Only one more week passed before Ameena got a chance to explore another newfound freedom. Once again, it was the work of Yusef and Jamal who gave her that chance.
The boys came home from college, announcing their presence to the Mansoor house.
“Hello family! ” said Jamal.
“One day left until Winter break is here!” said Yusef.
“But it’s not even cold yet,” said Kareem.
“That’s why we’re happy,” said Yusef.
“What will you do with all this free time?” asked Mrs. Mansoor.
“We were thinking of heading to Marrakech,” said Yusef.
“I think that would be a good trip. Plus, you can pick up some things at the Market while you’re there.”
“We also wanted to take Ameena with us,” added Jamal.
“I think that would be a great idea,” said father, “she hasn’t had a chance to travel far from home.”
“Who is going to help me around the house?”
“Kareem and Mohammed will be happy to help,” said father.
“Why shouldn’t I be able to go to Marrakech, too?” asked Kareem.
“We didn’t invite you,” said Jamal.
“Then it is settled. Pack your bags, Ameena, you’re going on a trip.”
Before Mrs. Mansoor could lodge her complaint, Ameena was in her bedroom, arranging her clothes on the floor beside her bed. Mrs. Mansoor’s two boys came in the front door like a desert wind and reeked havoc before she had a chance to react.
“Alright, I guess it would be good for her,” she said with a sigh of exasperation.
Yusef raced upstairs to his sister’s bedroom.
“It’s on,” he said, “We’re leaving first thing after school.”
Ameena spent the rest of the night laying her clothes out on her bed. At bedtime, she slept on the floor, so everything would be ready. Unfortunately, she could not sleep. In the middle of the night, she continued to reorganize her things.
The next day, school dragged by. After the final bell, she trudged home, tired from all the excitement of her first trip. When Yusef arrived at her bedroom door, he was surprised at what he found.
“You haven’t packed a thing!” he said.
Ameena was sprawled across her bed, laying on top of her piles of clothes. She jumped to her feet and got ready. Meanwhile, Yusef fixed breakfast, putting oatmeal, soy milk, and brown sugar in a to-go bowl.
When Ameena came downstairs, Yusef was waiting, like an impatient mother on the first day of school, trying to get Ameena out the door.
“Here’s your oatmeal. Let’s get going.”
Yusef shooed Ameena out the door towards the car. She hopped into the back seat of the little black hatchback, positioning herself in the middle of the back seat. She poked her head between the two front seats, leaning between her two brothers.
Jamal drove east, piloting the car along the narrow stretch of desert road. The road slithered through the sand, like a sand viper, searching for a late afternoon meal.
Everywhere Ameena looked, the dunes of the Sahara rose around her. It was no wonder, since the Sahara was larger than all of Europe.
Once the interior of the car became unbearably hot, Ameena decided to roll down her window.
“Ameena, let’s turn on the aircon instead,” said her brother.
Ameena obeyed him as she felt the hot desert wind whip at her face. She pulled the cowl from her headscarf away from her face, freeing her hair from its ponytail. The air conditioning felt refreshing as the hair on the back of her neck rippled from its icy chill.
“Maybe we should stop for a spot of tea,” said Jamal.
“I think that’s a good idea,” said Yusef, “What about you, little sister?”
Ameena nodded enthusiastically.
“Then tea it is,” said Jamal.
A small café appeared at the side of the road. As Jamal pulled the car into the parking lot, there was only one other car at the café. The café itself was plain. Its simple rectangular shape was no more extraordinary than the citadel at Essaouira, painted the same plain beige color as the sand dunes. It barely stood out among the single color of the empty desert.
Inside, there was only a single oven in the corner of an otherwise empty room. An old gentleman rushed out to meet Ameena and her brothers.
“Come here, come here,” he said.
The old man pulled the top carpet off a pile of rolled carpets. He shuffled across the sand. His footsteps sounded like a softly patted tribal drum. He leaned over and unfurled the small area rug near the corner of the room. He kneeled on the edge of the carpet and brushed dust and lint off the carpet. Ameena kneeled down on one side of the carpet. Yusef and Jamal kneeled beside her.
“What would you like?” asked the old man.
“Some Tuareg Tea,” replied Jamal.
