The Moroccan Man
He smells like smoke. Like smoke with a hint of marijuana. I heard that in Chefchaouen we’d certainly be offered weed, but I didn’t expect it here in Rabat. This is supposed to be the nice, new, clean capital city. But here we are, passing a dirty whiskered old man on the side of the street who smells like weed.
A bony street kitten winds around my legs as we pass by the man, and I have to resist the urge to reach down and pet it. Apparently the instant I touch a Moroccan stray I’ll die a painful death. At least that’s what I’ve heard. The lights in the little shop ahead of us suddenly flare on, and I look up and realize it’s dusk. Soon it will become too unsafe to go out with just my sister.
A question from my sister snaps my wandering mind back, and I realize that we’ve stopped. “Can I give him some money?” This question, so typically her, throws me for a loop. We’ve passed so many people begging on the streets, I’m not sure why this one has captured her attention. But he has, and she desperately wants to share, so she drops some coins on the faded scrap of cloth in front of him. We then begin continue back to our hotel for the night.
Some movement pauses me, and I turn around to see the man my sister just gave money to grasp the coins and push to standing. He hobbles into the nearby small convenience store and quickly makes his way out again, tightly clutching a can of cat food in his dirty hands. I look around and notice my whole family now “secretly” watching.
He almost trips over the kitten threading through his legs, and, recovering, picks it up. He doesn’t die. Instead, he opens the can and holds it up to the purring stray. The scent of processed meat wafts up to me as we watch the man feed the kitty, gently murmuring to it in Arabic. As soon as the kitten’s done eating he sets it down and finds a pile of nearby garbage, the kitten closely following on his heels. The man digs out an old bit of cardboard box and sets it up into a sort of wind shelter nearby him, putting the remainder of the meat inside. Then he slowly lowers himself back down to his spot on the cement.
I almost begin to cry. That was so beautiful, so sacred, so hopeful. I always forget that people are so good. We walk the rest of the way back to the hotel in silence.