Marrakech

By Victor M Fontane

In a corner of the Marrakech souk, amid the shouts of vendors, the smell of cumin, dates and tanned leather, a boy of about 11 years old sat every afternoon with a small rug and a handmade sign that said: “Silence sells, ask Jusuf.”

Tourists photographed him, some laughed, others just walked by, but he didn't flinch.

He was there crossed legs, with his eyes shining and a small wooden box next to him.

One day a Spanish woman stopped.

- Do you sell silence?

- Yes ma'am. And it's not expensive.

- And what do you deliver?

Jusuf opened the box. Inside were small rolls of paper wound with red thread.

He offered her one.

- This one is for you.

She read it: “Silence is when you stop running after what no longer needs you.”

- Did you write them?

- My grandfather. I just distribute them. He taught me that in the noise of life, silence is the only thing that doesn't deceive.

From that day on the woman returned every afternoon.

Sometimes he bought one, sometimes he sat silently, saying nothing.

Jusuf understood her. There was no need for more.

Over time, others began searching for him as well. A mother with two screaming children. A young man who couldn't sleep. An old man who no longer had anyone to talk to, and therefore sought the silence of another.

Jusuf never asked for a fixed price. Some left coins, others a flower, a cookie, a grateful look.

Until one Tuesday, the carpet was empty.

Nobody saw him anymore.

For weeks, customers at the market asked about him. The baker said he had gone to the desert with an uncle, to help with the camels.

But before leaving, he left her something: A new little wooden box, bigger, with more scrolls and a note that said:

"If one day everything makes noise to you, come back to this place. The silence has not gone away, it just changed its voice."

Sometimes we believe that silence cannot be given as a gift.

But there are children... who know how to wrap it like a treasure. And give it to you just when you need it most.