Captured

Chapter 13. Introducing young Patrik Rivera from Texas.

"Hi, I'm Alex Ellis, welcome to Tangier!" I welcomed them in my office.

She spoke first, "We're from Cleveland. I'm Betty, and this is my husband Ralph. We're visiting for the weekend, at the Best Western Kasbah. We actually don't have a problem we saw your sign and decided to pop-in and say hi. You're like a little piece of America in the middle of Old Tangier!"

"That's nice to hear. Most people who walk in here are angry and want something done about the criminals on the streets of Tangier, so this is refreshing." I leaned forward and shook their hands. She asked where I was from and I said Houston. He said he heard my accent. I wished I had something to offer them other than conversation. But my little office didn't even have running water (I have to use the toilet in the leather shop).

We engaged in superficial chit chat briefly then the subject turned to Tangier, I asked if they were Hashish smokers and they laughed and said "Good God no!"

"What brought you here?" I asked.

He said, "We read about Tangier in a book, I forgot the title, but it seemed like a very interesting and historic place and we were visiting Spain, we came over on the ferry after riding to the top of The Rock this morning, we almost froze to death up there."

Then she said they had a senior citizen discount for the jet ferry and they'd never been on one before.

"Ahh, I've heard that very same story countless times. Gibraltar is like Disneyland and Tangier is like Knott's Berry Farm." We all chuckled and agreed that Tangier was seldom anyone's primary destination. I added, "Most Americans I meet here were vacationing in Barcelona and rode down on the train to see Gibraltar and decided to take the fast ferry across to see an actual ancient walled city. Most of the ancient walled cities were destroyed by earthquakes."

The Ralph added that Gibraltar was somewhat of a disappointment, its British but just barely. Then he said "I grew up thinking Gibraltar was at the entrance to the Mediterranean Sea, but it's actually kind of far away and doesn't even face the Strait!" I agreed and said, "Yes, it faces France!"

After an awkward moment of silence Ralph said, "So what's up with Tangier, it seems modern but old, it almost looks fake."

"I've looked into that very thing. Superficially it's another ancient walled city like Troy. But as you noticed it's too shiny and too pretty to be over a thousand years old. Unfortunately, I am not an expert on the history of this region, but it does have a very long and complicated story. Many nations have claimed this land; many armies have marched across this ground and raised their flag over it."

"But through all those thousands of years of habitation it remains the homeland of the Berbers and then the Muslim Arabs, today they share it and get along wonderfully. Surprisingly, the great Sahara Desert kept this part of Africa from becoming African. Morocco is a more recent invention, like post World War-2. Morocco was supposed to be like a big Indian Reservation for the Berbers but most of them balked at the notion since they lived all across the northern coast of Africa, from here to Port Said. If you look at Berbers and compare them to Egyptians they look nearly the same."

"For years Tangier was a military fortress, because it sits beside one of the most important waterways on the planet. And just outside the fortress walls the locals welcomed most people to come and set-up shop and import goods and make it a nicer place to run a business and raise a family. Tangier became a city/state, like Singapore, Dubai, Panama City, and Jakarta, which are also beside vital waterways."

"From what I've seen since I started working for the US Government, most port cities attract certain types of individuals. There are a lot of transients here, like you and perhaps me too. There are vultures that are attracted by the transients and try to feed off their ignorance. Those poor folks steal because they feel they have no other way to make a living, nobody would hire them except their relatives. You must never display wealth or weakness in Tangier. Leave your purse and jewelry in the hotel, dress down, and do not talk to people who approach you on the sidewalk, even if they sound like they're trying to be helpful."

Ralph held up his wooden cane and said he used it to shoo away anyone who tried to stop them on the street. I congratulated him and said it was a good idea. Then I told him, "...keep your cell in your front pocket, your money hidden, no watches or jewelry, dress down, and avoid wandering street vendors. If you do those things you'll probably enjoy a crime free visit to Tangier."

Ralph asked what happens to the Gypsies. I told him, "...eventually they get deported or disappeared. If all they do is petty crimes and they do not break major Islamic laws they are mostly overlooked, but if enough people complain then they disappear. Tangier is one of those places on Earth where annoying people mysteriously disappear."

"Where are Gypsies deported to?" Betty asked.

