By Grayson Real
Written in July of 2019 from Fes
“Allahu Akbar.” It adorned a dusty, maroon door opening the depths of a dar to the blue, infinite sky above. It lined the cracked white wall in shaky pink lines. It blessed traditional wooden doors and kissed the lips of many – either by a murmur in a mosque, a hymn in a living room, a muttering of fascination, or a shout of respect, pride, and honor. Here, as Raia and I stood on the terrace above our homestay, the honorable words glistened in gold. It was in Arabic script, and she read it aloud. “God is the greatest.”
For two atheists, it certainly seemed as though He was. Already in love with the exhilaration and introspection that only a view of a city or mountain can provide, I was beyond overwhelmed. I had never seen anything so exquisite. From dar to dar, colored t-shirts sparkled along clothes lines. Satellite dishes created a constellation of matte gray. Women squinted in the sunlight as they went about their daily chores. Children’s tired bodies from a long day of school and play slouched against cement walls; the youngsters either talked or gazed into the distance – very much the same way Raia and I were. Beyond our neighbors’ homes, hundreds more created a maze of tan. Black, green, red, and white dappled throughout. Our tour guide had mentioned the Medina was a bowl; indeed, it was. Taller buildings poked out from the curved sea, crowned with tiled green and tasked with voicing to many the time to pray. A bright pink children’s slide twinkled amongst the whites, grays, and browns of rooftops, providing refuge to animals and people alike. Even further in the same direction lay the mountains, proudly wearing their crown of agricultural tree lines. A singular white tower stood guard. In the other direction, behind the melting pot of homesteads rest another hill and another city – one yet to be explored.
While the setting sun basked the world in a golden halo, the wind tussled with my hair and softly blew a cool through trees and over rooftops. Though cars buzzed through narrow streets, our ears were deaf to them. All we could hear were parrots singing in an invisible choir, leaves dancing to the melodic breeze, and the neighborhood cat yowling in earnest. Nearby children kicked a soccer ball around, and music notes skipped through the stoned roads and open windows. Unlike any other city I had viewed from above, I could watch its heart beat, its energy course, its people live...all without hearing it. It was beautifully ethereal.
A few times my eyes would wander over the sacred script again. “Allahu Akbar.” These words seemed to be the only ones to explain an otherwise inexplicable moment. And for someone rather unreligious but fascinated with religion’s history and influence, I found it quite perfect.
ones to explain an otherwise inexplicable moment. And for someone rather unreligious but fascinated with religion’s history and influence, I found it quite perfect.
Regardless of its acceptance – be it here in Morocco, at home in California, or anywhere else, religion at the very least teaches, unifies (to a certain extent), and provides comfort, order, and community. Learning Arabic for the first time, it’s simple to recognize the religious impact. “Allah” lies within the very words we speak to each other -- either hidden or highlighted: Hello, goodbye, all the while, may God be with you, thank you, reimburse you… Though only a few days, I’d already been introduced to the tightly-woven intersection of religion and culture. A deep spirit wanders throughout the Medina – a child of that intersection and one that lives eternally.
Like a bird flying above, I felt the power below me, around me: that spirit seemed to connect each home, each car, each mosque, each individual, each wandering soul…It was simply wonderful.
“For this, God was indeed great. ”