THE GREAT TRIP TO THE GLORIOUS AMERICA

Part 7- Music Park

by BRAHIM EL GUABLI, staff writer
Ouazazate, Morocco

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The second day of our stay in Freeport we were invited to a music show by the students of the local university at a very beautiful green park. It was almost six when arrived. The orchestra was already there and they had set up their instruments. People started arriving from every corner. We chose picked seats that were right in the front. Said, Abdul and I sat in the same row on the same bench. The other colleagues and the interpreters were sitting three rows behind us.

The concert began by playing very refined classical music and a total peace reigned in the park. The dextrously manipulated instruments and rythmic drums were meant to be heard in such a beautiful natural resort. Nobody could even cough. Nobody wanted to be responsible for destroying the total peace that governs on this land.

I was wondering how music is governing our souls. How it is merging all of us together. How these lyrics are sounding like verses from a very holy script that all the pious people are preaching devotedly. The park, peaceful as it was, sounded like a religious convent. The Imam, Rabbi and the priest were these drums, these instruments and that maestro whose dextrous hands lead the hearts of people to the haven of the most beautiful emotions that a heart could experience.

I was piously immersed in this music to the point that I could not even nod. I could not look around me. The catching hand of life, of beauty, of peacefulness grabbed my soul. It was an intense hour. The thoughts did not go astray this time. I was enjoying these moments of life in an American park, thousands of miles away from home.

My head went away thinking about how many Jews and Christians were in this crowd. How many people were Buddhists, how many were atheist and how many don’t have a religion. I was wondering how music is brining people together, united by the hand of love. I was wondering why people do not listen to each other like they listen to music now. A very famous musician once said:” when guns talk, music stops”. Music is always associated with the most beautiful feelings, the most transcendental journeys within ourselves and the deepest soulful moments we could ever breathe.

My friend came attired in his beautiful Moroccan “jellaba”, Abdul in his newly bought Nike shoes and I, were sitting together without exchanging a single word between us the whole concert.

At the end of the show the Maestro asked all the people present to welcome “the guests of our town from Morocco”. All the attention at that moment was directed to us. It was like putting someone in the spotlight. Tons of questions came from all the people. Why are you here? How long are you staying? Where are you staying? First time in America? Do you like it here? Is it not a bit boring for you? Only old people live here……

I had to answer instead of all my other colleagues. I played the translator a lot of times. But yes, when people started leaving; I noticed that the biggest majority of the people present were in their late fifties or even seventies. Old people. They made very beautiful scenes going in old couples, holding hands and driving their cars. I saw people in their late sixties and seventies kissing and showing each other their eternal love. I was trying to imagine how hard these people worked, where they were, what experiences they had in life and how they ended living in such a calm little town in the heartland.

I was trying to bring back the film of their life when they were young, going to bars, nightclubs, studying hard at the university, living in big cities and dating before they got married, had a job, the first kid and the second and maybe more; then at certain age they reached their retirement and came to this small town to enjoy its peace.

I left my questions and evocative thoughts for when we got into the car. The next direction was an ice cream store. It is a tradition here that after the concert, people go to this store to have an ice cream before going home. It was another moment of happiness to see these old people eat ice cream and talk about the weather, or the news.

Here, again, I met someone who was in the army in Morocco. Someone who had been to Tanger. I was not surprised because all the Americans that went to Morocco before the sixties went to the International Zone which the city of Tanger was a part of and was under the rule League of Nations at that time.

Once in my room, I started a conversation with my friend Abdul. We talked about how Americans enjoy life, how the quality of their life is so high and how they do not deprive themselves of enjoying every moment. We talked about how old people in this town were nice, how they were enjoying the music and how they still love their wives even in their late age. Comparison was compulsory here. We compared them to these thousands of old Moroccans who worked hard, served their country with their flesh and blood but whom we find today playing cards or chess in the streets, under the trees or in cafes if they could afford that.

We talked about ungratefulness of young people in our country and how they do not try to volunteer and take innovative initiatives to cater for the needs of the old. We talked about the lack of a National Policy for old people. We talked about the values of love and how many men and women never talk to each other when they get old. Life stops for them at a certain age.

If I had a wish to make at that moment, it would have been bringing my dad and my mom to enjoy some of these intense moments that I was lucky to live through in this small town’s park. It would have been the gift of their lives.

The next day, we were invited to a picnic with some Freeport families. Quincy, a police officer, came to take us from the hotel in his car. We drove for approximately twenty minutes before we got to the park. The other families were already waiting for us. They have set up the tables, the food and the drinks. Every family brought some food that was served as a buffet.

Everyone welcomed us and then we started serving ourselves. The food was delicious and diverse.

The picnic was a very good opportunity to socialize and talk politics. A lot of the people present had many experiences travelling abroad. There were a couple of teachers who lived in France for 17 years, there a couple of engineers; there were a few farmers and many others whom I did not get to talk to.

