of slotting this evening promenade into my daily schedule. See, it just so happens that I am a huge fan of the sea but not in the same way as everybody else. Nowadays it is hard to find individuals who don’t go around preening themselves on how profoundly they love the sea—my profession of love is the real deal. I delight in sitting at the shore, going for a swim . . . I have my heart set on one day owning a big apartment on an upper floor with panoramic views of the sea. My passion for it has made me ...Read more →

She knelt over him and pressed a last kiss goodbye on his smooth forehead. She had tried to coil the unappeasable course of time around her finger in order to enjoy the ride on their sweet-scented love boat a little longer, but destiny had condemned her to walk all by herself to where gigantic black menhirs cut the width of the lane in half. The stoniness of their bearing made them as precious as diamonds. How dangerous they would be if they could come alive! But no, the secrets they had been entrusted with over generations by globetrotters who stayed overnight in the sunken city are safe while the city itself is a place whose survival is constantly threatened by the collapse of the rocks its amphitheaters are carved into.

The words he had gasped while battling for his life echoed in her ears. She herself had been ready to drop when she had turned to him, waiting for his last breath to feed her the secret to vanquishing ...Read more →

In one of the coastal provinces there once lived a thirtyish-year-old man who loved sports and who, for several years, tried to find a job to make his dreams come true. Relentless in his pursuit, he traveled to numerous cities, including Hurghada, Sharm el-Sheikh, and Alexandria, among others. He followed the way he had been told to proceed to the letter: took exams, attended job interviews . . . However, he always received the same reply, the one known to belong to Mr. Computer’s phrasal repository: “We’ll keep in touch.” Although he held a degree in law—with honors at that—he was unable to find a suitable niche for himself, an opportunity to lead the life he was meant for. Nevertheless, a few years later, his prayers were finally answered: he was offered a job.

I looked at the clock and smiled. I was wearing my best suit. In one hour I would at last get to start my first day of work at my new job as a very well-paid chauffeur to one of ...Read more →

The sun shone, announcing the beginning of a brand new day. The ashtray was crammed with cigarette butts. He performed his ablutions and proceeded with the prayer. He closed his eyes in order to wake up to the sound of the Muslim nation, which, in a gesture of motherly love, flung its arms around him and pressed a kiss on his cheeks before leaving in peace. Right then she started going down the stairs. She told him she was going out to run some errands. Something made him follow her with his eyes to see whether she turned right or left past the front door. However, by the time he had craned his head backwards, she had faded away. He rubbed his eyes and cast a last quick look around to make sure she was gone, allowing her absence to settle inside him. He then rushed to unload his luggage, which he had packed just a few days earlier when his life in the country had gotten complicated and the only choice he felt he had was to leave ...Read more →

It’s half past ten and the sun paints my room gold. Like a retired vampire, I am awaiting nightfall in order to go out. The streets summon me as I bask in the warmth of the sun’s rays clinging to my back. They caress me softly without forcing me to close my eyes. I walk aimlessly, with a head free of windmills. The streets are still empty; the children are trapped in school. I could stroll around forever. Everything in my town is within walking distance. I even think about bundling it up and thrusting it in my pocket: the narrow entrance to my grandmother’s house; the small wooden boat on the shelf; the shelf next to the photo albums that play music when opened; my favorite café; my old place; the street with the church on it; the street with my old school; the uncomfortable benches of the Nile Corniche; the girls that mesmerize us with their beautiful voices as the evening wears on, whose countenances blanch with apprehension at my leering; the smell of fish ...Read more →

Praise the Lord

The waters are crystal clear. Everything is covered by reeds and seagrass, and water lilies float on the surface. Here, in the south of Iraq, more specifically, in the Hawizeh Marshes, marine vegetation spreads all over a vast territory. It builds the golden houses where the descendants of the Sumerians live, those folks who are said to have crossed the magic emerald doors through which the uproar and babel of the world flees to join a distant past. Twenty square kilometers of permanently submerged ground and over 11,500 kilometers of land lying under water every now and then form the whole extension of this Garden of Eden, which is more commonly referred to as the Water Cities.

It is here in the Water Cities that our hero lives. She belongs to the conservative al-Sawaed tribe and is called the Bedouin because of her contoured eyes and henna-dyed hair, which she always styles into a beautifully shaped bun. She wears the bright colors of the marshland people, which ...Read more →

Winter invites the world to retreat under its blanket and pours its cold over the hilly countryside. The soil of the earth gives off the sweet perfume of its people’s hard work. In the valley, the humble adobe houses struggle to keep their secrets inside. Chaos breaks out when the only thing people can rely on day after day to appease a growling stomach is a loaf of plain bread. Nearby, the river twists and turns with swagger, aware of its vital role of connecting both shores, fantasy and reality, with its slippery substance. In its delta sprouts the naiveté of those who bother dreaming. An old veranda casts its red shadow over the meandering desires of the flesh. Finally, the dreamer wakes up only to find himself at the doorstep of a scandal.

He had returned from his stay abroad with another woman reshaping his shadow; he had clearly been blinded by the deceitful glow of civilization. Thus, he destroyed the warm nest where his kids had awaited ...Read more →

On the crest of the old Mokattam Hills, behind which rise the Dawiqa Hills, hid our houses, many of which were sheltered behind a massive rock.

We lived in a district called Al-Mu’adaseh, where everyone’s garbage and litter is thrown. To be more specific, we lived on the farms of Manshiet Nasser.

Like the church bells that summoned us to attend the holy prayer, daybreak propelled us into action. For hours the twines of morning light flogged the burning skin on our bodies with their exhortation. We lugged the day’s weariness along into the night, where the sleep we had hoped to find kept us meandering around, because it turned out to be as barren as the wasteland in which we had lain down to rest. We crouched down, almost deflating, like the hiss of a murky patch of light amid the darkness, and from the peak of our mountains, we leaned out to a sleeping world. We swooped on it like thieves of the night hunting for flotsam and jetsam. We descended the tortuous slope whose ...Read more →