to be moroccan is to be an african

morocco is the only country or place i've ever been where people refer to me as an as african and treat me as if that is a thing of honor...

they dont laugh, diminish me or try to convince me that i'm a american and therefore not african enuf...

they meet me where i am, no one's colorstruck or calling me colored, white or anything other than african

if i speak spanish, english or a bit of french, they reach across the divide and try to connect...

they single me out in groups of european & american travellers, take my hand, call me sister and invite me home for couscous...

from arabs to berber, nomads of all colors there's a kind of deep acceptance that is a reflection of how deeply connected i feel to this place

the people of morocco have no idea what they have given me...

i have always felt like a nomad without a home moving in between the cracks of social class, color castes systems, african americaness, gullah, afro cuban, bahamian moving through these worlds but never completed accepted in any 

as i look around morocco and see africans in olive, brown, beige, caramel, chocolate, honey, coffee & cream all calling themselves african and fiercely proud of it, i feel beautiful because i am seen, accepted, taken at my full worth...as an african who knows what she's made of and her worth...

it is an amazing gift...

home...

i'm an african
i'm a nomad with a home 
amongst africans who have 
fully merged into a country of desert, mountains, and people of the earth...

aché y luz

saha, maroc, saha

i will miss u immensely...
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