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Because of T’s friend in Zahara we made a lot of friends, people who have come to Zahara for decades or who were from there but who now lived in Sevilla or Granada or Cadiz. Every afternoon the ladies would walk, long walks down the part of the beach that belongs to the Spanish military so there is hardly a soul around. We’d walk into the sunset and then walk back just in time for the final drop – usually right before 10 pm. On these walky talkies, I learned a lot about my new friends – from the tragic (one had lost her husband and 9 year old son in a car accident) to the lovely (one couple had been together for two kids and two decades and acted like young lovers).

Every day it would be the same thing – we’d walk from our apartment on the other side of the beach down to where the beach is less crowded and Tin would be let out of his kangaroo pouch or the Ergobaby (interesting that kangaroo is what Spaniards call a babysitter) and he would run to the water and then run nonstop up and down the beach as people marvelled and talked about how delicious he was – le voy a comer was what they would all say. Every day the girls would walk and the boys would play soccer, towel swatting (making a knot at the end of the beach towel and drawing a circle you couldn’t step out of and then pummeling each other) or they would dig holes and put Tin in the hole, much to his sheer delight.

These people make the beach happen every year not because they are rich, but because they want their child to grow up with this experience, they want to have this time with their kids. One woman buys an extra month of work by paying people to cover her shift instead of getting paid. I thought about Tin one day as I was following him down the shoreline – he’d grab sand, dump it in the water, turn to look at me, and then dash away. I would follow, stooping to pinch the cheeks of his cute butt, or scoop him up and bring him in. The next day T would be following him and I would walk with the girls. In my mind, I thought of Tin’s narrative:

I was adopted by two older mothers who adored me and who also had a great love for life. They took me all around the world and introduced me to people, music, food, and a life rich and lovely. We spent summers on the beach of Zahara when I was young and travelled often to Morocco, Croatia, India, Africa, and throughout Europe. I learned three languages before I was able to speak. People would stop them in the medina of Tangiers and tell them, he is a blessing, and on the streets of Madrid or in the airport in New Orleans, someone would always pull close and say, “you are lucky” meaning them, or me, or both.

This entry was posted on Monday, August 2nd, 2010 at 7:29 pm and is filed under Main. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.