Remembering Childhood in the Middle East: Memoirs from a Century of Change

Abdelaziz Jadir (Morocco)

Abdelaziz Jadir grew up in the northern Moroccan countryside, which he has described in the short stories he has published in Arabic. He was educated in Morocco and some years ago launched a regular literary radio program in Tangier, for which he serves as host and interviewer of literary figures throughout the Arab world. Recently, he was selected as the literary critic/correspondent for Al-Hayat, the well-known Arabic newspaper published in London. He lives and works in Tangier. Abdelaziz Jadir morocco My mother said, “You told me one morning, son, ‘Mother, don’t come to school with me, I’ll go by myself, stay home and make lunch.’ I was devastated with acceptance as much asIwasdevastatedwithfear;Isaidtomyself,it’sgoodforyou to walk to school by yourself, you’ll feel that you’ve grown and become a man. But the devil whispered to me that if I let you go to school alone I would never see you again, for you could be killed by a reckless car or kidnapped by thieves and that would be the end of me because I’d either be murdered by your father or, should he fear God, be divorced. I overcame my fears and opened the door for you after breakfast and you left. I shut the door and prayed, thanking God and praising Him, and asking Him to watch over you with his gentleness. “You weren’t late coming home in spite of the five kilometers between our house and the school. But you didn’t have your bag. I asked about it and you said you had no idea where it went! I said to myself, thank God you returned safely, and to hell with the bag even though we were very poor in those days.” My own son said, after he’d silently listened to his grandmother , “Poor dad used to lose his bag and all his stuff and Grandma didn’t get mad, but when I lose something you punish me! Grandma has exposed you!” And everyone laughed. My mother said, “What can I say to you, my son, if what they say is written on the forehead and cannot be erased by the water of truth. childhood memories Abdelaziz Jadir ^ burning “YouusedtoaccompanymewhereverIwent.Andonemorning,Iremember it like this very morning, we went to the bakery; it was a building with no other buildings around it. I went to give the bread order with the baker and you stayed outside as usual. But when I came back, I found no trace of you even though I’d been inside such a short time. I ran in all directions and I imagined your father coming home from work and you’re still lost and he wouldeithermurdermeorrememberGodanddivorceme.Andsuddenlymy eye fell on the wood barrel which sat on the right-hand side of the baker, and in which he would throw the ashes, what was left of the wood that was used to cook the bread. I came closer to the barrel and lifted its cover and I saw you standing inside, over the embers and ashes, and the smell of grilled flesh was seeping from you. I snatched you out of the barrel and ran home. I opened the door, I don’t know how I did it while I was carrying you. I put you on my bed and screamed for Haddad’s wife—Rahma. She registered the fear in my voice and ran down and when she saw your condition she called her husband and he came and saw your condition and his wife ordered him to go quickly to the closest pharmacist and buy the necessary medicine. “And when I checked up on what had happened to you, my eyes were full of tears. The fire had eaten up a side of your right leg, the skin on your thigh was loose on one side and burned on the other, while the heat had dug air pockets and filled them. I could not bear the sight of this red thigh without skin. “Haddad came back with a plastic bag full of medicines and the pharmacist with him. He took the bag and set it on the table and told us, his wife and I, to leave. Your screams were escalating, the pharmacist took off your clothes, or whatever remained of them; the fire had eaten parts of your shirt and pants. Haddad ordered us to leave the...