Finally, this is a book about poverty. About sexual tourism, its benign side (an older Swiss man offers a Moroccan boy the chance to escape his milieu and to realize hisfantasies) and its cruel side (the same Swiss man casually,greedily, buys the favors of another Moroccan while on holiday). The boy is proud, quick, adaptable, almost feminine inhis desire to please, boyish in his enthusiasm and trustingnature—but he is also without resources, easy to manipulate,terribly easy to exploit. I’m convinced that there is an up sideto every human relationship, even pedophilia and sexualtourism, but only in one case out of a hundred. In all theother ninety-nine cases there is finally nothing but an abuseof power, a deforming imbalance of wealth, a facility on thepart of the First World tourist for forgetting that the youngperson from the Third World is also a human being, not justa “cheap whore” (to use the language repeatedly on the lips ofthe Swiss man, Jean). Money is an obsession in a third worldcountry such as Morocco where the average wage is minisculeand a man feels like a man only when he can bring home abasket full of vegetables and meat.

But the people in the First World also know Perfectly well the impact of their purchasing power. They know how to buyanother human being, or how to “rent” him, even thoughthese crude transactions are disguised as acts of friendship.The Swiss don’t go to Germany as sexual tourists, after all; no,they go to North Africa or Southeast Asia. Sex in these casesis all about money, about the exchange rate, about tradingcertain numbers (age, waist size, penis size, income size) forother numbers.

But Abdellah Taïa doesn’t spell all this out. His is an ecstatic and generous nature who lives in the particular, who shies away from generalizations. He accepts each person into hislife not as a representative but as a unique individual. Nomatter how often he might be disappointed or wounded, heis ever an optimist and prepared to receive that wonderful,transforming thing: reciprocal affection. This book is a clearstream; drink from it deeply.

I

_________

She always slept with us, in the middle, between my little brother Mustapha and my sister Rabiaa.

She would fall asleep very quickly, and night after night, her snoring would punctuate her sleep in a natural, almostharmonious manner. It used to bother us in the beginning,keep us from a peaceful entry into dreams. Over time, hernocturnal music, her noises, became a benevolent breathingthat accompanied our nights and even reassured us when wewere racked by nightmares that wouldn’t let go until we wereexhausted, wiped out.