Chapter 23 - Friday - 5:31 p.m.
"He who follows the right path, thorns will not hurt him." Moroccan proverb
Fettah Bou Chantouf aimed his horn at the Kings neck. He has practiced this so many times it is second nature. The King turned in profile, presenting the perfect target. Horns are blowing and with a slight bow of his head he signaled to Hasan to loose the hornets into the crowd in front of the reviewing stand. Hasan had been watching with lifeless eyes, and as soon as he sees the signal he opens the container and tosses it on the ground in front of the reviewing stand.
Noise and confusion boils up around the review stand as the angry hornets take out their retribution on the unsuspecting bystanders. Pandemonium breaks out with screams of pain mingling with cheers of joy as the Sufi continued to press on, oblivious to the goings on around the stand. Hasan was aware that green pamphlets had also filled the air at the same moment to add to the confusion. He smiled, even though he didn't know what the pamphlets said. It has worked perfectly. The shouting of those nearest to Hasan mingled with cheers from the crowd and music from parade participants.
Fettah had struck, triggering the air rifle to fire its lethal dart towards its target. Surely the dart had sunk deeply into the neck of the King. Excitement coursed through him like a charge of electricity. The revolution had now begun and the only thing left was to get safely away. Swiftly cutting diagonally across the flow of the procession, Hasan half turned as he reached the far side of the street and saw his companion quickly joining him.
There was a swirl of activity on the review stand as Fettah quickly turned to leave the procession before all exits were sealed. Moving to the right he was soon away from the immediate crowd, heading towards the car and safety. He saw Hasan in front of him, weaving through the excited onlookers. The blow was struck and excitement pulsed through his body.
Rushing through the surging mass of spectators, Fettah and Hasan cut down a narrow alleyway to the right and away from the parade route. They have concluded that this would be the route least likely to be jammed with festivalgoers, enabling them to reach the parked car in Rcif Square. They roughly jostle a young woman carrying grocery bags from the nearby market. Unsurprisingly, there are few others out on the streets of the medina with all of the excitement along the Tala'a Segura.
Chapter 24 - Friday - 5:33 p.m.
"The story is only half told when one side tells it." Berber saying
Fatima had made sure that she acquired all of the ingredients for the night's b'stilla. Monsieur Chris had obtained the needed ras el-hanoot, and her trip this afternoon to the Bou Jeloud market has supplied her with the other ingredients; two chickens from which she would use the breasts and thighs, red onions, garlic, red chili peppers, coriander and flat leaf parsley. When just making the dish for Monsieur Chris and Eian she often used pigeon instead of chicken, but some tourists balked at eating pigeon so she would use chicken instead. All of this would be cooked up with saffron, cumin, ginger and cinnamon. She would then make the thinest sheets of pastry possible, layering the pastry with toasted almond meal and butter and fill the pastry shell with the cooled chicken and spice mixture, covered with the folded pastry before putting it into the oven. Before taking it out she would top the pastry with cinnamon and confectioners sugar. It made her smile because she knew Monsieur Chris and his guests would like it.
Happy that she still had time, Fatima was able to squeeze herself and her purchases into a spot close enough to the viewing stands to be able to see the King and his wife as well as a few of the passing parade groups. Satisfied, she began retracing her steps into the medina proper when she was roughly pushed aside by two men hurrying down the street. One glimpse at the taller of the two sent chills down her spine. His eyes and scowling face left no doubt of what he thought about a woman on the streets unattended.
Akmed Benharoun's compatriots had infiltrated the last two Sufi groups using the silver tayfar offerings as cover for distributing their message. Knowing he was wanted for questioning by the police, Akmed wisely stayed away from the parade itself. Instead he chose the balcony of a nearby restaurant to watch the unfolding drama.
Nearby TV cameras recording the celebration documented his fellow committee members reaching under the shining silver lids and throwing handfuls of the green leaflets into the air, showering the parade with the February 20 Movement manifesto calling for complete democracy and free elections. They were quickly swept up by security agents and taken away to waiting police vans.
