Day 53

We’ve checked through our bags and relocated the scattered items. The wrought iron gate that leads from the second bedroom into the terrace has been left as we found it; with the lower bars pushed to allow a small frame to enter and exit.

Dawn stirs over the blue city, colour returns to the horizon and the stars retreat. The shades of sapphire and azure grow stronger on the many washed walls that climb up the rock, dogs bark and birds raise their chorus. As a light sleeper, for the past two nights, I‘ve been observing the dawn prayer, Fajr. Call to prayer happens five times a day here, determined by the positions of the sun in the sky, and every Muslim is obligated to join.

Attached to the top of the mosques are loudspeakers, large cone-shaped megaphones, one mounted on each corner of the mosque’s minaret tower. At five thirty this morning they crackled into life and then the powerful, guttural and beautiful cries of the call to prayer recital were electronically amplified throughout the city streets. In my half sleep, I observed the powerful recital along with its backtrack of a dozen barking dogs. Yet, the city felt different, there was more movement.

Today, the prayers from different mosques across Chefchaouen blended together in an enlightening spell of sound. A wind seemed to move through the rooms of our apartment, doors creaked and unusual sounds unsettled me. Slowly, I pushed the covers off, sat up, and got out of bed. I lingered by the door, touched its carved wooden patterns, and listened. Wham! The metallic clunk of the wrought iron gates cut through the apartment.

Crouching, I edged into the living room. I was rigid but drew breath into my lungs and scanned the darkness. I could not see anyone, however, our things had been moved. Wiggy’s camera bag was no longer on the table and my water bladder was on the floor. Into the bedroom, I nudged Wiggy and asked if he’d moved his camera, he was still asleep. Back in the living room, I found it relocated to the sofas. All the zips and buckles were open and a few other things had been moved too. But, the camera was still in its case, my Insta360 and bike keys were still in my backpack, and it seemed that none of our items had been taken.

Wiggy believes we’d been profiled from when we parked our bikes and Marlies believes it was junkies, only looking for money as our cameras and tech are harder to convert into drugs. Marlies described the street kids as savage street dogs. They have a need to survive and a need for a fix. 

There is a tightrope line, our privacy has been crossed, but our safety was not compromised. The druggies and the kids do not want complications from the authorities, they only want money for their next fix. So, thieves in the Fajr use prayer to mask the sounds of their sin, and into this apartment, they silently creep in.