Through my problems with the electricity in my apartment (a story in itself), I was lucky enough to make the accquaintance of my neighbor, Fatna. She lives in #3, just down the hall from me. (only 3 apartments per floor, BTW) A typical 50-something Moroccan woman, she’s quickly assumed the role of surrogate mom – since her windows face the street, I often hear her calling “Saïda, where are you going?“
As we’ve become closer friends, she’s shared some of her history with me. Since she speaks no English, most of it is delivered in rapid-fire Arabic, and I generally get the gist of the conversation, but sometimes I don’t. For example, I asked her, “When did your husband go away?” She said, “Go where?” Not knowing how to say “heaven,” I said, “Um, Allah?” She laughed, and said he was alive, thank you very much. It turns out that he has a second wife in another neighborhood, and a bachelor pad villa on the outskirts of Rabat, so he’s not “home” that often.
Needless to say, when she told me that his job was “personal golf trainer for Hassan II, the king,” I thought, surely I’m misunderstanding her. I wasn’t. She showed me several pictures of her husband on the golf course with Hassan II, and you should have seen the ridiculous golf outfits that the king wore. Plaid pants that were flared at the ankle, with a snappy white polo shirt, and white driving cap. I asked Fatna what her husband was up to these days, and she breezily said, “Oh, he trains the King’s sister, Lalla Meryem. He also travels all over the country for golf tournaments.”
I finally met Mr. Famous Trainer the other day. Fatna rang my bell, calling “Saïda, are you there?” I came out, and was greeted by a really short guy (to me, anyway), who warmly said hello while Fatna stood by smiling. Based on the pictures, Hassan II must have been around 5’7″! He was there for a few minutes, then got into his huge Mercedes SUV and zoomed off.
You never know what’s going to happen or who you’ll meet in this country.