Suddenly, everything goes wrong with the peaceful gathering. Without warning an angry swarm of hornets appears seemingly out of nowhere, stinging the gathered celebrants, spectators and assembled Royal Guardsmen alike and spreading mayhem on the crowded viewing stand. At the same instance the air is filled with green sheets of paper bearing the February 20 Movements manifesto. Incertitude reigns on the viewing stand as bodyguards move to quickly shuffle the royal couple to safety. Swirling bodies, many wildly swinging their hands and arms try to ward off the raging hornets while green sheets of paper float gently down onto their heads.
All of this was beyond exciting for Eian, who stood immediately in front of the royal couple and had the best seat on the stand. This was the most exciting day in his young life, and Eian waved his homemade double cardboard flag to the passing marchers. Suddenly it flew from his hands as if struck by a rock, a nearby security guard observantly picking it up.
With the confusion swirling around the monarch, Afellay realized that this was the moment of the attack. Keying his radio, he alerted the security teams to be hyper vigilant. For a moment, he caught a glimpse of a tall Sufi participant carrying a celebratory horn, but then he is gone in the confusion. He has stationed snipers on surrounding rooftops as well as fifty of his best agents interspersed with the crowds in hopes of preventing catastrophe. Awaiting confirmation that the monarch is safe, he continued to scan the crowd. Some officers sweep in and immediately arrest the February 20 Movement protesters before they can escape or before any pro-government provocateurs can rush in and beat them up with TV cameras rolling. These will be hustled to awaiting police vans and taken to headquarters and questioned, though he knows that in the end they will probably be eventually released.
Simultaneously, Hasan and Fettah were winding their way towards the Rcif parking area. Freedom and escape lay only a few more steps to the waiting taxi. So far the plan appeared to have gone perfectly. Police though have now discovered the parked taxi belonging to Hasan. Their orders are to visually identify the driver and any passengers and relay this information to Chief Inspector Afellay. Radios crackled when the burly Hasan appeared, unlocking the car. Both he and a tall, bearded man dressed in a white djellaba climb into the taxi before starting off in the direction of the Bab J'did gate.
Meanwhile, on a narrow street overlooking Bab Rcif Square a fashionably dressed man with a pencil mustache watches the unfolding drama as Hasan and Bou Chantouf suddenly appear and climbed into the parked red taxi. Watching intently as obvious police detectives climb into a car and start to follow the taxi, he reaches into a pocket and retrieves his mobile phone, quickly punching in a series of numbers as he turns and walks up the hill towards the Bab Ftouh.
Suddenly there is a tremendous explosion catapulting the petit taxi's engine high into the air while turning the interior into a blazing inferno. Several nearby pedestrians lay nearby, their bodies shattered by the blast. Inside what continued to exist of the small Fiat, little remains of the driver or his passenger.
A thin smile crease the face of the man as he wipes dirt off of his expensive Italian loafers and makes another call to order a car to meet him at the Bab Ftouh taxi area. In the distance sirens blare like so many buzzing hornets.
Chapter 25 - Sunday - 10:10 am
"Believe what you see and lay aside what you hear." Moroccan proverb
Chief Inspector Ayrad Afellay, sat drinking coffee and lighting up his fifth cigarette of the morning. He was at his usua
l table outside the Cafe Mekouar, his favorite across from the Continental Tourist Hotel. From here he can observe the people, what he thinks as his people, busily going about their separate lives. Hopefully, his own life will now return to a slower, more normal pace, one that an aging 65 year old could manage to hold onto for the next two years until his planned retirement. As he sits nursing his coffee and cigarette, he lets his mind review the past 96 hours.
The King's life had been saved. Not through some heroic effort by either Afellay, or any other member of the protective forces. Not by good detective work, though there was indeed that. No, the King's life had been saved by fate, the hand of Allah, the all merciful. It was saved by the movement of a young American boys cardboard flag, which had intervened with the poison dart, meant to bring death, chaos and revolution to the monarchy and the country.
The two suspected terrorists had mysteriously blown up in their escape vehicle; supposedly victims of yet another terrorist plot gone wrong. Though several loose ends bothered Afellay, his superiors were content to wrap this all up neatly for king and country. Too neatly for Afellay; he did not like coincidence. A frown came across his grizzled face as he lit yet another cigarette and blew smoke into the late September air.
