The hotel we stayed at in Tangier was owned by a French woman. She had an eclectic collection of art and cooked a mean breakfast. While giving a tour of the beautiful rooftop that lets us see all the way to the coast of Spain, we heard some loud music and laughter from across the street. We could see a bunch of half naked men dancing and chatting loudly in a courtyard, and the song they played ended up being on repeat that entire afternoon and made it quite difficult to nap. The hotel owner shook her head disapprovingly and told me how she’s working to try and get the migrant workers from other African countries to move away from this area due to their rude habits.
The next morning I went up to the roof by myself to do some early reading. The streets were quiet then, and when I glanced over I saw one of the migrant workers on the rooftop across the street, all dressed up and grooming himself with a shard from a mirror. And in that moment I forgave them for the loud music and ruckus. I wondered about their story, why they would leave home to live in a foreign country where they were perhaps not welcome by many. I wonder what it’s like to live in a crowded house and not owning an unbroken mirror. I wonder if they had been celebrating something special, or simply dancing their worries away as they listened to a song from home.
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