The Chronicles

Every Friday he invites children, the eldest of which are twelve, to his house in Souani, a district in Tangier, offers them tea and biscuits and starts telling his stories. Mrabet is a taciturn man, only opening his mouth when he has a story worth telling. And telling stories is what he does best. He found friends in Paul Bowles and his wife Jane, who discovered his divine gift and committed it to paper, for publication. However, after Bowles died, vultures and unscrupulous individuals, artists devoid of any inspiration or talent, came up to the illiterate storyteller and ran off with the recordings of his stories, while publishers abused his illiteracy to bamboozle him with percentages in contracts. After all, an illiterate person getting his work published and exhibited in galleries - it's the world upside-down and needs to be put right.

Mrabet doesn't see the point of being translated into Arabic, because his work has never received due credit in Morocco; he has never felt recognized or appreciated in his own country. I can imagine Mrabet's surprise when Hassan Bahara and Asis Aynan came to see him in Tangier during the summer of 2008 for the documentary Pilgrimage to Tangier and approached him with their boyish enthusiasm and this real sense of deference. Because their love for Mrabet is immense, I‘ve noticed. I was touched to see them in the hotel lobby, ready to do some shopping for Mrabet. The way I used to go shopping for my late grandfather, with the kind of respect boys reserve for their father. So sweet to see them look after this elderly man, who will be forever young at heart.

There was a great deal of confusion prior to Mrabet's visit to The Hague. He's afraid of flying, so a flight to The Hague was the last resort. In fact, he even tried to talk Louis Behre into arranging a taxi from Tangier to The Hague - anything except flying.

With the help of an interpreter, Wim Brands and Jeroen Van Kan from the De Avonden radio show asked him about his work, about his trip to The Hague. Sitting next to Simon-Pierre Hamelin, he seemed to marvel at the crowd that had come to listen to him, that was interested in him. He speaks as only people from Tangier can speak. I can't really explain it in writing - I love our language, the turns of phrase, the words, the dry humour and the stories, oh so many stories that the people have for you if you're prepared to sit cross-legged and listen to what they have to say. Mrabet prefers to tell stories to children, because they are the only ones who listen carefully and who, when they talk, can still take you by surprise. "When grown-up people, adults, talk their words taste baslin fhal zlafa dyel baysar." Those who understood the Moroccan Arabic burst out laughing. As bland as a bowl of ... pea soup? How can you translate this phrase so that it retains the same connotations, so that people will laugh whatever their language? Manaraf may well be Mohamed Mrabet's final publication. He's getting on a bit and he's not a well man. But he has seen Tangier's glory days, has had a turbulent and rich life, has lived life to the full. In the eyes of many he's just an old man, someone who certainly doesn't stand out in Tangier. A man who has stopped going places, including bars and other people's homes, and usually stays at home in Souani. And yet he came to see us, came all the way to the Crossing Border festival. The very least we can do now, in response to this latest novel, is to give him the recognition and respect he deserves. That's why I'll be both humble and proud to be reading from his work on stage in Antwerp tonight.

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