Shattered Glass

by anastasia watson (Canada)

A leap into the unknown Canada

In the year prior to walking through the blue tiled gates of old Fez, I had lived through approximately 6,720 Epileptic seizures. I had reached the outer limits of Western medicines ability to help me and was informed by multiple medical experts that I should “go home to get my affairs in order”. Simply put, thousands of seizures has “negative consequences” on ones heart. International travel was considered a pipe dream, rooted in a baseless hope and a slightly pollyanna-ish world view of what was otherwise considered impossible. So when I heard that 9000-9500 allys and streets, that constitute old Fez were “impossible” to navigate without a guide, I had a very different relationship to the word than potentially was wise. Successfully locating the temporary apartment my travel partner and I had secured for the next few days, revealed that we were at the “top of the market”. I therefor only had remember to walk “up” any one of the 9000 streets in order to get ‘home’ safely. I was dirty, grumpy and still smelled like the sheep underneath the bus I had taken two days earlier. I was in desperate need of some solo time. Armed with a casual intention to find a traditional Hammam, I headed out to wander, and watch the world go by. Stepping out into the midday sunshine my nose quickly filled with dusty red earth, and the smell of donkeys pulling coca-cola carts. This was followed closely by diesel spewing car fumes. After a few moments of observing a beehive like humm of humans to car, to width of populated road ratios, I decided to hug the sides of the market stalls out of curiosity and a well developed survival instinct nonetheless. I felt myself flexing new found traveller muscles that a few short months ago had seemed all but impossible. Slightly nauseous from excitement, I walked into my very first solo travel time. Feeling the crunch of the pebbles beneath my feet and the smell of soup prepping itself for the evening meal a few hours off, I leaned into my delight. My first few steps into the pleasures of solo travel and my cheeks were instantly flushed with the crimson color’s of growing confidence in my body. This feeling was no small feat and it had arrived with a few small steps into the ancient ally ways of this souk. As I walked I checked out the contrarian products in the stalls, tall, thigh high 8inch heeled boots, next to the Koran’s, and Holy stories for children. Turning a few unplanned corners I found a groove of following my feelings more than the map I had purposefully left tucked into my bag. I noticed I was yet again, the only woman I could see for quite some distance, not an uncommon experience for me at this point, but I wondered where they all were. That was around the time I found myself in front of a hole in the wall Hammam and realized that these were the women’s bathing hours. Feeling the ache of three weeks of bus travel in my body, I took a deep breath not really knowing what to expect, and walked into a completely foreign world. I took off my shoes, and was stunned to realize I was completely out of my comfort zone. My mind lurched and stumbled trying to bring subterranean beliefs and the belly laughing bodies of Arab women all around me. Folding my clothes and shifting my eyes towards the door, I saw a woman in full Burka walk into the room. I watched as she bent over, grabbed the bottom of her Burka and whipped it up over her head. She began orating accrose the room with the passion of filibustering politician. As she turned to walk away, I noticed the word “flirt” written across the butt of her underwear. It was in that exact moment that heard a lifetime of asinine assumptions shatter like fragile glass inside my mind. Stunned but smiling, I chuckled at myself, lifted my chin, grabbed my bucket and stepped into a white steamy room filled with mystery and a growing sense of freedom.