i heard a man singing through my street at 4am before the call to prayer. A holy man who is perhaps unknown and insane but singing. And I am sitting awake in my bed holding myself rocking.
Everything, from your green colors to the sound fabric of the air is telling me that I should be here.
I can’t tell you what it is about the place because it’s not earthly. Trust me though when I say that it is thick here.
Fes is a holy city.
Our colors are at every gate. My blue is the public color of Fes to the outside but on the reverse of every main gate to the ancient wall is your green–the color of the spirit for the inside.
This is the city of the first university in the entire world and it’s here down my Medina, in Africa, founded by a Muslim woman.
This place gets a bad name because it’s proud but it has good reason. It’ll be the first place to cause a riot and demonstrate unrest. It’s the place of sufi mysticism and self described Islamic militants as well as a (if not the) voodoo capital of the world.
it’s all around me Manou from my part of the Medina called “The Eyes”…the oldest most conservative part of the Medina where not covering my shoulders will make me a woman of ill repute. but in my house i wear what i want and go into the prayer room with children’s paintings on the wall.
Amanda says she feels spirits. I tell her I like them.