Late Night Confession

I begin my every day with a zest for life and happiness. 

Late-night confessions ... To myself.
I live to love, and I simply walk away when my love is not reciprocated with passion and honesty. Gossip bores me to tears, besides there are so many exciting experiences to share with those open enough to pour their hearts out, as am I, to waste precious time on talking of another, which is pure judgment. So, for those who judge, go deep within and look for what is giving you pain. What are you questioning and beating yourself up about that makes you need to put another down? 

My mama taught me beauty, so beauty is all I choose to see, and life helps me cross paths with beautiful souls of all ages and nationalities. 
What do we call 'strong'? 
Each of us has had hurdles to cross and challenging times to endure. It has nothing to do with money. It is all about our thoughts. 

Where does beauty begin? 
Within you
Where love resides.

The search is over
Your destination is here
It always has been.

Now, shut those tired lids.
Let go of all tension.
And concentrate on you.

Feel the good in you.
There is plenty to celebrate
Abandon all that is of pain.

Give way to the flowering bud.
Nourish a bee with the flavour.
Of the Sweetness of life.

Love thyself and forgive
All that is hurt you
Give yourself the gift of love.

I am grateful.
Oh yes, I am.

This is 'strong'

@halditanotes 

Meeting in Morocco

Feeling baffled at the state of our world today! What is going on?!

It is questionable how so many query our world affairs yet can barely find solutions to better their lives. Everything begins in our minds, at home. I hardly spend time listening to social media, and still, from the news I do come across on my Facebook friends' posts of Trump and Clinton, I am bored to tears and truly saddened. What a pitiful state our world is coming to!! 
You will be glad to know we do not engage in world politics here on this blog.

Now, let me tell you about my latest experience in Morocco...
I have visited the country on numerous occasions since my early teens, and on a few of those occasions, I acquired some rather strange tales, one of which was previously on my blog about Marrakech.

During a visit to Africa, I met a man who seemed quite special. He was educated abroad, rather charming, very hospitable, and generally admired by many.  
Thinking back to my youth, I had fallen head over heels in love with Sidney Poitier in his role as the black fiancee of an all-American girl. The movie in question is 'Guess Who's Coming to Dinner. It is a classic when she introduces him to her parents and tells them how he wins them over with his academic and humane reasoning. So, forever looking up to a man full of wisdom and righteousness, I got taken aback somewhat by this man Boudie's mannerisms at the time.
We kept in touch after my visit, and recently, he got me somewhat intrigued by the idea of meeting up for a 'romantic' weekend in Morocco, as he put it. Why not, I thought. 

My ticket to Casablanca was delivered by mail, and I flew in to be met by Boudie's chauffeur. He informed me that we were driving to Marrakech the evening I landed! 
"But Marrakech?!" I exclaimed, startled. "How far is that?" My tone was disappointed, and rightly so.
The driver informed me that it would be 225km away, so after a three-hour flight, it would still be about a three-hour journey. Oh well, I was there and had no choice but to stay positive and go on with the ride, as usual.

When we arrived at the luxury hotel, Boudie awaited me at the entrance. By 11pm, when we found a restaurant serving dinner, everything nearby was shut, so room service was exemplary by m. When Friday morning arrived, the driver returned to take us to the souk, which had changed drastically (positively) since I last visited. The shopkeeper explained that we walked to a small teahouse for a 'royal' tea made up of dried roses and other ingredients. This was followed by his shopping, then mine at the souk, before midday prayers when they shu. A spot of lunch at a nearby charming hotel, where he was greeted by the receptionist and went looking for the beautiful shopkeeper, whom he introduced as his cousin. Afterwards, we returned to the hotel since Boudie had work to do on his laptop while I strolled around the boutiques in the lobby trying on Moroccan jellabas and abayas, with no joy of any purchase.

