A Riffians Tune (19 page)

The man thundered, ‘What?'

‘I don't have my IDs for the exams,' I said.

‘Go and bring them,' the man instructed, dismissively.

‘I lost them,' I pleaded.

The sentry pretended not to hear. ‘Unless you have your ID cards, we are not going to let you in!' the guard from the other side shouted.

Frozen, standing still, I watched the last of the very late students stepping in. Refusing to go away but not allowed to enter, I was spotted by Professor Allawi, who was just arriving. ‘We know him! He's known!' shouted the professor. His words were my exam IDs.

Shaken to the bone from the start, I took my seat, pulled out a few pencils, a ruler, two pens, compass and protractor, and glanced about. Several nervous faces were scattered around, but I recognised none. The building was enormous, yet every room was being used. The bell rang to begin the National Exams, and my heart sank. The morning was pretty tough, and no one expected the afternoon to be better.

Back in my room during lunchtime, I told everybody I had lost my IDs. I was certain someone had lifted them, but who? I remembered Omar had stolen my blanket, but that didn't mean he had taken my IDs. He kept quiet, and so did everybody else. For now, I decided not to trust any of them.

We returned to the exam hall after lunch and waited for the door to open. Omar complained of a splitting headache and his knees buckled, dropping him on the stairs. I sat beside him and spoke to him, but he didn't answer. He slowly closed his eyes and fell sideways onto my shoulder. I thought he was playing, and moved away. As I moved, he crumpled lifelessly onto the stairs.

‘Don't fall asleep!' I yelled, then realized Omar had fainted. I didn't know what to do, and hoped some adult would come and help, but nobody twitched a finger. I fanned Omar while Taji talked to him. As if emerging from a spell, he slowly opened his eyes and sat up, dizzy, not knowing where he was. I put my arm under his, took him inside and handed him to one of those unsympathetic sentries. Omar's fainting triggered the rector's intervention.

Before the end of the afternoon, in the middle of the exam, a microphoned voice vibrated through the room and the building. ‘Students, you are instructed not to leave until the rector has a word.' The rector, wearing heavy green glasses and surrounded by staff, appeared on the balcony. He looked down at us from above and shouted, ‘Some students have fainted this afternoon because they are too frugal with food. Go and eat!'

It's not advice we need, it's food!
I shouted to myself, indignantly.

* * *

WHILING THE TIME AWAY
after the end of the exams and waiting to hear if I had passed or failed, I went out to buy a
jellabah
for my mother. She had never had one. But, buying a
jellabah
without a veil was like wearing underpants without trousers. A crooked trader tried to sell me a veil to go with the
jellabah
, but I couldn't see my mother, living on a high mountain, speaking to my uncles and cousins from behind a veil. They knew her and she had known them from birth.
A
jellabah
or veil would make my mother look like a clown
, I thought, and abandoned the idea. Now a widow, she had to face wolves and hyenas. Squabbles over gossip, a tiny piece of land, moving boundary stones or old inheritance never stopped.

After a feverish week of waiting, the moment of truth arrived. I went to the exam hall to hear my fate. The street and the stair where Omar had fainted were packed with students, some with their parents, others with siblings.

Within an instant of the door opening, those in the street pushed in, crushing each other; it felt as if the walls were closing in. The air became thin, and I could hear the heart beats of those close by.

The rector, like a prince surrounded by his aides and flanked on both sides by professors, emerged on the balcony of the first floor, his favourite place. With a vibrating and worrying tone, he read a short list. He stopped, took a long breath, and added, ‘Tomorrow at eight-thirty sharp the oral starts.' He whispered to one of his aides and made a U-turn. It was quick and brutal.

The reality sounded unreal – the list was shockingly short. Over seventy per cent had failed! My name had been called, but none of my roommates'. Of those I knew, only Marnisi, Bozaid and Faissal had been called. The crowd was collectively struck dumb. Omar stood beside me, and Rammani slumped to the floor. With the help of Taji, I convinced Rammani to head back to our room.