They all want to come to Morocco. They want to try Moroccan food and they all want to visit the desert. They all say that they have positive ideas about Morocco and Moroccans and that it was a very great opportunity for them to have met us.

I have exchanged a lot with the teachers that I met there. I have studied at Bordeaux University and I know France very well. We talked about our French experiences. I was happily surprised that these were the only Americans that I have met who ever liked France. The historical enmities between the French and the Americans are deeply rooted in their minds that they could not feel comfortable around each other.

Our conversation shifted slowly into politics.

They hated the war in Iraq. They were not happy about the invasion of this country and they were not happy about civilians being killed everyday in Palestine and in Iraq. They were not happy about their national policies and they wanted change. They were not happy that the champion of freedom and human rights be the one that is causing chaos by an “uncalculated decision to invade another country”.

They were saying that the whole point of that war was oil. Human beings life is not worth all the seas of petrol running under the Iraqi soil. They were mad at their administration’s policies and they want to change everything. The name of Barack was mentioned again as the person holding some hope for America to reconcile with the world. They strongly believed that it is incumbent on them as citizens of a democratic country and as progressives to change this dramatic situation- as they say- through elections.

John and Joanne are just an example of these American progressives that I met during my stay in the US. What comes back to my mind now is Glenda and Jim in little Corpus Christi in Texas. A couple that is part of the local Tikkun Community who go to rallies and demonstrations against the war. They are people of good will who do their best to bring people of different religions together. I was awed when they organized a meeting for me at the mosque of Corpus Christi. I was deeply amazed to see Arabic inscriptions on their cars as if to say to people do not worry, they are just like us.

If all people were Jim, Glenda, John, Joanne, Ed, Shaina, James, Anne and all these other people whose names I can’t recollect, the world would be a better place to live in. The blisters of children and little kids would not be shown on TV everyday. The wars would not have been started. The human egos would have been suppressed and peace would have reigned all over the world.

The next visit was to the Stephanson Country Jail. The jail is built in a very agricultural area away from all the house and residential neighbourhoods. All you could see surround the jail were fields of maize. It is a medium sized red brick building. It looks like a villa from far away. When we got there, the sheriff was already waiting for us in his office.

My heart started racing. It was the first time I visited a jail in my life. The feeling was so strong I could not even stand on my feet. If someone was to look at me writing, they would have discovered that I was slightly shivering while the sheriff was talking about his job. He is a republican, he is elected by the people of the Stephanson County and he is in charge of all the things that pertain to security and the prison management in his county. He said that he was elected on a programme and that he does his best to implement that programme and make his constituents happy. He is pro-death sentence and he is not ashamed about it.

He was a typical policeman. His pistol under his arm and his handcuffs dangling from his waist. He had a medium sized moustache and very soft hair. He explained that if criminals were not killed, they would just commit more horrendous crimes. It is the duty of society to protect the lives of innocent people and thus it is the duty of the government to provide security.

The prison was very heavily guarded and electronically controlled and monitored. You get into the first door. You click on the door bell, the policeman opens it from his computer while looking at you in the cam that is right in front of you. You pass the first door and the guard closes it behind you. You get to the next, you push the door bell, he calls you and asks you who you are. Finally you are allowed in and he closes the door before you get to the next. After three more double doors, we found ourselves in a spacious area. We visited the court in the jail. We then visited a place where new-comers are put until they adapt to jail life. I almost cried when I saw a girl there crying. She was there because she was caught selling drugs. It was a sad situation to see all these people in their uniforms in prison. They were in their rooms. We could see them from the control room. It was very sad to see someone while they do not know who is watching them.

The control in that prison was very efficient and security was very tight.

After the visit, I felt as if I had been born again. I felt that there is nothing better than being free to go wherever you want to go. There is nothing better than having one’s destiny in one’s hand. Freedom is a rare value that a lot of people would not appreciate until they lost it. Freedom is a wealth, the source of all the riches in the world. Freedom should be fought for. It has no price.

When we left the strongly guarded walls of the prison, some of the young guys that we saw inside were set free. They have finished their due times in prison. They were there alone. Nobody came to receive them, like it would happen in Morocco. I thought, without the support of family and a strong network of friends, these boys would go back to their usual crimes and would get heavier sentences of imprisonment.

The prison itself is a very high standard building. Very secure, very clean, very organized and I am sure it looked more like a three star hotel than a prison. I thought about the situation of prisons in my country. I thought about all the articles that are written about prisons being over populated. I thought about hundreds of prisoners sharing one room. I thought about all the illegal trafficking happening inside of them. I thought about all the abuses and the corruption that is prospering there. I thought that the Moroccan prisoners would opt to stay their whole life in the Stephanson Jail if they were given the choice. They would be very good citizens and do their duties on time and behave very well to keep the many privileges.

The whole way back to the hotel, we talked about how our prisons in Morocco need to respect human dignity and human rights.

Our trip to Freeport finally came to an end. Sad to pack again but knowing the next stop is Chicago the sadness of leaving was alleviated by the mystery of discovering what the next stop would offer.