“Tuareg, a fine, fine choice,” replied the man. He lit the stove and placed a tea kettle over the flame. He toddled off to the kitchen, just out of everyone’s sight.
A few minutes later, he returned with a complete tea service. Tea cups and teaspoons, all dressed in silver, sat upon a large silver platter. A tall and elegant teapot stood in the center of the platter.
He took the teapot to the stove and filled it with water. Steam billowed from its spout, which reminded Ameena of an Elephant’s trunk spraying water over its own back.
“Would you like to have the honor of making tea?” asked the old man.
Ameena nodded.
“First, we grab a bundle of leaves and bruise them.”
The old man twisted a bunch of mint leaves in his hand. He handed the bundle to Ameena and she repeated the process before stuffing them into the teapot. Ameena smelled her hands. They were pungent with mint.
“Now we rinse the tea.”
Ameena shook the teapot with a swirling motion before pouring one cup of tea. As Ameena sat the teapot down, the old man flipped up the teapot’s lid and added more boiling water. He then poured the cup of tea back into the teapot.
“Rinse it again.”
Ameena poured the tea back into the teacup and then returned the poured tea into the teapot. She did this tree times.
“This helps mix the tea,” said the old man as he twisted his long gray bear in his fingertips.
Finally, he added several spoonfuls of sugar and some orange blossoms.
“Let us rinse one more time,” he said.
Ameena poured the tea one more time. The tea was dark brown, just like tea should look. Still, she returned the poured tea to the teapot.
“Let’s boil it for a short while,” said the old man.
He took the teapot over to the stove, filled it with more boiling water, and then let it sit on the stove. After a few minutes boiling, the old man returned to the stove and retrieved the steaming teapot.
“Pick up the teapot with both hands. One is for the handle and one is to keep the lid in place.”
Ameena did as told, carefully pouring tea into the first cup.
“Higher,” said the old man.
Ameena slowly lifted the teapot higher.
“Higher,” he said again.
Ameena raised it higher.
“And still higher. We want bubbles and foam.”
Ameena knew what the old man wanted. A good cup of Moroccan Tuareg Tea had foam and bubbles. That would only happen if she drizzled the tea from the spout at some height avoe the cups. After her second attempt with no bubbles, she sat the teapot down.
“Let me show you just once,” said the old man.
He picked up the teapot and began to pour.
“You raise it a half meter over the teacup, very quickly. It is like a gentle rain shower in your cup. Naturally, the tea will bubble and foam.”
Everyone, including Ameena, peered into the teacups as the old man filled them. Sure enough, foamy bubbles formed atop each cup of tea.
“Then, you have to stop,” said the old man, “You quickly drop the heigh of the teapot as you pull back to stop the flow of tea.”
With a quick wrist motion, the old man stopped each pour of tea. To Ameena, it was simply amazing. The old man returned the teapot to Ameena and she continued to practice her technique.
“I almost forgot!” exclaimed the old man.
He vanished into the kitchen, only to come out with a platter of food. Small boiled bananas sat on one side of the tray, Moroccan pancakes were piled on the other.
“Those look great,” said Jamal.
“I bet they taste great, too,” added Yusef. He snatched a pancake from the plate, folded it in half and dunked it in his tea. Within a few seconds, he finished his first pancake and was aiming to get another.
“Wait for Ameena,” said Jamal.
Yusef withdrew his hand. Ameena finished pouring and then joined her brothers for a cup of tea. The cup of tea became a pot, which became a second and a third and so on until everyone lost count.
Afterward, the old man carried off the tea service, cleaning up after everyone.
“How much do we owe you?” asked Jamal.
“Today you owe me nothing. You are the first customers I’ve had in several days.”
“It’s the least we could do,” said Jamal, “We’re on our way to Marrakech.”
“Just like modern day Tuareg, but instead of traveling the desert on camels, you’re traveling in a car.”
After some amount of bickering, the old man finally man took payment for his services and the Monsoors were on their way east again.
“That was some of the best tea I’ve had in a long time, don’t you think?” asked Yusef.
Ameena nodded and smiled. Her stomach was full with tea-soaked Moroccan pancakes. The bad thing about tea and pancakes was that a full belly did not last for long. Soon, it would be lunch time. Soon, they would be in Marrakech, and soon, Ameena knew she would be eating something new and something good.
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