We had all known exams would be tough, but never expected such a massacre. For most, years of schooling had ended painfully. My fate remained still uncertain; the oral exam would skim the cream.

In our room, I found Omar launching into a frenzied tantrum. He kicked, pounded and punched the walls, the table, the floor, the door, anything in his way. He cursed his father, his grandfather and hissed his needs had never been met. He had turned into a deranged
mahboul
. I was mesmerised by his kicks for a moment, but then, shocked, I yelled, ‘Stop! Stop!', but nothing reached Omar's ears.

Holding his shoulders and looking into his red eyes, I whispered, ‘You know what happened to my cousin Ahmed.' Omar had heard the story. In an instant, he calmed down, went to his mat and pulled the covers over his head.

It was my turn to cook that evening, and I asked Taji to swap, but he refused. I bought two loaves of bread and made tea.

The night was incredibly short, and the sun quickly rose hot and high, but never reached our room. Omar was up first, and I suspected he had never slept. He went out and didn't show up for breakfast. Rammani and Taji left after him, so I had breakfast alone. Still puzzled and anxious about my missing IDs, I carefully leafed through the books and papers lying on the floor. I opened one of Taji's books and, to my surprise and horror, found my IDs tucked inside. Feeling deeply betrayed, I wanted to take revenge. I picked up my IDs and put them safely in my pocket.

I went to the school which, just the morning before, had been besieged by students outside the door and packed with them inside. Laughter and voices had been heard from a distance away. Pedestrians had serpentined through the throngs. Now the street was quiet; the building itself like a ghost town. I entered and felt as if I were the only one inside. Then, I heard a vague whisper, but was unable to spot its source. I gave up looking, but the whispering continued. When I looked up, I spied Faissal waving from the balcony. He descended and greeted me with, ‘Didn't you hear me?'

‘Yes, but I didn't know where the whispering was coming from.'

‘I was trying not to make too much noise,' he said. ‘Two professors were chatting about their holidays. I hope I won't get either of them. By the way, we are on the same list. Your name comes after mine.This is a new list.'

Still whispering, I heard my name being called by Professor Drissi. As he stood waiting for me, he looked short and smart, as usual, and wrapped in an air of arrogance. ‘Take a seat,' he said the instant I stepped into the classroom.

Watching him scribbling on his papers, I noticed how small his left hand was, and how small also, the watch on it. ‘First question,' the professor said. ‘Identify four positions where the grammar forces the tongue to flatten and touch the back of the lower front teeth.'

‘It is not mentioned in the book, sir,' I answered, dazzled by the question.

He laughed. ‘Page five,' he said.

I picked up the book, leafed to page five, and there stood the answer, in very large print.

‘Question two: “She is the moon”. Explain.'

‘She is like the moon,' I said.

‘You have watered down the poetry. What makes them alike?'

‘Physically, nothing,' I answered.

‘What, then?' he asked.

‘The likeness resides in the poet's emotion, not in the physical resemblance between the woman and the moon,' I responded.

‘How was the poet able to ignore the differences,' he asked, ‘and liken a living being to a massive, dark stone? For me, it's almost an insult.'

‘Maybe the poet was mad,' I said.

He laughed. ‘You think his emotion was the source of his madness?'

‘It could be,' I responded. ‘The likeness is only in the poet's mind.'

‘Even assuming he is mad,' he said, ‘we all enjoy the poem. Why?'

‘Because we are like him,' I said.

‘By that you mean we are all mad, like him?'

‘Not impossible,' I said.

‘My wife likes the poem. I will tell her she is a bit mad.'

He scribbled something on his paper and asked me to leave.

Coming out of Professor Drissi's room, I felt like going home and thought to myself,
It's the same for everybody
. After a day and a half being grilled in my orals, I went to my room to wait for the results, but the atmosphere in the room was hell. Omar and I were no longer talking. I became suspicious and frightened of what he might do. Driven by bold and blind emotion, he might just set the room on fire.

Two days later, I went to hear my fate again. Faissal and Bozaid were already there, waiting. The rector came and stood on the first floor balcony with his entourage, but the audience, which had previously been several hundred, had been reduced to less than sixty. There were now more academics on the balcony than students on the ground.

