Marrakesh

Prose · www.samanamel.com · Photos by Henrik Lundell · April, 2025

I

Blue arcade, early morning. At the pond with its water lilies the nocturnal soundtrack of frogs stutters to a halt. The heavenly blue, lighter than light, spreads behind eyelids, too. As I get up, joints creak – a faint echo of the frogs’ croaking, lodged in my ankles.

II

Barefoot over limestone, walking on Moroccan sunshine. A sudden breeze, then fragrances. Beauty can be so bewildering … Suddenly: shadows dance across walls.

III

After breakfast we visit the souk. A thousand hues of clay merge with the chatter of merchants, with querulous mopeds, pigeons and the throng of tourists. A narrow alley, allowing only dusk, takes us to the city’s oldest riad. Inside: slanted shafts of light. How well-formed a sanctuary.

IV

The waiter sets our table in the shifting shade. Tousled dogs, idle growls. (There are sunflowers, too – cast in iron, offering tacit support.) After lunch I lose myself among, no, into the olive trees.

V

Thoughts adrift by the pool, water made of cool and change in equal measure. Such welcome unsteadiness. Then the lemonade in its dewy glass: a brown-hued yellow reminiscent of minerals. Liquid grounding.

VI

Although the heat has descended, there are residues of cool in the pavilion. The conversation meanders; languid laughter, musings. Before doors close for the siesta, I see cranes shift their muddy load in the distance, beyond the surrounding walls. There is another world.

VII

Honeyed sleep, inhabited by cranes and construction workers. When the shutters are opened again: colours. Sand, ochre, auburn … muted black … and a blood orange red, ripe with promise.

VIII

The prayer of a far-away muezzin trails through the early evening. Some voices seem made more of radiant metal than of tongue and lips. Coffee is served. (As-salām ʿalaykum, bittersweet tar!) The air shifts through light and shade into light again, accompanied by the muffled thuds from the tennis court.

IX

An hour spent reading by the pond is followed by drinks. Water lilies gloss the surface, almost imperceptibly. Branches creak in the waning sun.

X

Fez-capped and formal, our driver takes us to the car. Dinner beckons as night descends. Frogs again, clearing their throat. Gently, with probing muzzle, a donkey bids goodbye.