Pressing toward the goal

Few of us ever live in the present. We are forever anticipating what is to come or remembering what has gone.

Louis L’Amour

You will make sense of your life when you start living each day in the present. Many people regret the present moment and yearn for the past or future. They either live in the past, wishing they could turn back the hands of time, or they spend their time wishing for a better life in the future.

Paulo Coelho describes the problem beautifully: “We have enormous difficulty in focusing on the present; we're always thinking about what we did, about how we could have done it better, about the consequences of our actions, and about why we didn't act as we should have. Or else, we think about the future, about what we're going to do tomorrow, what precautions we should take, what dangers await us around the next corner, how to avoid what we don't want and how to get what we have always dreamed of.”

Are you living in the past or are you waiting in great anticipation for your future? What about now? Isn’t the present moment important, too? According to Mahatma Gandhi, “The future depends on what you do today.” Yes! Every thought, decision, and action today impact your present and your future. Are you focused on the here and now?

You alone have the power to make good or bad decisions.

Your decisions in life are influenced by the present moment and the people who are with you at the time. You have to decide who or what it is that is guiding you to make your decisions because the decisions that you make affect your plans and your mood. They determine whether you will be happy or disappointed. If you make bad decisions, you will experience negative outcomes, but good decisions will lead to a successful future. 

How do you make decisions? Do you make decisions independently or do you allow others to help you? Do you make decisions that are best for you or do you make decisions that are best for others? Do you fear that every decision you make may be a wrong decision? Do you prefer not to make decisions at all and allow them to be made for you?

Every moment of your life defines you.

You are who you are in each moment. The decisions that you make may stretch across many moments, but the minute you make the decision you create a new direction. Even when the decision turns out to have been a mistake, and the outcome is negative, it doesn’t have to stay that way. You may have taken a wrong direction, but it’s a learning process. You can turn it around.

At some point in the future, you may discover that a choice you had made in the past is not what you planned or wanted. You needn’t regret it, though. Don’t focus on the choice as a mistake and don’t dwell on the time that’s been lost. Focus on the process of learning that came from the experience. You have grown because of it. If you never make mistakes, how will you ever learn or change?

Choices always lead to new opportunities.

Your decisions can be average and ordinary or they can be life-changing. Joel Osteen said, “If you think you’re average, then you’ll be average. If you think you’re ordinary, then you’ll live ordinary. The truth is there is nothing ordinary about you. You have something to offer that nobody else can offer.” Do you think that you’re just an average person? Genesis 1:26 (ESV) reads: “Then God said, ‘Let us make man in our image, after our likeness”. Yes! You have been made according to God’s likeness. Do you still think you’re average?

The way you think defines you. You can’t have a successful future if you think you’re average. You can’t have a successful future if you don’t know why you’re here. You can’t have a successful future if you don’t plan ahead. If you want to have freedom and money one day, so that you can lead a successful life, you’ll also need to know what success means.

The Power is Yours

I went to the post office today!

I went to the post office today – twice. The first time I entered the almost empty room, it was hot and there were six people in the line, standing like fish on dry ground, gasping for air. I joined the queue and told myself that being patient would be worth it in the end. I was there to collect a parcel and was excited about it.

There were two people behind the counter, behind the glass pane, serving the public. I waited ten minutes and was intrigued. The scene before me looked frozen. I wasn’t sure if the people on either side of the counter had moved at all in the ten minutes that I had been standing in the queue. Then, the woman in front of me turned and said, “I’m coming back.” It was as if I were responding to an invitation. I turned and followed her out the door. Yes, she wanted me to know that she would be resuming her space in the queue upon her return. Sadly, I wasn’t prepared to wait for her. The heat was unbearable and, today, I wasn’t prepared to melt in a vacuum of inactivity.

How can people be so callous, I wondered? I was reflecting on those behind the counter who work at the post office. The general public was left to fend for themselves. There were no chairs and water, the heat was stifling, and three of the six people in the queue were old.

