The candlelight dances in vain
ضوء الشموع يرقص عبثا
The great Kasbah dining hall has emptied.
Like a scene from an old Dutch painting, only one little corner of this great hall is still alight with the warm vibrancy of candlelight — dancing dramatically over the ornately carved wooden table that stands at the ready.
Above the table, the candlelight catches the black rocks protruding from the amber-yellow tadelakt wall, casting long upward shadows, like long bony fingers stroking the massive tree-size wooden support beams of the cavernous hall.
On the table the flickering candles cast their fickle light across the steaming clay bowls of vegetables, kofte and chicken, trays with dates and olives, the oily texture of sheep butter and the sandy texture of bread. The glass water decanter glistens.
Two women enter. They are wearing brown jellabas — which in some areas of these mountains are reserved only for bachelors. They escape the dark blue shadows of the empty hall by sitting down onto the red and golden embroidered divan by their candlelit table.
The candles flicker softly by their movement.
Seemingly oblivious to the feast laid out in front of them, the women take out their phones—the brightness obviously turned to its maximum — and proceed to sit in complete silence, staring into the glow inside their palms.
The candlelight dances in vain, across all that stands before them, awaiting their attention.
Yet, they simply sit there, squinting their eyes like perplexed animals caught in the headlights of some oncoming vehicle — clearly in pain from the excessive steely light now stabbing directly at their tiny little retinas.
Grimacing in discomfort, they seem unaware that they are themselves in full control of the brightness of the devices into which they painfully gawk. Bringing their phones closer and closer to their faces, the simultaneously retract their chins further and further into their spines.
Suddenly they air-fist.
They’ve got a signal! Not an easy feat in a Kasbah worthy of the Scheherazade — perched high above the world, on a cliff of the mighty Atlas, which tonight is swallowed whole by dark deep-rumbling storm clouds…