We’d never seen the emir get so carried away. He realized this, and went on in a more subdued tone, but the light still gleamed in his eyes: “We must join forces and ask for God’s help. They are already trembling at the sight of our beards — let us flaunt them! Let them hide away in their gilded cages with their vile offspring, their depraved wives and corrupt morals. They can slob about on their silk sofas with their fat pig bellies all they like, getting drunk on the sweat from our brows; the streets will be ours in the end. And they’ll have to be accountable one way or another, down here or in heaven! We will not forgive them.” Then together we recited a graphic verse detailing the horror that awaited unbelievers in hell.
After the satanic paradise of Anfa, we drove through the chaos of the city. My only memories are of frazzled people in a hurry, endlessly blaring their horns. Drivers argued and shook their fists. Those on foot crossed wherever they could, however they could, and were quick to complain, too, when no one gave way. Police officers blew their whistles left, right, and center and the motorists couldn’t care less. The emir was calmer now and drove carefully. I noticed that city people weren’t that different from us. Then we took the road to Fez, which went via Rabat. I must have been pretty tired because I slept almost all the way. When I woke up, I found Nabil’s head resting on my shoulder. He was snoring lightly. I didn’t move, so as not to disturb him. He hadn’t slept a wink all night either. After Fez, we turned onto a small road that led to Imouzzer, a strange town where the houses had slanting roofs. The emir explained to us that winter was harsh in this region and these roofs allowed the snow to slide off. I thought that if there was a hole, it couldn’t be plugged with branches or a plastic bag, because of the angle. We made our way to a thick forest, along bumpy tracks, and stopped in the middle of nowhere. We walked for a few hundred meters and suddenly came upon a lake. An impressive stretch of water, like a small sea imprisoned by possessive mountains. The emir said: “This is Dayt Aoua. The most beautiful place in the country.” I thought to myself that besides his religious qualities, the emir was a poet, too. He had us take several tents out of the minibus and showed us how to put them up, using stakes. It was hilarious; we were helpless with laughter when our first attempts proved far from adequate. Eventually the emir gave us a hand and we organized a proper camp. Since we had to sleep two to a tent, Nabil and I naturally chose to share. Blackie objected because he didn’t want to share with Fuad, claiming he snored, but he had no choice, since Hamid and Khalil had already paired up. We spread out our blankets. The shadows were so soft inside the tent I didn’t want to leave it. Blackie was keen to light the fire. Even without coal, he managed it in no time at all. Most of us set about cooking the meal, as we were so hungry. And so began our holiday by the lake at Dayt Aoua.
The time we spent in the mountains will always be one of the happiest memories of my short life. I’d never seen so many trees in just one place; they were tall and majestic, their green branches caressed the scattered clouds. The emir knew all their names. He pointed out the umbrella pines; the eucalyptus, its bark streaked with sweet-smelling resin, whose roots could go very deep in search of water; and so many other kinds that lived serenely by the lake. We’d wake early in the morning. After prayers, which went on a long time, we’d make coffee and drink it together round the fire. We’d climb to the top of the mountain and do our exercises. That lasted several hours: warm-ups, kata, and combat. Then prayers and more prayers. Our exhausted bodies were at one with the sky, the earth, and the sparrows that dropped in to keep us company. We were so close to God and we could tell by their chirping that the birds felt it too. The more verses we recited, the louder they’d sing. And it all formed a kind of offering we’d humbly place at the feet of our Lord. As the emir finished his speech and, one after the other, we all took turns to insult Satan and his cronies, he’d ask us to follow him on interminable runs. We’d be out of breath but none of us could match his pace; we’d crawl back to camp. Khalil ran off toward the water and plunged in like a fish. The others all followed him in, yelling wildly, and I was envious because I couldn’t swim. I’d just paddle and wet my face. Emir Zaid would see me on my own and come to sit down beside me on the bank and I’d listen rapturously to his accounts of the brave deeds of the Prophet and his companions.
On the third day, some friends of the emir joined us. We didn’t know them, but they seemed to know us. They stayed with us all day and part of the evening and then left, returning at dawn the next morning. They trained, ran, ate, and prayed with us. We went for walks in the forest and friendships were formed. Initially, Jaber, a very tall man with a square face and gimlet black eyes, didn’t seem at all trustworthy. And yet he was friendly and seemed almost apologetic about his massive build. He became my friend. Saad, his cousin, had a distinctive beard down to his belly button. He got on well with Nabil. The other two, whose names I’ve forgotten, teamed up with Khalil, Blackie, Fuad, and my brother Hamid. In a few sessions, Jaber taught us to handle a knife like the warriors in the days of the Jihad; he showed us the different positions to adopt in case of attack. And also how to anticipate a potential assault. The way to stick the blade in and which way to turn it; a twist of the wrist at a precise moment determined the degree of punishment inflicted on the infidel. We were exhilarated, and fully alert, because this was a matter of life and death. First we trained using reeds as knives, but by the end of the week we were fighting with real daggers. It was so exciting. We got a few scratches, but nothing serious. We were such good pupils that we were each given a knife of our own with a blade that flicked out from our sleeves if we pressed a button. It was a real gem; the knife I’d always dreamed of.
Night was quick to fall on Dayt Aoua. When the cicadas awoke, a black veil studded with jewels covered the mountains, the lake, the trees, and the birds’ eyes. We’d gather round a campfire and sing praises to God. We’d pray and listen to the emir hold forth on the glorious epics of the past, on the battles we’d wage in order to raise the flag of Islam, which was constantly trampled underfoot all over the world, on the struggles the Lord demanded of us so that we might recover our dignity and restore our crumbling empire’s prestige. And at the end lay paradise. As we went back to our tents to sleep, I saw, high up in the sky, split by a thin shaft of moonlight, an angel who was smiling at me.