Professor Bozian forced himself through the crowd towards me, ‘You are first or second! A place at boarding school might be offered to you.'

Very happy I had passed, my mind immediately flew to the needs of my family. I suddenly longed to go home.

That afternoon, I packed everything that I owned, including my flute, which I had never had a chance to enjoy. Gazing at where I had slept, Omar, with a cracking in his voice, said, ‘It looks like an empty grave now.'

I asked Taji calmly, ‘What were my ID cards doing in your book?'

‘You lost them,' he retorted.

‘But I found them in your book,' I said.

‘Which book?' Taji asked.

‘Your dictionary,' I answered.

‘I am not interested in your cards!' he shouted aggressively.

‘I found them in your dictionary,' I repeated. ‘They weren't on the floor. How did they find their way to the middle of your dictionary?'

‘I never thought you would accuse me!' Taji responded. ‘I swear I didn't put them there!'

I was angry and puzzled, but didn't know who to accuse. Nevertheless, whoever had taken my IDs had nearly ruined me. I picked up my belongings without looking back.

Leaving Omar, Taji and Rammani behind, I headed to Bab Ftouh to catch a lorry. While standing and talking, a gigantic man wearing a black leather jacket whispered, ‘Where are you going?'

‘Nador,' I answered quickly.

‘Join the group,' he whispered, pointing to five men of mixed ages; some were sitting on the ground, looking tired and bored, while others were leaning against the wall as though waiting to be executed by an armed squad. One of them was very loud and doing all the talking in very crude language. I didn't take to the group and kept my distance, although, like them, I was waiting for the lorry.

A few moments before everyone lost hope, the lorry arrived, apparently from Meknes. It was an impressive Volvo, very long and with many wheels. It inspired admiration and confidence, but the lorry was already full, overloaded with grain.

With no joy, I joined the group. I wasn't sure I would be back to continue my schooling. I expected family problems at home and had no source of income. Leaving, I thought of Omar, Taji and Rammani. We had struggled for the whole year to make a future, but were all still lost.

It was midnight when the lorry driver and his co-driver shouted, ‘Climb on! Climb on!' Everyone had paid, but was instructed, if asked by the police, to say it was a gift. I was the last to scramble on in the darkness of night.

H
eading north to Nador, the lorry was a state-of-the-art Volvo, full of pulse, long, high and impressive. I eyed it enviously.
Life is where there's power
, I thought. With the other passengers, I was perched on the very top, like a dove on the branch of a cedar tree. Happy to be high up, inspired by the Volvo's speed, Tahar began to sing. He had a nice voice, and everyone was seduced by it. After some miles over the rough roads, it started to get cold. A sharp breeze was biting hard. Tahar stopped singing, hid his head from the wind, and so did I, but dodging the wind didn't stop the cold.

The road was busy and noisy with many lorries going up and down. Drivers flashing headlights at each other turned the road into a sky full of falling stars. I thought the flashing lights were a friendly night greeting between the kings of the road; in fact, they were a warning that the highway patrol was ahead.

Passing Taza, coming to an open space, the lorry stopped.
This is
where the French lady paid for our breakfast
, I remembered. I wished she were here, but to be in darkness like this, looking for small stones to wipe my bum, I wouldn't wish even on Omar, who I thought had stolen my IDs and had certainly stolen my blanket.

The driver and the co-driver came and asked, ‘Is all well?'

‘It's too cold,' I said. Tahar supported me.

‘The tarpaulin!' said the driver.

It didn't take long for them to pull the tarpaulin over us and cover the entire back of the lorry. I started to choke, but thought it was just me. A few minutes later, everybody was making gasping sounds. We pushed up on the tarpaulin and some air crept in, but it wasn't enough. We tried to keep still and put up with it, but it got worse. Tahar complained of a headache and vomited over me. The stench in the enclosed space made everyone retch.

I became desperate for air, gasped and gagged, and tried to get the attention of the driver by banging on the sides of the lorry. ‘We can't breathe! Stop!' we yelled.