I went home and an hour later returned to the post office. As I entered, I was relieved to see that there were only two people in the queue. I recognized them immediately. The last person in the queue was the woman who had excused herself an hour ago from the line. I rejoined the line and waited. I watched the people behind the counter, behind the glass pane, and thought about the heat. I imagined that I, too, would work as slow as a sloth if I were them.

Nearly half an hour later, it was my turn to walk to the counter. I greeted the man and handed him my collection slip. Everything before me happened as if in slow motion. Was he even breathing? When he finally turned to go and fetch the parcel, I became aware of the cool air that escaped through the hole in the glass pane. I put my hand through the hole and realized that the people behind the counter were working in air-conditioned circumstances. I was so surprised, but it made sense. They shouldn’t work faster. They should work at the slowest pace of all. After all, not one of them is there because they want to be there. They’re not there to serve customers. They’re serving a life sentence.

I spend so much time telling the students in my class to choose subjects and a career that they’re passionate about. The years they spend at school are nothing compared to the time they spend earning a living. Assuming the average age to attend school is 5 to 18, I’d say that’s a mere drop in the bucket of life. Working from 20 to 65 (the general age of retirement) is where our passion is required to perform. Sadly, there are too many opinionated parents who force their children in directions the children don’t want to follow. Blessed are those who have the opportunity to follow their dreams.

As for those who end up behind a counter, if you don’t like what you’re doing and you cannot serve others with passion, find yourself in a new direction. It’s never too late to start living.

Fight the good fight

In almost everything that touches our everyday life on earth, God is pleased when we’re pleased. He wills that we be as free as birds to soar and sing our Maker’s praise without anxiety. 

~ A.W. Tozer

There is a lesson in everything we experience.

You are alive today and searching for answers... . For every question, there is an answer. “A question is a powerful thing. It can open doors, challenge the status quo, and lead to new ideas and innovations. A question can change your world, if you ask the right one,” (Adapted from Old Mutual advertisement, S.A.). Don’t be afraid to ask questions or to challenge opportunities to find the answers.

You are given many opportunities and blessings every day. When you welcome all the opportunities and blessings that come your way, you will always make progression.

Moving forward is a way of life. It always leads to something new and something different.

You need to make sense of your life before you can enjoy new opportunities and blessings. You also need to discover just how amazing you really are. Your life is significant and you deserve to live your life in a wonderful and fulfilling way. 

Perhaps you are weighed down because of everything that has happened to you in your life. Perhaps people have burdened you with their problems and bad attitudes, and now you, too, feel battered. Bad situations, circumstances, and attitudes have troubled your days, and you are seeking relief. All you really want is to find independence and happiness. It’s possible.

There’s a story on the internet about the palm tree, written by Kerstin Anderas-Lundquist. She speaks of the palm tree as being flexible and having the capacity to bend almost double without breaking. Kerstin says, “During storms with hurricane-force winds, only the palm tree is able to withstand without breaking or being uprooted. Not only so, but when the ill winds have passed, the tree just returns to its original position totally unfazed. Large oak trees are pulled up by the roots. Other trees are snapped in two like toothpicks, but the palm tree still stands strong amid the destruction surrounding it. It is also believed that its root system is not weakened, but actually strengthened by these storms.”

Kerstin draws a comparison between you and the palm tree. She says, “When the unexpected storms of life roll in like a tsunami, and try to wash away your dreams and drown your hopes along with them; when hurricane-force winds of doubt and worry try to uproot your faith and topple your confidence, don’t give up and don’t give in. Weather the storm like the palm tree you are! You may be bent over by the force of the winds, but get up! You may be bent, but you’re not broken! Your roots are grounded in the Word of Almighty God, continually growing stronger as the storm rages on. Don’t lose your peace! Don’t lose your joy! Know that this too will pass and your life will continue to be long-lived, stately, upright, useful, and fruitful.”

Psalm 92:12 (ESV) reads: “The righteous flourish like the palm tree… ”. This is a good way to live your life. Be righteous. Do the right thing. Live a life of good morals and ethics, and you will be like the palm tree. You will flourish all the days of your life.

The Power is Yours

A week from hell

Many people will tell you that Mondays are terrible. They not only start the week but also the pace for the week. When everything goes wrong on a Monday, obviously the week will be labelled. Not? 

