...In fact, I was born in Melilla, some decades ago.
Melilla, yes, here is where I was born.
Melilla, vestige, or to be more exact: residue of the deserts of the Empire.
There are many stories from the city, an autonomous city in Morocco, but styll belonging to Spain.
The Moroccans hate this, and we are surrounded by Moroccans, in this city
But what can I do? I was born here, in Morocco, but I'm not a Moroccan.
I'm African, but I know La Marcha Real by heart.
I don't speak Moroccan... Arab, whatever it is, I just don't understand it.
My mind is too limited.
Notwithstanding I know many words of their language, we know some of their words, which is not strange, we are in Morocco, after all, surrounded by Moroccans.
On Saturdays, they come to this city, merchants.
They walk by our streets, they sell fruits
I suppose these are their streets, too.
Moroccan fruits, and they speak in French to us, they must think we'll understand better
"Dattes monsieur? Fruits secs? Figue, raisins?"
It's strange to have been raised here.
Many times I felt that these sidewalks descended, when I walked by their orangeade filigrees
that descended, yes, descended... descended toward... toward unknown realms.
Oriental realms, suffocated in tangerine perfumes.
They also sell rubber pantoufles and fake Adidas sneakers.
But it's strange to belong here, here, where the afternoons are orange.
From my street I can see the minaret of the mosque
...oh, Tarifit is their language, that is.
The city receives Moroccans every day, they cross the border to work, shop, or trade goods, but they come on Saturdays, especially.
It's curious that the last statue of Franco in existence, is in Africa
yes, here.
There's a statue of Franco, here, in Melilla, a reminder about the Rif War.
Ah, there are usually many Algerians roaming by the city, too, since we're close to the border.
We used to listen to Algerian AM radio stations in our Hitachi, when I was a kid
the music was pretty hypnotic.
We lived in almost every zone of the town: Barrio de la Victoria, Barrio de los Héroes de España, Barrio del Príncipe de Asturias, Barrio del Duque de Medina-Sidonia... the tall minaret of their mosque it's seen from any zone of Melilla...
...the Moors are liars
they say that the foreskin of Mohammed is in a golden box in the minaret
Morocco states that the Spanish presence here is a remnant of the colonial past which should be ended
we don't understand, we were born here... how someone could deny us the right to be where we were born?
Imagine someone expulsing you from the street that your eyes have seen all of your life, the street that your childhood saw.
The eyes of your childhood.
It's strange here
to be here
to have born here.
We have a chapel, "Capilla de Santiago", it's Gothic, some Moors spit on the walls when they pass by.
Some corners of the town are ruinous, its lanes are tortuous, this is Orient, or it should be, entrance to the Eastern World.
Yes, the town is very multicultural (it could be otherwise?). We are living in a city where 45% of the population are Muslim.
After the Duke of Medina-Sidonia conquered the city in the 15th century, it had to be walled, because the Berber tribes sieged it; today there is a border fence, the Melilla border fence.
It's strange here
to be here
to have born here.
We have a chapel, "Capilla de Santiago", it's Gothic, some Moors spit on the walls when they pass by.
Some corners of the town are ruinous, its lanes are tortuous, this is Orient, or it should be, entrance to the Eastern World.
Yes, the town is very multicultural (it could be otherwise?). We are living in a city where 45% of the population are Muslim.
After the Duke of Medina-Sidonia conquered the city in the 15th century, it had to be walled, because the Berber tribes sieged it; today there is a border fence, the Melilla border fence.
A six-metre-tall double fence with watch towers, which is nothing but a separation barrier between Morocco and the city, built to stop illegal immigration and smuggling.
They say.
The fence was completed in 2005 (under PSOE government), it costed Spain €33 million.
The zone was completely sealed, we are living in a sealed town, sealed like those tuna sandwiches that the Americans buy at the gas stations.
There are many stories from the city, an autonomous city in Morocco, where magical Andalusian dogs roam like whitened plaster angels.
when I was 11, a strange Amazigh old man stayed looking at me from a distance.
I was riding my bicycle the street, the wheels failed or stumbled; I fell on the sidewalk, my knees were bleeding, and I blushed with puerile embarrassment and rage for the incident.
The man wore a blue fez, azul Francia.
The fez was chromatically confounded with the sky by my eyes, his long beard was whiter than this dry paper where I write down these lines, and his stare was turbid: his eyes were fixed on me fallen and bleeding.
A luciferine smile flourished in his tanned face full of deep wrinkles that looked like scares.
Because his brown feet were covered with the mystic dust of off the One Thousand and One Nights.
When I looked at him again he wasn't there.
And why the afternoons are orange here?
They say.
The fence was completed in 2005 (under PSOE government), it costed Spain €33 million.
The zone was completely sealed, we are living in a sealed town, sealed like those tuna sandwiches that the Americans buy at the gas stations.
There are many stories from the city, an autonomous city in Morocco, where magical Andalusian dogs roam like whitened plaster angels.
when I was 11, a strange Amazigh old man stayed looking at me from a distance.
I was riding my bicycle the street, the wheels failed or stumbled; I fell on the sidewalk, my knees were bleeding, and I blushed with puerile embarrassment and rage for the incident.
The man wore a blue fez, azul Francia.
The fez was chromatically confounded with the sky by my eyes, his long beard was whiter than this dry paper where I write down these lines, and his stare was turbid: his eyes were fixed on me fallen and bleeding.
A luciferine smile flourished in his tanned face full of deep wrinkles that looked like scares.
Because his brown feet were covered with the mystic dust of off the One Thousand and One Nights.
When I looked at him again he wasn't there.
And why the afternoons are orange here?
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