My story in the SAHARA south Morroco
Sun rays sparkle and sneaks throw the little window in the wall facing my little face,
i remember every detail of that, the humble room i was in, the green clumsy door ,just like everything else in our little house, my mother waking me up for tea and olive oil, and a little bite of cheese before heading to school, it was for me one of my ordinary days not like my mom, little drops of tears intrudes her face taking a little beauty from the brown eyes down to her lips.
it was 1999 , after we went back from school holyday, not like my peers in class, study was an obsession for me, i was very happy sitting chatting preparing my pens a head of my desk cleaning my table from dust and breathing new chalk hearing teachers steps toward our class and the shy silence following it, that day my class started at 10, i had to wake up drink my hot tea, oil and Bagette like always and go alone to my school, my new teacher was a good man very respected and loved from parents , enemy of fun for my siblings , he penetrated the class silence with a smooth perfume that i still remember, that perfume was the smell of success for me because i became his best student.
back from school to my little house, i remember them, Giant men with green and blue uniforms standing there handing batons in the street next to my school, i remember our neighbors taking each one his children and running away in sight of the big men with uniforms, suddenly mine appears grabbed my hand from my little body, we had no choice than running back home and waiting my father to come so we can close on ourselves, such days were familiar for my mother, already she make the Siege shopping, rice, flour , eggs, and clean water tank, the way home was near but cloudy, screams and runs and doors been locked and cars speeding to and back the main big street, all the shops were closing and people crying owners to open for a bottle of milk for children or bred, even they were throwing money inside the grocery but such times ; metal coins and designed smooth papers had no meaning, only your life and your close ones matters, only then you feel with whom you are related , to whom you can trust, who cares if you sleep hungry, who can practically share the wealth of small bred piece of propose a spoon of rice,
on the door of my little house, my mother struggling shaking, trying to open the door with her trembling fingers hugging the key like it was the Indulgence to heaven, heaven then was the dusty room with barley enough places for only sleeping , heaven was that and was safety from outside , in moment i turned my little eyes to see the street i sow cars, big ones with older people waving with big knifes and sticks taking their way to the anywhere, the door was open and then i remember only the blue corner closing and again in the small room i had to change my clothes, even TV was not allowed, my mother wanted only silence so she can think , blame herself and cry remembering why she leaved her parents small city, why is her life meant to be that hard and that cruel, the sempiternal ''why''s and tears.
quickly we began hearing voices out howls and screams and bottles thrown and bones crashed the pain was too much to imagine then sirens , making symphony that i little one enjoyed imagining them dancing, yes the white big cars and the green ones dancing on the tunes of their sirens, it was one of my children ways to run away from what i could not understand turning it to cartoons using only the miracle of "imagine"