Diaries of a Moroccan in London (Part IV)
The fourth of May 2010, when I got home, I found a letter in my mailbox from Angela, a British girl of English descent whom I met on a Saturday night in Piccadilly Circus. Back that day, she showed me the way after getting lost. In fact, she was waiting for her friends when I came and asked her where I can find the closest Tesco store. She was a clothing store manager. Her face shone with pleasure. When I met her for the second and third time, I was not planning to fall in love with her as I was only looking for someone who could help me integrate into the British society, and this resulted of us becoming real good friends. I’ve never been actually comfortable with her as we were coming from two different cultures. Yet, I would not deny that thanks to her, I discovered the difference between a Moroccan woman and a non-Moroccan one. Few days after getting to know her, my heart started beating as usual. Nevertheless, I could not live with a non-Moroccan woman since I had already left my heart at Al Menara Airport.
I stepped inside the bathroom as it was the safest place where I could read letters in complete peace. I opened the letter and found inside a heart-shaped note and a red flower. I read it many times to fully grasp the message. It was a love confession letter again. It was the second time I received such a confession in London. I thought that London deserves to be called “the city of love in excellence,“ rather than Paris.
She wrote me the following:
“My beloved,
You are my reason of living. I am totally addicted to you, and you are the only drug that keeps me functioning now.
Habibi I do love you blindly.”
I walked through the corridor to Mourad’s room (my best friend) to share the letter with him. He was busy talking to his Lebanese girlfriend Loujaina on the phone. The first time when I saw her [Loujaina], I was left appalled by her beauty. She was regarded by many Moroccans and Arabs in London as the embodiment of women’s beauty and elegance.
While Mourad was conversing with his girlfriend on the phone, I felt so thirsty and craved for something cool. I couldn’t find anything in the refrigerator to satisfy my thirst so I started going through the secret place where I used to store my “fortune.” My “fortune” consisted of “boxes of chocolates and bottles of orange juice.” This time, even the new box of orange juice in the cupboard, which I had bought in the morning, wasn’t there .After ten minutes of investigation, I found the empty orange juice bottle in the trash bin. I heard Mourad calling me and shouting: “If you are looking for the orange juice bottle, just forget about it. The next time when you buy something, you should drink it outside because as soon as it enters this home, it becomes a shared fortune as well.” Mourad continued his speech and said that he broke up with Loujaina because he was not interested in her anymore. I did not want to insist on him. I gave him an ironic smile and said “all right Mr. Intellectual.” We went outside so that we could talk in peace because we were surrounded by a legion of gossipers. When I told him about what Angela wrote to me, he answered back saying: “if you are really interested in staying in the UK and, of course, achieving ‘the dream’ of many Moroccans, which is the red passport, this is your chance. Chances only come once. Yet, it came twice for you Mr. Intellectual.”
After hearing what he had to say on this, I was skeptical. Additionally, it took me a while to call Angela and explain to her that we can only be friends.
The only thing that was always in my mind whenever and wherever I go in London was Morocco. I was always thinking about when I would be able to come back home to smell the scent of my mother’s perfume and the soil of my beloved country. When I came to London, I lost the sense of smell.
The series “Diaries of a Moroccan in London” is part of a diary written by a Moroccan student during his stay in London. He evokes his everyday’s adventures, the difficulties he faced and the funny moments he went through during his stay.