Dinner that evening was at one of my host's favourite spots, sitting in the garden of an elaborate home while he happily surrounded himself by the girls working at the restaurant. Before we reached the eatery, he proudly announced that there were only girls working there, and they were his wives! That was meant to be funny, I guess. Fine by me. 
He did ask: "What would you like to eat?"
I answered: "Fish, preferably."
But he was not so keen on fish and ordered two lamb dishes, which he admitted afterwards were not the best choice. But then he says:
"By the way, I'm leaving Saturday, tomorrow night."
"Wha? As in tomorrow, tomorrow night?" I needed clarification. 
"Yes." Boudie seemed surprised at my inquiry.
"So, why did you book my ticket for Sunday afternoon if you're leaving tomorrow night?" One was not amused. 
"But I did say I've got to be back for Monday." He was convinced of his commitment.
"You certainly didn't mention going back Saturday, or I wouldn't have bothered coming!" I tried not to raise my voice and stay calm, but hey.

Upon return to the hotel, a group of about ten or twelve young ladies were about to enter the lobby when one of them noticed Boudie and came running along, giving him a warm hug and introducing him to her girlfriend. They barely looked my way. Boudie then turned to me and said in delight: "H ! This is the friend I told you is having her birthday bash in Marrakech." And he indeed had told me that, and that is that he is surrounded by women. Truly glad for him but did wonder what he had learned from that. 

It so happened that Boudie's flight was from Casablanca too, and I never found out why his travel agent had booked our flights to and from Casa with the hours of drive rather than simply the airport in Marrakech! So the following day, after breakfast, a four-hour drive to Casablanca was organised with the same drive. We sat mainly in quiet throughout the ride; it was only when I saw the trucks with sheep carried in the open cargo back on several occasions that I enquired:
"These sheep are taken to be beheaded for Ei. Right?"
"Yes," Boudie nodded and continued: "That's why I've got to go back, as I told you. I've ordered eight sheep for the occasion. Only our sheep are well tailored for the occasion."
I did not take notice of that last remark but enquired in bewilderment: "Eight?!" And went on to add: "I remember as a child being disturbed by the beheading and hid away in my room while the butcher arrived with the poor sheep at our door. Never saw what happened and refused to eat that day."
He then laughed and said: "You were spoiled. To watch the beheading teaches us sacrifice."
"To watch an animal be slaughtered in front of you is the way to learn sacrifice?!" I knew continuing using this conversation would irrelevant ance, so I let it drop and only pretended to listen to any further explanation.

We finally got to the Four Seasons hotel in Casablanca, and Boudie booked himself a massage before his flight without any inclination to meet my needs. So, I happily went to the pool for a long swim to let off some steam and a spot of sunbathing. 
Upon return, before he left, I asked:
"Is the room booked for breakfast by any chance? Just so I know."
"No, I don't believe so." He answered coldly. Then he added, "Oh!" You can get the hotel to take you to the airport tomorrow; I've let the driver go."
Most charmed I was, and on that note, we bid farewell, and Boudie left.

In fact, I could not have been happier to spend the last night on my own, digesting what just happened, writing my three pages, sleeping soundly for eight hours and waking up at 8:00am to take a walk by the sea. I was in great spirit, smiling at the few passersby, and spent an hour by the pool, swimming and catching the last rays of sunshine before getting ready for my flight bac. I may have been disappointed, but nothing much surprises me, and I am always grateful for every experience life brings my way. One can only learn.

I got back home to London and sent a brief thank you note to my 'host'; however, he replied back by sending me photos of his sheep being beheaded with blood everywhere. I simply could no longer tolerate such insensitivity after pouring out my feelings about how I felt about the matter, so I texted:
'I won't sleep tonight! Boudie, I've well thought this out today. It seems we're very different, you and. I felt somewhat insulted by how you treated me during our stay, but I kept calm. We shouldn't keep in contact. All the best and goodbye.'
He answered: "I'm shocked!!!"
I replied: "Me, more."

The End

The story's moral is... If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.
Life is simple, and everyone is different. As François, my therapist, used to say 
'Everyone comes from a different map. You've got to go to their map and history to understand why they behave the way they do. You would do the same if you came from their map.'
Also, there are two sides to each coin, and only goodness knows what Boudie's version of this story may be. He must have thought, 'What more did the woman want? She was spoilt, after all!'  
So, in no judgment and only because we cannot see eye to eye when in doubt, live without. Or, in this case, leave without.

Royal tea

Streets of Marrakech

Souk at Marrakech
 

Casablanca morning

Photos on Instagram account: 'Haldita'

@halditanotes