When the health emergency was announced, the city found itself frozen. From the roof of Kanisa, the Arabic name given to the church here, you see the atmosphere in the city. Only a few grocery stores, the souk (market for meat, chicken, fish and vegetables) and essential services remain open, closing at 5 pm instead of 9 pm or later.
The trees have been pruned for the coming spring. Seen from this angle, the youngest seem to have endured the cut, remaining intact in themselves. The oldest are naked, exposed and evoke great vulnerability.
On the night of March 22, the time when Venus, the star of the shepherd, descends towards the horizon, a great clamor began, coming first from the Medina (old walled city). My first feelings were fear and insecurity before I understood what was going on.
The sound of Asilah at night. Gathered on their balconies and at the windows of their houses, voices of men, women, young people and children in unison asking Allah for his protection and mercy for Morocco.
And so I spontaneously rang the bells of the church of St Bartholomew – whose name means “God gave” – this Sunday at 10:30 pm – to be in communion and to testify our desire to live in hope.