وقع أقدام متقطع يحملوني إلى رحيلك.
و أعيش تحت خيالك في كل زوايا الشمس
Le tracé haché me conduit toujours à ton départ,
Et j'habite ta silhouette aux angles solaires.
–Mohamed Loakira
The sound of the ship's horn and the commotion of passengers rushing to get on board awakened Sadia from her sleep. She carried the exhaustion of twenty hours of travel on her back. Usually, the trip from Skoura to Tangier takes around ten hours, but the bus had made stops in Ouarzazate, Marrakesh, Settat, Berrechid, Mohammedia, Temara, and Rabat.
As she boarded the vessel, she found a place to sit, and as soon as she got comfortable, she fell asleep again. In her dreams, she revisited her childhood. Abbad, her father, had taken her to Agadir to see the ocean for the first time. They strolled hand in hand through the mountains, along the city walls, and through the alleys of the kasbah and visited the village cemetery, where he pointed out the graves of their ancestors. She also dreamed of Samira, her mother, preparing something in the kitchen, waking her up and urging her to hurry because it was time to go to school. They were also praying together in the mosque. In her dream, she was in class, immersed in an arithmetic problem, while Khadija, her teacher, watched her from her desk and smiled. Additionally, she dreamed of her brother, Saïd, who lived in Marseille.
Several years earlier, Abbad and Samira had both passed away, one after the other. On the day she tearfully said goodbye to Saïd at the bus stop, realizing that there was nothing left for her in Skoura, she told herself that soon, she too would leave. At the age of eighteen, despite Aunt Dounia's pleas, she packed her belongings, got on the bus, and departed.
Upon leaving the bus station in Tangier, she walked for nearly an hour, dragging her luggage. She passed along Avenue Ibn Ardoune, Avenue Ibn Batouta, Avenue Ibn Khaldoun, and Avenue d’Anglaterre, all of which were deserted at that early morning hour.
When she reached the harbor, the place was deserted, shrouded in the fog and melancholy typical of ports at dawn—possibly because they hold the memories of farewells. She stepped into the station, which was likewise empty, settled onto a bench, and dozed off. It was only the blaring siren and the commotion of people that stirred her from her slumber.
*
The sound of the ship’s horn signaling its docking on the other side of the strait awakened her once again. After disembarking and leaving the port, she walked through the Plaza del Puerto and down Avenida Virgen del Carmen. When she arrived at María Cristina Park, she collapsed onto a bench, completely exhausted. With no friends, family, or acquaintances on this side of the Mare Nostrum, she felt disoriented and unsure of what to do next.
*
I had spent the entire afternoon wandering aimlessly around the streets of Madrid, feeling rather lonely. By 4:30 pm, hunger was starting to set in. As I anticipated, I couldn’t locate an open restaurant. In Spain, restaurants typically close at 4:00 pm to prepare for the dinner service and reopen at 8:00 pm.
I was so hungry that I felt I couldn’t wait much longer to eat. A few blocks down the street I spotted a sign that read “Cafetería Ansari”. I figured they would be open, and I should at least be able to grab a sandwich. I was correct. The place was dimly lit, and, except for me, empty. When the woman working at the cafeteria brought me my sandwich, I devoured it eagerly. My intense hunger made it taste like the most delicious sandwich I had ever eaten.
I was sitting at the counter when she joined me, perhaps to break the monotony and ease her loneliness. As I ate, she began to share her story. She recounted how, at just eighteen, she left her hometown in Morocco and, all by herself, crossed the Strait of Gibraltar, seeking a better life in Spain.
She described some of the difficulties she faced, including racism and encounters with people who attempted to exploit her by trying to lure her into prostitution and drug trafficking. However, she had managed to escape those dangers. She put in long hours as a babysitter, cook, and cleaner at a hotel, all for a laughably low wage. At times, the situation became unbearable, and she often considered going back to her homeland. Nevertheless, she persevered, and over time, her circumstances improved. Now she was married, with a three-year-old daughter. Her husband worked in construction, while she ran the cafetería. They were saving money to buy a home.
After I finished my meal, Sadia's voice continued to resonate on the walls of Cafetería Ansari, where I remained the sole customer. Beneath her optimism, I could detect a trace of sadness. In her light brown eyes, as clear as sand, there was a longing for the desert, the dunes, the mountains, the medina, the oasis, and the garden of Allah.
Once I settled the bill for my meal, I expressed my gratitude to her for sharing her experiences and life story with me. Her company and our conversation were far more satisfying than the sandwich itself. As a solo traveler, I’m always eager to chat with strangers. It was her words that gave me motivation to continue my journey.
Upon leaving the cafetería, I paused for a moment at the corner of Abrantes and Besolla, uncertain about which way to go, much like Sadia on the day she arrived in Algeciras. I decided to take the subway at Pan Bendito and head back to the hotel.
While riding the train, I reflected on all she had told me. I realized I didn’t ask her why she chose to go to Madrid instead of Marseille, where Saïd was living. I also considered the idea that someday I would write the story of Sadia.
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© Translated from the Spanish by William Almonte Jiménez, 2026.
© Spanish title: “Estrecho de Gibraltar”
© William Almonte Jiménez, 2014.
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