Well, I'm rather optimistic. I've never minded Mondays and I've never labelled a week negatively because of bad incidents that happen on a Monday. For me, Mondays have always been like a new page, a new start, and the beginning of new opportunities.

I'm a changed woman. Last week was a week from hell. Every day started with a crisis! Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, Wednesday bloomed. Not only did the day start with a crisis, but it also gained momentum and by lunchtime, another crisis reared its ugly head.

Was I negative? From day one, I was devastated. I sank into the realms of despair and as each crisis hit me, I had to dig deeper to find more inner strength to drag myself through the week. 

By Friday, I was in the dregs of self-pity! Then it hit me! It was Friday. The end of the week had arrived. I was convinced that the bad luck would stop, but it didn't. I faced yet another crisis.

I survived the wretched week. How? Well, I once read about the twelve gifts of birth, the first being strength. Prayers and strength pulled me through. From experience, I've learned that when life gets harder, I get stronger. 

Challenges not only give strength, but they also allow opportunities for growth. The bigger the challenge, the bigger the opportunity for growth. 

It's the end of a busy term. I'm too tired to reflect on what I've learned from last week's challenges. All I know is that bad experiences can hit you like a tsunami. When they do, you need faith and patience to endure.

   

Be the difference

How do you feel about yourself? Do you think you are a good person or a bad person? The way you feel about yourself determines your thoughts, emotions, and actions.

Your thoughts and emotions control you because you allow them to. When you give these thoughts and emotions (whether positive or negative) the attention they need, they thrive. They control you.

When you are bombarded by life, you feel overwhelmed. You look at life negatively and self-pity absorbs you. Allowing negative thoughts and emotions to control you makes you arrogant. You believe that you alone are right (the world is wrong) and you alone suffer (no one on earth can suffer as much as you do at that given moment). Within your comfort zone of arrogance, which protects you from the world, you refuse to acknowledge that you can be wrong and that there are people in the world suffering far more than you are. You revel in self-pity because no one enjoys suffering.

Your thoughts and emotions can be burdensome, but, because they’re not lethal, you can survive whatever you experience. Survivors don’t quit. They don’t roll over and die! They fight for something better. That’s what you do every day. When you hold your breath for as long as you possibly can, you will soon become aware of the pressure that builds up inside of you. When it becomes too hard to bear, the instinct to survive kicks in and you start breathing again. Relief is the first thing that flows through your body. Your instinct to survive is the most powerful motivation that keeps you going.

Instead of self-pity during times of difficulty, you need to accept life for what it is. It’s a rollercoaster ride that will have its ups and downs, turns and twists, and moments of sheer exhilaration or horror. That’s life. Life is what it is. Putting yourself in the center of all the events and experiences that life offers is wrong. Life isn’t just about you. Instead of focusing on the hardship, you need to look at the positive things in life.

If you look around, you’ll find a situation or person that needs your help. Instead of being self-absorbed and stressing about how you are going to get out of your own pool of fire, you should be a positive influence on those around you. Radiate your energy and light.

You give of yourself because you want to make the world a better place, even if it is only for a moment, for one particular person, and in one very small and seemingly insignificant situation. Your decisions and actions must be good and generous without the expectation that serves self-interest. You need to be selfless! Even when goodness and generosity are not reciprocated, you need to go forward, resilient, and focused.

Sticks and stones may break your bones, but they will not diminish your spirit. You learn to ignore your own small personal problems and render your service to help people with their problems.

To live a fulfilling life means that you change your self-centered (me-first) attitude to a more mindful attitude, an attitude where you become aware of the needs of others. You can’t deplete your energy by helping everyone, but you can, even in silence, be supportive. Everyone on earth has a burden to bear. Instead of adding weight to these burdens, you should learn to show compassion.

It all starts with patience and gratitude. Once you exercise patience and show gratitude for life itself, you will always be ready to make a positive difference on a daily basis. 

Leaving a legacy

The books I write I leave in the care of my daughter, Jana Steyn. The legacy will live on. These books don't have to be published or sold. They don't have to achieve a 'top-ten best seller' list or any awards. They only need to be passed on. 

