The sun is one conceited b----!

by Gabriel Guzman (United States of America)

A leap into the unknown Morocco

The ship felt heavy, the plates from the table played ping pong with the silverware. I could see an arrangement of unknown letters greeting me in Moroccan Arabic. I’d like to think it says “Welcome to desert paradise”. This was my first time in a Muslim-majority kingdom. A herd foreigners exit the ship and huddle into tour vans. I joined a group of 15 travelers whom I’ve never met up until that moment. We would be spending a week in the van, chasing the sun. Seven hours later we arrived in Marrakech just before sunset. It was the first time seeing the sunset from Africa, and it didn’t disappoint. It was like a child jumping into a pool, splashing its deep colors all over you. I made it just in time to check into the hotel, drop my suitcases, and peek my head through the archaic window sill. In the background the mountains mimic a man lying down on his back. There’s a short white building sculpted in typical Moroccan architecture. Standing tall next door is the Kasbah Mosque. Singing five times a day. After dusk there was a blood orange glow above. At first it was odd, but then I felt oddly infatuated with the abstract work made in the sky. The Moroccan flag has a green 5-point star hovering over a red background. Morocco has one of the most beautiful sunsets in the world and it’s for this reason that it is represented in the flag. It’s one in the morning, but the moon and the people outside prove otherwise. I hear music. I see a group of people huddled around each other. There’s a man playing an instrument—some distant cousin to the violin. It’s played vertically. Men-women-children real tight not letting any notes escape. They were all in sync. Their heads went left while the bodies moved right. Three men were dancing in circles while clapping. Everyone was smiling. The next day I saw everything from snakes to monkeys; they’re used as props for show. But the most eye-catching of them all was a door. My favorite house had a brown door. It’s a typical Moroccan arched door; supported by a rectangular frame. That frame is a red clay color. The kind of red clay your mother told you to keep away from while growing up in the south. The arched door was a deep chocolate brown. Two palm trees stand on each side of the door frame. And as a backdrop, a brick walls with rectangular blocks, leaving space between each other. Kind of like stiff, brick bangs. Upside down. This is no ordinary door. This door has two openings. A smaller door within a larger one. The smaller door reveals very little of the inside, while the larger door calls on every man woman and child to take a look inside. The smaller door is used for ordinary house visits, while they use the larger door for special occasions such as weddings. On the doors you can find two knockers, and so to identify who is at the door, a special number of knocks have been assigned to men and women. There’s something to be said about having a designated door for everyday house visits. I’m okay with not inviting the world into my home. You never know anyone’s intentions and this house gets that. This house gets me. The next morning, we jump in the van and take a drive north to Dades. While trying to catch some sleep in the van the sun kept shining bright on my face. My first thought was to beat myself up for not wearing sunscreen, and the more rational thought was to shut the curtains. I shut it halfway, leaving some exposed. The warmth felt healthy. But someone peaked through and was shining on my face even more. I moved the curtains over a little bit more, only to see her again. I gave up and just opened the curtains. I happened to look down and I noticed the bright yellow scarf I was wearing. She was never chasing me. She was chasing her reflection in my scarf.