"Usually to Turkey. Gypsies have no point of origin, they're nearly worldwide except most oriental countries. They call themselves 'nomadic people without a nation.' There are lots of places on Earth the Gypsies avoid, like countries with dictators and strict anti-crime laws. We paused again and I asked if they've had run-ins with them in the old city.

"They seem to be everywhere we go, like they all went to the same pickpocket school."

"They probably learned how from relatives. Your best bet is to stay far away from them, never speak to them, and never make eye contact." I reached into my pocket and pulled out my tiny spray can of pepper spray and said, "They recognize it and quickly change course. So always carry one in your hand and be ready to use it, know how to quickly tell which way it's aimed so you don't spray yourself. I never leave the hotel without one."

I also told them to not get in a fight with Gypsies because they all carry weapons and if they stab you nobody will witness it. Not all of them are criminals but the best move is to stay far away, never let them surround you.

They asked if there were parts of the city without Gypsies and I said "Tangier is rather large but in all honesty none of the rest of it is worth seeing, it's just more suburban sprawl, like the suburbs of Las Vegas and who wants to see that crap? And stay off the beaches, never get in the water, only swim in hotel pools. But yes, they avoid the poor areas of the city."

"Are the beached unsafe?" He asked.

"The sea is very cold here and it never gets warm. And sharks patrol the beaches looking for otters and sea lions. In case you noticed all the beaches are empty, that's mostly why." I paused briefly then continued.

"Oh, and before I forget, let's remember that for many decades the Gypsy lifestyle was considered admirable and pure. Look how they are portrayed in the 1941 movie The Wolf Man. Bohemianism in the 1800s was sort of based on the nomadic, anti-materialistic, artful and creative aspects of the Romani culture. Today, you see it at the annual Burning Man festival. It's a big gathering of Bohemian acting wealthy people in trailers doing traditional Gypsy stuff with emphasis on artistry and selfish pleasure."

Ralph smiled and sighed and said, "They can practice their Bohemian lifestyle on someone else's dime!" I chuckled loudly since I agreed with his pronouncement.

"Say, who here sells those little pepper spray things?" Ralph asked.

I pulled open my desk drawer and grabbed a new one, still wrapped in plastic from the box I ordered online months ago. I tossed it to him and Ralph caught it and turned it around to read the label. "How much are they?" He asked.

"Free to pleasant visitors." I boasted. They both thanked me. I told them to unwrap it now and learn how the top needs to be rotated to spray, because when you need it you won't have time to look at it. So learn how to use it without looking. They passed it back and forth and Betty peeled off the wrapper and rotated the cap and tried holding it without pressing the nozzle. I emphasized that when pepper spray is used things will happen very fast. In the time it would take you to reach in your purse, pull it out, aim and spray, the crime will be over. The only way to carry these is in your hand, ready to aim and push down. Don't use them as a defense for someone with a weapon, just do whatever they say. And if you spray someone immediately leave the area, do not stay to help the guy you sprayed.

Betty and Ralph stood and said, "It was nice meeting you." I replied, "Y'all enjoy the rest of your visit to Tangier and be careful not to have your passport in your pocket when you get in the pool. It's our biggest seller."

As we stepped to the door Ralph asked if I knew of a local cane shop that can install a switchblade knife in the end of a wooden cane. I said no, and then jokingly suggested he ask the CIA, they probably have a closet full of them.

Ten minutes after they left my lunch was delivered.

I don't know what they do to make some of their vegetables so delicious, their string beans are grilled first then breaded and deep fried. I've had most of the vegetables they serve that way and they're wonderful: sliced bell peppers, onions, squash, Brussels sprouts, zucchini, and jalapenos. They cannot deep fry tomatoes because the water content is too high, they'd explode in the deep fryer.

There's a show on cable with a guy who travels to state fairs all over the US sampling fried food and interviewing the people who make it. I think he would agree with me that the people who run this deli, if they started a traveling fried food stand, they'd be more popular than all other concessions in the fair.

I also got an email from Daniel today about visiting Morocco, I told him to coordinate dates with Jen, he should give me a couple weeks between visitors then he was clear to come here. So I told him to check with Jen first, she had dibs.

