On a Bike and a Prayer

day 3. brothers in arms.

By the time we woke to search for breakfast the day was white and fierce.   The small oasis of parasols and cool shady tables was a welcome sight.  After some bread and an omelette we were joined by three young men from a near by table.

All morning we debated the Gulf War and the Middle East, adjourning to our hotel when they became too nervous to continue the conversation in the cafe.   Their attitudes towards the west were divided.   The young Berber named Mohamed accepted the West's wish to control oil supplies from the east and conceded the need for the Gulf War with a shrug of his shoulders.   `Setting the price of oil is very important... it is oil that controls economies, no oil...no money'.   He admitted that it seemed George Bush was buying a war to sell his weapons around the world and to show the world the power of the USA.   `Kuwait provided a good excuse for this.   `But their Imperialism dates back to Vietnam, Panama and Cuba, its just a continuation - the States is against everyone.   But I make a distinction between the people of the USA and the government', he continued.   `It is only the government that wanted another war - not the people.

I put it to them that perhaps it was more of a fight for freedom against dictatorships such as those in Iraq.   With darkening eyes, and a deep frown the Arab Mustaffa dismissed this with... `Its not a dictator in Iraq, Kuwait was part of Iraq years ago.   George Bush is a tyrant who would like to dominate the world ... its a problem for Arabic countries and not for the west at all.'

Mohamed retorted `there is a dictator in Iraq - there have been massacres over socialism and the Kurds, the people of Iraq have different wishes from the government.   But Imperialism of the states is still wrong the problem should have been solved by Arab states.   If Bush really wants peace, he must first solve the Palestinian problem before dealing with Iraq.

Mustaffa finished the debate on a gloomy note, `the problem has not been solved and Kuwait will one day be part of Iraq again'.

We had talked and debated for almost an hour in the safety of the pension room before the owner became nervous and told them to leave.

Our afternoon stroll around the back streets bought us face to face with the village bureaucrats who told me to stop photographing the street signs and ushered us back to the main streets.   I was glad they hadn't been around when I'd recorded the Kuwait debate earlier.

Nabil Hassan was a mature eleven year old school boy from just north of Midelt.   He had studied English for only one year, but could already speak it as well as Stephane.   His French `of course' was better.   His Tycondo club was in the building next to the cake shop we sat in, overeating for tomorrows ride.    The family house was small for the six of them - but spotless and glowing with pride.   A large oak dresser dominated the end of the long room and cushioned benches lined the walls.

His brother, twenty-five worked as a waiter in a local restaurant, and entertained us with magic tricks, using glasses and coins.   Nabil showed off his collection of western music and his book of lyrics to Bob Marley and Kenny Login songs which he'd painstakingly transcribed to help with his pronunciation.   We took Nabil out to eat with us that night.   As we sipped mint tea and munched at coconut cake and yogurt we savoured the moment of certainty - knowing where we were going to sleep and that there was food and water at hand.   Time was running out for such luxuries, and the mountains were beckoning.

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