My aunt’s home in Morocco, open windows where sparrows flew in during the day to hop actoss the kitchen floor, pecking up bread crumbs to fly off with, and a cool breeze blew in during the night.

Down past the stairs with the timed lights that go off if you don’t race to the next switch, the building opens up to a cobblestone street, street vendors (one with a donkey!), a motorcyclist next door who tends to a sleepy, sweet kitten who sleeps under his motorcycle. He sets something out for it every day and strokes it under its tiny chin with a finger.

A short walk in the opposite direction is the bathhouse, we go with buckets filled with the needed amenities (shampoo, brushes, Moroccan soap, rough-textured bath mittens, towels and a change of clothes). On the way to the baths, I comment that the clouds look heavy with rain, my aunt laughs, but we’re rushing back home as it falls gently down afterwards.

(It’s beautiful and soft and comforting after waking up in tears.)

There’s a dentist and a salon, a boulangerie we get fresh bread from every day (the sweet pastries seem to draw in bees), but it’s a very long walk to the supermarket!

On the way, there are brightly coloured plastic chairs and other simple wares being sold along the road. Coin-operated kiddy rides, sun-bleached and aged, but functioning (at least some of them!).

Tamaris! The sea is a deep blue expanse that mirrors the sky, the line of the horizon is softened, nearly erased, but marked by a few jutting, grey rocks in the distance. A single gull lands in the center and seems to join the sea and sky.

Assuming all foreigners speak French, a man calls out to me, saying something about the sea, “La mer, la mer!”

A street vendor sold toys; a apinning, light-up toy that whirled into the night sky and softly returned, was lovely to watch, but what we bought were two little battery-powered, plastic lamps, because it’s more convenient, when you have to share sleeping space with several of your aunts and little cousins.

But beaches are cold and windy, so my brother wrapped up in my pink scarf on the way back, while I kept the pink wrap I used as an underscarf and a hoodie to cover my hair.

Inside a beach-side cafe, we drank fruit juice to the distant sound of a sports match on TV, I forget what we ate, but we warmed up enough that the freezer full of ice cream (advertised with faded, old posters) now looked appealing.