That afternoon a young man walked up to the door and softly tapped on the glass, I smiled and gestured for him to enter. I stood and met him inside the door and shook his hand. The young man introduced himself as a student from Texas Christian University in Lubbock, he said he was here doing research on religion in Morocco. He said he was attending open services at churches all over Morocco trying to get counts and a taste for how everyone was leaning on the left-right politics scale. He said for his Master's degree his research was trying to determine contemporary cultural in Morocco.

"Who else is here from your school?" I asked.

"Nobody, I drew the one short straw!" We chuckled then I introduced myself. "I'm Alex Ellis, back home they call me `Ahley,' I run this office alone, it's a service to visiting Americans, but the main embassy is down in Rabat."

"Who are you here with?" He asked, and then realized he forgot to introduce himself, "I forgot, my name is Patrik Rivera. I was born and raised in Lubbock."

I chuckled then answered, "Ahh, a brother Texan! Nice! I'm here alone too but I get family visits from the states. And I'm from Houston (Youstin)." I was careful to pronounce it like a real Texan, without the H. If you say it quickly most people don't notice you left off the H.

I tried to switch back on my seldom used Texas accent then asked Patrik, "So what brings y'all to the smallest American Embassy on Earth?"

Patrik said he was here alone (in Morocco) and was looking for someone to check-in with via text message every few days so someone knew he was okay. I told him, "You sound like I did when I first learned I was moving to an Islamic country. But you know the Muslims are very generous and hard-working people, I don't think you have much to worry about really as long as you are respectful and don't act like you are some kind of secret military spy or investigator."

"That's what almost everyone has said since I selected Morocco. Oh wait a sec, what did you say your nickname was? Ahley?" (AH-lay is the Spanglish nickname for `Alejandro')

"Yes, it's Spanglish for Alex, short for Alejandro and Alexander." I paused for a second so he could repeat it back correctly, then we laughed. I told him, "I've never been inside a Mosque during services, in Morocco you will find them from lavish ultra modern buildings to small mud brick shacks between the farm parcels. I don't know how many mosques there are in Morocco but I bet there is no way you could visit them all or even find half of them, especially down in the mountain communities."

Then I advised Patrik most mosques were only open to Muslims. He'd need to contact them ahead of his visit to arrange seeing inside the building or talking to the Imam. I advised he should never just show up unless they display a sign saying: open to the public for tours, which a few of them do.

He asked what other religions I've seen practiced in Morocco and I said, "Here I've seen Jewish temples, Catholic churches, Jehovah's Witnesses, Mosques, and generic Christian churches, sort of like Presbyterian. But I never went inside any of them. Some of them here are very old, like the Catholic churches were built by the French in the 1800s. I don't know about the other cities, I've only been to a few cities in Morocco, like Rabat, Marrakech, Tetouan, and points in between. I don't recall ever seeing a Baptist or Greek Church here."

Patrick sort of fidgeted and asked if he could call me with questions about where things were located around Tangier. Like a fool I said "Sure, that'll be fun." I walked back to my desk and got out a business card and handed it to him, it had my cell and office numbers.

Patrick smiled broadly and looked excited and told me I was his first contact and he was excited to get his research started. I was going to tell him I might be one of the few English speaking people he met here but he can find that out for himself.

"Where are you staying?" I asked hoping it didn't sound like I was flirting.

Patrick said he was staying at a cheap hotel just outside the wall near the Kasbah, on the oceanfront road. I think I knew the place, it was locally owned and had a nice view but the place didn't look very safe to me, like it was barely clinging to the cliff since it sat about 100 feet above the boulevard and had no parking. But I guess it had plumbing in every room, unlike my first hotel room. Patrick said the place was 225 years old. I chuckled and said. "Don't believe those numbers and always know where the exits are, you might notice it has no fire sprinklers, fire exits, smoke detectors, or fire extinguishers, just a word to the wise." He said he'd look, but right now he was too excited to do anything serious.

He held out his hand and showed me he was trembling from adrenalin. I asked if he was a big coffee drinker and he said no, but he drank one for breakfast at the airport in Madrid.

"Oh, you flew here?"

"No, I came by train and crossed on the slow ferry."

"If you don't mind me asking, who's funding you?"

"My grandparents on both sides of the family."

