“Mark!” I yell to my brother, “Hurry up! I’ve been on that smelly boat for twelve hours and I’m hungry.” From across the room I hear, “Sounds more like cranky to me.” Our blue fin tuna venture in Morocco is in full swing and it’s difficult to find time to eat. Mark swaps his sweaty shirt for a fresh but wrinkled version and adds, “Is Craig ready?”
“No” I reply, “He said he’ll join us later.” We jump in the car with Ciro and head off to town.
The cramped chicken café is quickly becoming a favorite dining destination. This small but popular eatery in Morocco lies on a quiet, darkened side street. The ever-present litter clings to the street gutters like fungus on a leaf. But, this does not deter our visit each evening. Although this is not the best part of town, the juicy aromas drifting through the worn, wooden doorway beckon us to stay.
Inside the building, on the dusty floor there is barely enough standing room to place an order. To my right, small crispy brown chickens hang on rotisseries. Peppery juices ooze from the birds and drip onto the charcoal fire below. The hens sizzle, smoke and saturate the small café with aromas that make my mouth water. A well-used greasy chopping block stands at the ready.
The owner doesn’t speak English, but I have no problem ordering. His grease covered apron conveys both experience and expertise. I point. His bearded head nods. We smile in agreement.
Outside along the sand covered sidewalk, colorful plastic tables and chairs summon us to rest, and unwind. While awaiting our order, we pick an empty table and brush off the crumbs with our arms. The owner delivers a “half chicken” meal, which is just about the right amount of food since the birds are undersized. French fries and a coke round out the meal served on paper plates. I pick up my metal fork and straighten the three tongs. The three of us relax and eat with our now greasy fingers as we observe the street life around us.
As we are finishing, Craig finally arrives and joins us. “I am beat. And, I’m starved!” he declares. He orders and grabs an empty chair. As we continue to enjoy the evening, we notice a mother and two young, children playing on the sidewalk. Giggles drift across the street as the girl and her younger brother scamper about. Mom sits on the sidewalk, shoeless, and watches.
The girl bounces across the street and shyly approaches to within ten feet of our table. She stares, snickers loudly and runs back to her Mom and brother. We chuckle. While all of this is unfolding, Craig’s hot savory chicken is delivered to the table. After a few more minutes, the young girl stealthily appears back near us, but maintains her distance. Her face is streaked with dirt, her hair tangled, but she has an innocent look in her jet black eyes. Mark tells Craig, “She’s probably hungry. Why don’t you give her some French fries?”
“No way,” says Craig. “I haven’t eaten all day.” Mark counters, “She probably hasn’t eaten in a week! At least give her one of your bread rolls.” Craig icily stares at Mark but doesn’t utter a word. A few minutes pass and we notice the inquisitive child back near our table along with her shy brother. Her pink dress is dirty and his worn, used-to-be-white tee shirt is tattered.
Craig picks up a warm bread roll and extends his arm. Although there is a huge language barrier, his offer of food is clearly understood. She gently steps toward Craig while her younger brother keeps his distance. When next to our table, Craig encourages her further with a not of his head. The child stares back. Her hands lay at her side. She has the pure and harmless eyes of a lamb. “It’s OK. Go ahead and take this.” Says Craig calmly. Standing perfectly still, she examines Craig and his gift.
He starts to speak, but in the blink of an eye, she reaches out and snatches the entire greasy half chicken from his plate, then instantly darts back across the street!
Craig’s out-stretched hand is still holding the bread roll. Slowly his head turns and looks me in the eye. Then turns further and he stares at Mark without saying a word. Simultaneously, Mark and I burst into laughter almost falling off our chairs. Across the street the feast is quickly devoured by the young family with joyful satisfaction.
This is just another day in Morocco.
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