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Cultural Migration in Autobiography Grundtvig Partnerships 2009-2011

This project has been funded with support from the European Commission. This publication reflects the views only of the author, and the Commission cannot be held responsible for any use which may be made of the information contained therein.

e-mail: kszia@komesnet.com.pl http://cma.internetdsl.pl

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Bismillah Rahmani Rahive Bouchra Ait Azou

So begin tales in my country and in Arabic it means “ In the name of The All-Compassionate”

It’s Nov 15, at home, here in Faenza, but it’d be Kida 27th 1430 of the Muslim Calendar, which begins with the journey of Mohammed, Allah’s Prophet, to Medina, where he first announced his message. “Home sweet Home”

My home is immersed in a popular area of Rabat, the capital city of Morocco. It’s on three floors, with a flat roof, as nice as a garden, full of plants, lovingly looked after by Mum. A bed room on the second floor, with three beds, not real beds actually, I mean not similar to the ones I have now. They’re couches, colourful Arabic couches, all-coloured and fanciful as Mum’s garden. My bed is below the window…it’s 6 in the morning and a voice from the outside breaks the silence of the lane where I live. A tired voice, an old person’s voice: ”Waanaa!…..Fresh Mint!…”. Amina, my older sister gets annoyed, starts snorting…he’s always here…It’s a man who sells fresh mint, with his donkey, poor old donkey, the eyes half-closed, so tired…And here’s Mum,.

Mum…I can still hear her going down the stairs, softly as if caressing the steps. This is typical of Mum; of course it is: she was born in a town, Fes, the realm of refinement and etiquette. She was like this, she was always like this: the way she spoke, the way she cooked, the way she asked for something…she always had a calm smile on her tiny lips…her hand-embroidered dress and the matching scarf…I’m writing about her now as I were looking at her, at her hands, with nice henna decorations and her silver bangles…

She goes down for some fresh mint, early in the morning, caressing the step of our three-storey house. And here it is , the smell of green tea and fresh mint mum has just bought from the mint-man, but non only mint, raw milk too to prepare white coffee for me …you know, even now, I can hear mum’s voice, I always will…

Bouchra Ait Azou was born in Rabat, Morocco, in 1967: She lives in Faenza, is married and has got three sons.