"Ahh, nice, you renting a car?"

He chuckled and said no, he was using the bus and taxis and was going to buy a bicycle.

"Invest in a good lock and chain, Kevlar tires, and everything you need to patch tires yourself."

"Why's that?"

"Because everything in the desert has needles and they constantly drop them, they easily puncture tires and you'll never see 'em. You'll need to become a bicycle tire expert."

"Ahhhh, thanks for that. See I need someone to be my mentor."

"Well, I work full time and travel a lot. I'm not always near the phone."

"Oh no, I understand. I just need a resource to call once in a while, someone to make sure I'm not dead or kidnapped, someone to ask occasional questions, like is it worth renting a car to drive to Marrakech to see the annual Mister Desert Contest." I quickly said no; miss that one unless you're really into fat old guys with huge mustaches, or camel races.

I asked what he was paying for his room at the hotel and he said they had one dorm room, like a Hostel, so all he had was a bunk and a locker, it was $25 a night and included bathroom access and they had a day room with sofas and a big screen TV."

We shook hands then seemed to pause briefly, "Wanna go have a beer?" He asked.

I said, "Sure, I close up at 6pm."

Patrik looked at his cell and saw it was 5:04pm, so he said he'd park his ass on the sofa and silently wait until closing time. I chuckled and wished I'd said no instead, but I gestured toward the sofa and watched him sit down, I went back to my desk and pretended to be doing important State Department stuff.

Patrik was about the same size as me, he was 5'10". Like Daniel he looked Hispanic, probably Mexican descended. One sensory system I haven't used much since I left the States was my gaydar, that's a gay man's ability to detect other gays without physical contact or conversation. If you use your gaydar to ping another man if you get no ping returned then he's straight (or really sneaky). But if you get a ping back then he might be very metrosexual or gay or bi, like me. It's been so long since the last time I was with a man I'd probably be rather rusty and my radar might be broken and giving me false negative signals (every Arabic looking man around me always pings back as hetero).

Full disclosure: some men claim their Gaydar can sometimes see through clothing.

Fifteen minutes went by and I sneaked a peak at Patrik, he was on the sofa with his eyes closed, head back against the wall trying to look like he was meditating or nearly asleep.

"You really going to visit lots of Mosques?" I enquired.

"Yes, as many as I can over the next two years, churches and temples too."

"Do you know what Wudu is?"

"Nope, never heard of it." he replied.

"It's described in detail in the Quran; Sunni Arabs usually take it seriously. Each temple should be set-up to support Wudu before services. It is a physical washing of your hands, face, ears, head, mouth, nose, arms, and feet. They take the process very seriously so don't try to cheat. You should download an instruction sheet and memorize it before you visit any Mosque. I think most people say they do it at home before arriving and if any part of Wudu is broken then it must be redone at the mosque, on the honor system."

"Thanks Ahley." I smiled when he pronounced my nickname correctly; I expected he'd think I was kidding. To kind of mock him I replied with, "De nada, Patricio." He glanced at me then closed his eyes again. While he silently waited for the clock to strike Beer o'clock-pm I did a few searches on my computer for his name and found records at his university, which I never heard of before. It looked like one of those small town private Christian universities that charge an arm and a leg for tuition and have a lousy basketball team but do a good job educating their students. Otherwise I found no dirt on Mister Rivera from Lubbock, Texas. He had no obvious social media presence, like me.

At 6:02pm I shut off the lights, and turned the sign around. We stepped outside and I locked the door, then we left on foot for a small bar on the Rue de la Plage. After I leave the landlord comes by and lowers the steel shutter over the wall of glass. That alone tells you something about the people and the culture here. The steel shutters cover his storefront windows too.

It was four blocks to the Café. We chatted the entire way about Texas. He said he lived near the huge gas fields in central Texas.

On the outside the place advertises itself as being a cafe for all things fried in locally grown olive oil. Some people joke that you can buy an entire train tanker full of American soy oil for the price of a five gallon can of olive oil. But they assured us they only used olive oil, its locally grown and refined. They deep fry in two woks over gas flame. Natural gas is usually plentiful and cheap in parts of Tangier. My office is just outside the wall on the southwest side so we have better utilities and more reliable electrical service.

