Although I was raised in suburbia, give me car horns and police sirens over crickets any day.  I’d rather sleep through the din of street noise than fall asleep to silence.  And yet, in my apartment building, I am awakened in the morning and night not by the street noise - no, our bedroom is in the back of the building - but by an amalgam of inexplicably obnoxious noises.  My next door neighbors, who’ve recently started an anti-cat campaign against us, leaving lemons and incense around our doorstep, insist on playing the Qur’an - at top volume - every morning.  Perhaps they know I’m a kafir.  Our neighbors in the building across the way just got a new puppy and are either abusing it or locking it on the balcony for hours on end, because all I hear is barking.  Add to that our very own cats, who seemingly destroy the apartment every morning, and it’s quite a racket.

But this morning - ah! - I was having quite a pleasant dream of my hometown…wandering down by the central square, following a crowd of people, some in kaftans, others in Western dress, toward what appeared to be a Moroccan wedding.  There was music - oh, sweet music - Aissawa, I think.  Suddenly, I awoke - “What is that?” Hamza asked me.  Aissawa!  There was Aissawa drumming and hollering outside of our window!  I lay still, secretly enjoying it, while Hamza held a pillow over his face.  It stopped, started again, stopped, started again.  Finally, it stopped for good.  “Why are they doing that?” I asked him.  “Usually the morning of a wedding, or when a new business opens,” I heard, muffled by the pillow.

Anyhow, I have prepared for you a visual representation of what woke me up this morning.  I hope you enjoy it.