Just Faces


Seen the movie Mr. Nice tonight. Buffy had recorded it. We had never heard of it. Yet, it is a true story of drug smuggling, Ireland, and  bureaucracy.
It led me to instigate a word press blog post.  Been a bit non-committal of late with blogging.

I went to my posts on Morocco and found the one that tells the best of Tangier. The streets, the people. The dead chickens swinging in the putrid air.

Road to Tangier

I remember staying late into the night at Baba’s. The cafe the Rolling Stones frequented during visits. It was an ethereal world of burning incense. The swirls of hashish circling and weaving the room covered with mats.

Cafebaba

It must not have bothered me walking down the narrow stairs, the crooked steps that led from Baba’s back into the Medina and then the Petit Succo where we would get a cab the remainder of the way back uptown to 62 Rue Delacroix.

Buffy was invariably sleeping and her dad usually carried her. In retrospect this was a good thing because I would have probably been unable to do so in my state of oblivion.

Months before, when we first came into the city we were broke. I would meet men. My mate would arrange the set ups. I recall it was always in a huge place and others seemed to be doing the same thing so it really didn’t bother me. The man would order a complete feast of food for us. Then I would go off with him and hubby would stay with Buffy. I was never gone long and always came back with a good sum of money.

Mohammad the man who rented the apartment to us grabbed me one day and pinned me up against the wall and fucked me. Things were always fast and impersonal. He had flowers delivered to our apartment and a note saying the rent was free for the following month.

My hubby did not arrange that one it just happened. Many men were called Mohammad. On one occasion I was told to go inside. I looked to see that they had prevented him from entry. I seen him leaning up against the door as I entered the room. That was a bit frightening for me.

After he was busted I was only with Ahmad the man we met on Halloween prior to my husband’s arrest on conspiracy charges.

It was better for me and safer. The other men were just faces in the darkness. Fully dressed, sweaty, fumbling , intense, and in a hurry. That was fine.

Ahmad had a beautiful face. He was in his late 40’s I suppose, married to several women and had many children. He was wealthy and shared his wealth as only Philanthropists do. He resembled Jimi Hendricks and was known as “Hole in the Head” He was also known as “King of the Hashish” The high was dreamy and detached, like that of opium or a sedative-hypnotic prescription drug, combined with a mildly hallucinogenic overlay. It was smoked in a jeweled golden sipsi. My shoes falling behind me as I walked from the hash den, looking down I realized they were on my feet?

Tripping off of smoke

When we returned to the States we could not get high on any pot or hash that our friends said was the best. We had been spoiled and it took some time for the effects we experienced in Tangier to dissipate.

Even now after all these years when I smoke a chillum, take a bong hit or a few tokes I am seemingly reconnected to the same high I experienced in Tangier.

He expanded. When I was there in 1971, he had the back room as the Bain. Then from the back, more pillows and the stairs leading to the loft. I guess he went up, the only way you can go.

Tangiers’ sheltering, and ever inspiring, vividly blue sky.

Ahmed a(h)-med as a boy’s name is pronounced AH-med. It is of Arabic origin, and the meaning of Ahmed is “highly praised or one who constantly thanks God”. One of the many names of the prophet Muhammad, and popular with American Muslims.

Ahmed has 10 variant forms: Achmad, Achmed, Ahmaad, Ahmad, Ahmet, Ahmod, Amad, Amadi, Amahd and Amed.

He gave food and clothing to the children in the mountains in the coldest of winter. Jilbab’s to warm them and shoes for their bare feet.

Jilbab

In every café a picture of him was right there along with the prized picture of King Hassan.  He knew what he wanted and he secured what he wanted. I was his chosen one. Now, I realize I was chosen only until I no longer obeyed him. I obeyed him unknowingly at times, his will had a control over me.

So many chances, and so many times I was in serious circumstances and did not even know the extent of the darkness I had allowed.

This is an attempt at rewriting a chapter of my story about my stay in Tangier. I left so much out.

My Feelings.

Story Excerpt “Jasmine Remains”

I allowed myself to be used by my husband because I felt I needed to survive. Being in a foreign country, having just one person that is supposed to be your savior in all ways to allow such things to happen. Shaking my head at the betrayal of it.

I was raised to believe that you believe in your husband and that you do what needs to be done to keep things operating smoothly. I grew up on that journey. Coming back home to the states it did not take me long to separate myself from him. Maybe it was the times, free love, intoxication of drugs and a different thought process.

Regretfully, but for some unknown reason or reasons I allowed myself to be used and abused in future relationships. My self-esteem seemed to have no cares.

I began to realize that I used men for love and attention. Many years it involved going down the wrong paths and falling into all the wrong holes in the sidewalk.

I feel free.

I am not involved with anyone romantically, but I know if that feeling ever comes my way again I will value and appreciate the powerful force that I am.

I will never allow abuse from anyone in the name of love, drugs or insecurities.

I will no longer be drained by their vampirism need to control. I am in control. I hold my own reigns.

My ongoing journey is progressing smoothly Smile

This song reminds me of my sojourn. It’s Jazz the way I like it too.

Well I’m buckled up inside
It’s a miracle that I’m alive
I do not think I can survive
On bread and wine alone
To think that I could have fallen
A centimeter to the left
Would not be here to see the sunset
Or have myself a time
(refrain)
Well why do the hands of time
So easily unwind
Some lessons we learn the hard way
Some lessons don’t come easy
That’s the price we have to pay
Some lessons we learn the hard way
They don’t come right off and right easy
That’s why they say some lessons learned we learn the hard way
Remember the sound of the pavement
World turned upside down
City streets unlined and empty
Not a soul around
Life goes away in a flash
Right before your eyes
If I think real hard well I reckon
I’ve had some real good times
(refrain)
Well why do the hands of time
So easily unwind
Some lessons we learn the hard way
Some lessons don’t come easy
That’s the price we have to pay
Some lessons we learn the hard way
They don’t come right off and right easy
That’s why they say some lessons learned we learn the hard way

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