We ordered beers and got opened bottles and two empty glasses, no frosty mugs in Morocco. I asked Patrik how he plans on locating churches and he said the cities keep records for tax purposes so they have lists of every registered church regardless of religion. To maintain tax-free status they must meet certain criteria.

"Wow, you were thirsty!" I commented when he bottomed-up his bottle while mine was barely touched. He gestured for another. I ordered a pita/hummus/veggie snack tray and my second beer. Patrik mumbled on about how he was going to survey churches on a state by state basis. I asked how he was going to get their records since people in the state buildings all spoke Arabic.

Patrik showed me an app on his phone that translated spoken Arabic to English text."Just so you know, cellular internet service here is rather unreliable, it goes out briefly several times a day."

"Yes, I know but it's what it is, so I'll make the best of it. The real big challenge is accurate street maps with addresses. Tangier is such an old city lots of the buildings have two addresses, one is the pre-Roman numbering and the other is post-Roman. Can you believe there are buildings here that use the same address assigned by the Roman Army!"

He thought that was hilarious and slapped my back.

When strangers touch me it sets off alarms in my brain. That's an autism thing. I listened to him go on about the Romans re-organizing the city and how it was renamed several times and how Tangier is a mishmash of different names all blended together. In some languages the root of Tangier meant something like a Stinky Swamp or a marsh or bog.

He left to pee but actually invited me to go along, I said I'd baby sit our spot and our beers since the place was full.

I've been in this place before, the proprietor recognized me from previous visits just after 6pm. In a small shop like this it's usually the owner behind the bar, in this one he works with his wife and oldest son. They have a long bar and five tables, maximum seating around 60 people. When he added a scoop of freshly fried pita chips to our basket I asked if he recognized the young man beside me and he silently nodded no, and commented that he looks American.

When Patrik came back and took his bar stool he again reached over and patted my back which got me wondering if he was just touchy or was he flirting with me, I had no clue. The big test would be to order a raw veggie snack tray and watch him eat a raw carrot.

When the veggie tray arrived it had peeled carrots but they were about six inches long, so as anticipated Patrik took one, and turned half way toward me and started sucking the salt off it and rubbing it on his front teeth so the entire carrot glistened with saliva. I kept glancing and noticed his eyes were on mine while he blew his carrot. I tried not to react.

We talked about Texas and huge gas fields He showed me his school on his cell, it was very small, maybe a half square mile campus with a small park and a pond in the middle. I showed him UTA and he said he went to a basketball game there once when his school lost to mine. He asked how old I was. I said, "I'm 34, what about you?"

"I'm 24, just 24." He replied as he raised his mug. I thought about making a wisecrack about being so young, like if he wore pull-ups at night but decided not to say anything that might involve dicks or kink.

"How long you been going to that college?"

"Two years next summer."

We sat there and talked for nearly two hours. The crowd started to thin out at 8pm, so we moved to a table in the back corner. I reminded him to be careful where he stuck his dick; there are a lot of people here with untreated diseases. He asked me which one I had and with a chuckle I said I had no STDs, what about him. I couldn't believe I actually answered his question. Normally I ignore personal questions like that. I guess the alcohol was making me loosen up a bit. Patrik denied having any STDs and said he wasn't very experienced with sex.

There was a story in the news recently about a huge natural g as field discovery not too far from Tangier, probably 2400 miles east of here. Since he knew something about gas I repeated the story I saw on the financial page of the local newspaper. One of the largest natural gas fields in history was recently discovered under the Gaza Strip, and a huge oil field was also found nearby but out under the Sea off the coast of Gaza.

He looked at me with a puzzled expression so I told him: "The problem is that huge gas field, well over a trillion cubic feet is directly below Gaza, they got to find a way to get all those people to move. That's enough gas to keep the entire Middle East warm until the rapture!"

Patrik repeated it back, "So the good news is the gas is plentiful but the bad news is it's directly under your house! Guess what happens next?" We talked about gas and oil for a while since we was both from Texas. Pennsylvania started the oil business but Texas kicked it in the ass. He looked up one of the most famous oil wells in human history, Spindletop. It was in far southeast Texas. That well blew gas and oil 150 feet into the air for nine days until they figured out a way to cap the well. Today it's a small park near a natural swamp. The actual well is in a swamp on private property and the ground is clear of oil. Do a search online for Spindletop Park. He said on his map it looked like it was about 2 miles south of Beaumont, Texas, maybe 30 miles from the Gulf of Mexico.

