That morning, we left the festival and ran into him. We recognized him immediately. It was our neighbor, who lives in the villa next door and usually can be seen wearing long white dresses with embroidered details. He looks like a Frenchman in Tangier, a possible furniture and clothing designer. He recognized us too. Senja gave him a mischievous nod followed by a bonjour. He stopped for a second and invited us for breakfast.
His gait was expressive emphasizing the movement of the dress. Holding a cigar, which appears to be a part of his hand along with a gold bracelet of Venetian work.
We walked through the garden to the pool. Silence was being interrupted by birds chirping and his deep sigh: “Ah, I could stay here forever. If everyone who needed me could just come here…and let me draw, choose materials. Every day on the street I find another muse for a future model.
… Such colors cannot be found anywhere in the world”.
Maids passed us by silently, actually they were handsome young Moroccans carrying wicker bags with white towels.
“In Morocco, I realized that the range of colors I use is like their decorative tiles or kaftan colors. I owe this country courage, its strong harmony, color combinations and creativity. This culture became mine; I embraced it, transformed it and adapted it.”
Senja would occasionally give me a look that asked if this all was just a dream.
“They will serve us breakfast here in the garden if you don’t mind?”
“I grew up in Algeria and when I first came to Tangier, I felt a strong attraction and a memory of something deep inside me. Here I really feel like living in the best memory or dreams.
By the way, do you like squeezed pomegranates and figs?”
Uniformed young Moroccans paraded again, a cook, a waiter and a few others who followed them bringing things and taking them away.
They brought us jasmine tea and two kaftans, one purple and the other green, in case we wanted to change into something more comfortable. Our neighbor loves to lie on the grass, on a Moroccan handmade rug that he may have designed himself.
We were slowly becoming a composition from Delacroix’ oil paintings.
While the neighbor was napping, Senja and I wandered around the property. We were constantly followed by the property guards, once again Moroccans in tight white pants and T-shirts. They felt embarrassed if we would look at them.
Senja was less patient than me, so at one point she asked them to leave us alone.
It was time for Senja’s photo shoot and my meditation. I observed Senja quietly catching shadows on the emerald tiles of the pool and the neighbor holding the chair she is balancing on. The photos become even more exciting when she changed into a brick-colored caftan and walked down a few steps into the pool while he photographed her.
Villa Mabrouka (translated as “House of Happiness”) is the former home of Yves Saint Laurent and Pierre Bergé, and since last year a boutique hotel, a villa with 12 rooms.
The house is a mix of 1940’s modernist architecture, traditional Moroccan design elements and English country house interiors. The vibrant colors and textures of the city found their way into his collections that dominated the Paris runways at the time.
Senja and I encountered some quiet resistance from employees who were under stress because of “an important visit for lunch”. We didn’t like that, but we still ordered champagne and a cold shrimp salad. They warned us several times that taking photos was prohibited.
That’s how I decided to write this story for you and thank Yves Saint Laurent, a dear neighbor from my imagination.