My dad loved books. I still have both his encyclopedia sets and some of his classic novels. He nourished our minds from a very young age, all because of his passion for books and knowledge.

There's nothing wrong with trying to do things on a creative level. It just defines who we are. I used to sketch and paint, but I loved writing more. Now, my daughter paints. It was Henri Matisse who said, "Creativity takes courage". 

So, we move forward, from one year to the next, curious about what we may achieve. It's curiosity that keeps us going. The only thing we need to ask is: what exactly are we curious about?

Too many people do things to achieve recognition: fame and fortune. They pursue happiness as if it's a goal they can achieve somewhere at the top of a ladder. Anne Frank didn't write her diary for fame and fortune. She wrote out of necessity. She only became famous after her death. One of my favourite poets is Emily Dickinson. She wrote more than 1800 poems, but only seven of her poems were published before she died. 

When people hear about my books, they ask so many questions. Who published the book? How many books have been sold? How much money has been made? These questions just prove how shallow people are. They don't understand the essence of who I am. 

I write because I enjoy writing. I don't have any plans or goals for my work because I'm writing for fun. It makes me happy. It's rewarding to know that I can finish what I initially started. I don't search for happiness. I live in the moment and all those moments of enjoyment create a book. You have to enjoy what you do, otherwise, it's just a form of punishment. I would never be able to sit down and write a book with the aim of achieving recognition.

When I look at my great-grandmother's Bible, which was passed on to my father and then to me, I realize how important it is to leave something of ourselves behind. She wrote down the names of her family in the Bible. Her handwriting is preserved as long as the Bible is preserved. My father also wrote a message in the Bible. This inspired me to leave something behind, too. I have about 14 diaries, which were written over three decades. I have given them to Jana. She has read all of them and found them to be extremely inspirational. 

I want my books and poems to stay in the family. Because I teach, my sole purpose of writing is to leave a legacy. I don't want to write full-time. I've always believed this and will continue to say it: first and foremost, I am a teacher. I was born to teach. Writing is a hobby, not my career. When I retire there will be more time to write. Perhaps then, when I have the luxury of time, I will be able to write more substantial work. 

Now, all I have is a passion for writing, so, whenever I can, I will write. 

Mareijke's Courage Chapter 3

I do not ask to walk smooth paths
Nor bear an easy load.
I pray for strength and fortitude …

Gail Brook Burket

Mareijke’s arms were spread across the open sky in suspended animation. She was flying with the eagle, yet fighting to stay grounded. She wasn’t alone. Sensing another presence in the room, Mareijke frantically tried to open her eyes, but her body was paralyzed to sleep. She was a guest in her own unresponsive body.

She willed herself to move, if only her fingers. Nothing happened. From somewhere there seemed to be an enormous vacuum sucking the air out of the room as breathing became more and more difficult for her. The force pressing against her lungs made her panic. Was she dying?

Lost in a dream, she was running down a winding path within a maze of giant green hedges with the most intricate walls she had ever seen. Mareijke was listening to the gentle poetic rhythm of her English teacher’s voice. It seemed to fall like a feather from the puffy clouds above her:

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light …

She couldn’t see her teacher, but she could hear her voice until it was drowned out by the shrill noise of the cicadas. 

The buzzing noise became louder and louder. Feeling light years away from the dirty little town without a name, Mareijke was silently screaming for things to be normal. She would certainly rage against death. She was far too young to die.

“Mareijke,” a voice called softly.

The voice sounded familiar. It was pulling her out from deep space. Her mind was a spiral of disoriented thoughts as she anxiously tried to speak. Her muscles were weak. Again she tried to open her eyes only to have the heavy lids fall shut.

The room was dark and cool. She faded in and out of consciousness for what seemed to be an eternity. She was swimming in the swirling water of a dark and murky whirlpool. From the centre of the vortex, she could hear the voice calling her:

“Mareijke.”

It was a slow, arduous process trying to wake up and still she had no idea where she was.

“Mareijke.”

She recognized the voice. Opening her eyes slowly, she blinked a few times to clear her blurred vision. He wasn’t a dream. He was real. One of his caravaneer friends was standing behind him. 