When I got up again to use the bathroom he followed.

The men's room has one long urinal trough so there was very little privacy. I stood at one end and started pissing and sort of leaned my head back and closed my eyes. Then I felt eyeballs on me, so I opened up and saw Patrik was pissing too, but he was sliding his hand up and down the length of what looked like a full erection. I smiled and looked down and shook my last few drops.

I stepped back to zip my pants, looked at his mushroom headed schlong and commented, "Nice dick!" Then he bent over and struggled to pull it back into his pants. We met again at the sink. I was going to make a wisecrack about wrestling with snakes but decided not to. I mean he had a large head but he really wasn't that large, just very noticeable. He had a very pretty dick.

Back at the table he asked if I liked oral sex, and I told him, "Yes, I do. A girl I know from Texas comes here twice a year, so that's four expert blow jobs a year."

Patrik laughed and said he'd die without oral sex, giving and receiving. He asked me how I like it the most, then he reached over to the veggie tray and handed me the other carrot, since I was drunk I demonstrated the way I taught Jen to work mine. I even used my pocket knife to whittle the end of the carrot to more closely resemble my penis.

After I set it down he snatched it up and bit off the end of the carrot and smiled at me. Again, I chuckled and told him I needed to get home, he told me to text him any time, he'd be around Tangier for about four months and in Morocco for the next 2-3 years collecting data.

I gestured for the bartender for my tab: six beers, a veggie plate, and two pita chip and hummus platters. My tab came to almost sixty Euros with tip. Their home-made hummus was fantastic.

We shook hands and he thanked me for offering to help him in Morocco. We parted ways and I slowly walked to the nearest bus stop and caught the eastbound coastal highway bus around the bay to my neighborhood. After 15 minutes waiting on a bench it was a 12 minute ride back home, I swear we hit every traffic light red.

Guess what I did in the shower that night. After the soap part was done I closed my eyes and imagined Dan was in the shower too and he had a long straight boner just like Patrik's and I could not resist and nursed on it until the hot water ran out. Dan's was easily almost 2 inches longer than Patrik's.

The calendar was slowly inching closer to Jen's next trip. We were emailing twice a week, sometimes daily. We even reviewed her packing list, which she never did before. This was the first time she actually wanted me to approve her clothes, but I tried to tell her I had no taste when it came to clothing style or appearance. I think that's an autism thing too.

I ordered new bed sheets for her visit, and new ultra soft bath towels. I also ordered a memory foam topper for the mattress for added comfort.

Work fell into a routine, I spent six days a week in my tiny store front office and saw visiting Americans almost daily. They are often surprised to see the tiny office with the American flag clearly visible from out on the street. They come in all smiles and I tell them this is a tiny slice of US land, so they were back home briefly, while still breathing desert air in Tangier!

I should tell you about some of the celebs who showed up in my office, they were privately walking around Tangier where nobody would recognize them. I also purchased a guest register book like hotels used long ago. People loved to represent their home town. I considered hanging a map with push pins for people to mark.

People ask me why locals steal passports. I tell them they are sold to steal identities, so they need to watch for credit rip-offs once they get home. They are mostly used to make new fake passports. Somehow they lift the ink off the paper and replace it with new identities. It's done very slowly by hand. As far as I knew that was where most stolen passports went. Street thieves made money by selling them to forgers. I heard local police are looking for the shops where the forgeries are made locally, but so far they remain a closely guarded secret.

They steal the passports mostly for the paper inside and the cover, plus some now have an RFID chip in the cover. People have learned how to remove the text without damaging the paper, they deep-freeze the paper and use a strong electromagnet to remove the characters.

One month after our initial meeting Patrik strolled back in the office on a Friday afternoon, two hours before closing time. This time he said he had a scooter and offered to go get some beers and talk about Texas, and then we couldn't think of a place where it would be safe to do that so like a fool I said we should drive to the store down the street from my apartment, it's only like 12 miles away.

Contact the author: borischenaz mailfence