NEW TRAVEL SECRETS
@humanstew
HIS HANDS CLUTCHING THE STEM OF A DRIED palm frond, his thoughts far away, Mohammed sweeps the central path at Casablanca’s old Christian cemetery. On either side lies a sea of crumbling tombs. In some there are rosaries, crucifixes, porcelain wreaths and weathered photos of moustached gentlemen posing with their wives. Mohammed swishes the broom rhythmically back and forth, dust clouds billowing in the searing heat of late afternoon. His clothing drenched in sweat, he pauses to wipe a hand down over his gnarled face. ‘If you want to know about Casablanca,’ he says in a voice hoarse from a life-long love affair with Marquise cigarettes, ‘you have to understand this cemetery. It’s here that the city’s founders sleep side by side. Listen hard,’ he mumbles, ‘and you’ll hear them whispering their tales.’