Fall was coming, bringing with it cooler temperatures and cleansing rains. Would that be enough to wipe clean the threat to the government and the country? Not just from misguided Islamist zealots bent on forcing their narrow interpretation of Islam on Morocco and the world at large, but well intentioned pro-democracy elements agitating to push the country to full democracy much too quickly.
A third possibility increasingly bothered Afellay. What if there was a clandestine force working within the government, inside the national security system and backed by a powerful group close to the King who would do anything to keep themselves in power, playing both sides against the other?
True, the February 20 movement had gained a moment on the TV screens, and their message calling for increased democracy had gained a more extensive audience. "In time, in time" thinks Afellay. There is danger in both extremes and it was his duty to stand in the forefront against them.
In'shallah! Only Allah knew what was written, for the country, for any man. The Kingdom of Morocco faced an uncertain future, blown as it were by forces far from its control. From the East came the winds of change, sweeping one totalitarian government after the other from power and shaking the status quo from the distant Hindu Kush of Pakistan to the High Atlas Mountains of Morocco. He knew that rocking the boat was not popular, but that needed reforms, especially in the areas of corruption and favoritism must be made quickly.
It remained to be seen whether the "gentle revolution" could indeed bring needed changes to his beloved country. He suffered no illusions as to what lay ahead of him in enforcing the dictates of the powerful elite surrounding the government. He was after all a soldier, and he would do what was demanded of him, utilizing his skills as best he could to protect the stability of Morocco. For now it was enough to sit in the warming sun, enjoy the pleasures of being alive and plan for his peaceful retirement.
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Glossary of Terms
Moroccan Arabic (Darija)
Moroccan Arabic is a dialect, and as such, it differs in both spelling and pronunciation from Classical Arabic. It, along with French and to a lesser extent Berber are the most commonly spoken languages of Morocco.
Adhan-call to prayer
As-salam alaykum-Hello! Peace Be unto you.
Al-hamdu-lillah-thanks Be to God!
Allah Akbar-God is great!
Bab-gate. There are 8 main gates into Fez el-Bali, the medina.
Balak-Look out!
Baraka-allahu feek-may God Bless you!
Be'ya-allegiance ceremony to the king
Bislema-good bye
B'stilla-sweetened pastry containing pigeon or chicken and spices
Chebakia-flower shaped fried pastry sweetened with honey
Dar-small guest house without a garden
Derb-narrow street or alleyway
Djellaba-long robe with hood favored by Moroccan men
Djinns-genies, spirits in mythology
Hadra-trance-like state in Sufism.
Hammam-public baths
Hanoot-convenience store
Haram-forbidden by religious law
In'shallah-God willing
Khirwa-castor bean
Khobz-flat Moroccan bread
La bes-How are you? I'm fine!
Lla-No!
Maghrib-evening prayer, the 4th prayer of the day
Makhzen-social and political elite
Mashi moshkil-no problem!
Mellah-literally "salt", area of Fez el-Jd'id formerly inhabited by Jews
Merdersa-religious school
Mezyan-good
Moussem-religious festival
N'aam-yes
Nus-nus-coffee with milk
Oued-river
Ras el-hanoot-shop keepers spice mixture
Rawashin-bay windows allowing unseen women to view the streets below
Riad-guest house with a garden
Salama malakum-hello, peace by unto you.
Sbah l-khir-Good morning!
Seer f'halek-go away!
Shokran, shokran bzzaf-thank you, thank you very much
Tala'a-street
Tarikas-Sufi brotherhoods
Tayfar-silver cone-shaped containers for spiritual gifts
Wa alykum e-salam-response to greeting, hello.
Author’s Note
Dear Reader,
Thank you for purchasing this Ebook. It is my hope to not only provide a bit of reading enjoyment, but also help share my love for the people of Morocco and especially the wonderful and magical city of Fez. At least two more novellas centering on the life and challenges of Chief Inspector Aryad Afellay and the inhabitants of the medina will be coming soon.
Thank you,
C.R. Black
2012
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