by Charles Troob
In the summer of 1967 I had an internship in Rabat. This clean and safe capital city on the Atlantic was the Third World on training wheels. Even when the sun blazed there was a fresh ocean breeze.
My office—I was at the United Nations Development Programme—was closed from noon until four. I’d lunch alone at a nearby bistro—I would pick one at random—where for five dirhams (about a dollar) I’d have three courses of simple French food, with couscous as an occasional plat du jour. Some customers were at the same places each day, seated at the same table, as though it were a private dining room.
On the far side of the palm-lined main boulevard was the gate to the medina, the fragrant old city. Here I would stroll past butchers and fishmongers; gorgeous arrays of spices and vegetables; fabrics in brilliant colors; rugs and baskets; wallets, belts and leather jackets; and metalware: bowls, pitchers, candelabra, and “hands of Fatima.” In time I learned to shop and haggle.
There would still be hours to kill before returning to work. One day I went to a public beach, but there I felt like a rich invader—foreigners and bourgeois Moroccans drove to swimming clubs down the coast. So I’d usually visit the Jardin des Oudaias, a walled Andalusian garden with a teahouse. A waiter would bring a metal pot filled with boiling water, sugar, and a large handful of mint.
I’d inhale the pungent fumes and sip slowly, admiring the shrubs, flowers and fruit trees, and pondering my uncertain future. This summer in Morocco had been fascinating, but the long hours of solitude—midday and evening—were a heavy burden, and I didn’t think I could make a life of this kind of work. I would be a closeted gay man in a foreign country, without a family to keep me company, too cautious to have a wild time….
It was a privilege to be twenty-one and melancholy in such an exquisite setting, like a Romantic poet or a character in a novel. My sadness was as sweet as the mint tea.
Charles Troob: This piece was written for the LP² Writing Workshop, which I’ve co-coordinated for over a decade. I’m still learning to write!