“Mareijke,” Béch spoke again.

“Béch,” she whispered softly … and drifted off.

There was no use in trying to wake her. Mareijke needed to sleep off her fatigue. Béch and his companion left the room quietly. He was filled with smoldering resentment for the people who had taken her from his camel-train and was determined to find out who had been responsible for the dune ambush.

Béch had been informed by the executor of Dawid’s testament of Mareijke’s condition. With strained stress levels, her sleeping patterns had been fragmented since the death of her father. Her sheer stubbornness had brought her in a state of exhaustion to Morocco and him.

He had booked her into a hotel so that she could rest for a few days, but Mareijke was insistent about leaving for the mountains immediately. Her impatience had made it impossible for her to recuperate. Their slow trip across the desert and the prolonged exposure to the heat had tapped her remaining energy severely.

Béch had promised Mareijke’s father that he would help her. He had come a long way with Dawid van Staalduinen and helping Mareijke find the artifacts was part of Dawid’s final instructions for him, on his deathbed and through the testament.

While Béch was committed to keeping his promise to Dawid, Mareijke’s life was now in danger and he needed to rethink his strategy.

Béch had been about seven years old when he first heard Mareijke’s name. Dawid had left Morocco to live in Cape Town, but returned a year later bringing the exciting news of his daughter’s birth. At the time and throughout Béch’s life she had always remained a name. Yet, he had constantly been aware of the fact that the person who bore the name was the daughter of a man he loved, a man who had been like a father to him. It was the only connection of her that he allowed himself to make.

Dawid’s lawyer had contacted him after the car accident. Taking the first flight from Agadir to Cape Town, Béch had stood next to the bed of a dying man, barely able to speak. Mareijke was in Australia at the time and her flight to South Africa delayed, taking her longer to arrive.

Béch remembered Dawid’s pain. He had taken Béch’s hand with forced exertion, begging him to help Mareijke find the artifacts. Shortly thereafter, Dawid had died. Consumed with despair, Béch had returned to Agadir with the sole purpose of travelling to the mountains to retrieve the artifacts. Before he could leave, a copy of the testament was sent to him and he was devastated when he discovered what Dawid had wanted of him. 

Waiting patiently at the airport for Mareijke’s flight to arrive, Béch had no idea what to expect. He wondered how he would recognize her. Dawid was a dark-haired man with the bluest eyes Béch had ever seen, but Mareijke may have been blessed with her mother’s looks. Margaret van Staalduinen was a beautiful woman with chestnut hair and steel-blue eyes. 

He had been standing casually against one of the railings when a young woman approached him. She had stopped a few meters away from Béch. Standing perfectly still, she had stared at him. Instinctively he had known it was Mareijke even before the concern that was etched on her face transformed to a visage of relief.

The young woman had a powerful inner strength that emboldened her weak façade and he remembered being impressed by her gentle courage. It had given him the confidence that he needed for the harsh journey that lay ahead. He knew then that she would not hinder them along the way and from that moment the pace was set.

Now, Béch’s thoughts lay stretched across the night. A few hours of restless sleep passed quickly and he found himself in Mareijke’s room before dawn sitting quietly next to her bed, watching her. He watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she lay sleeping. He was fascinated with her placid beauty. With soft golden hair, green eyes and a fine bone structure, she neither resembled Dawid nor Margaret van Staalduinen. Yet, the very essence of Dawid defined her.

It was the slow diffusion of something inexplicable and unfamiliar within him that made Béch stand up. He walked to the bedroom door slowly and crossed the lounge to the balcony. Standing outside in the fresh morning air, he watched the ocean as it slept lazily beneath a scarlet sunrise, his thoughts heavily preoccupied with Mareijke.

He had never really loved a woman. He had worked as a humanitarian in Morocco for many years, helping those who suffered from poverty, malnutrition, exploitation and ignorance. He didn’t have time for relationships and the few that had come his way over the years weren’t meaningful enough to make a difference in his life.

Mareijke was the first woman to rivet his attention. From the moment they had met, he had been attentive to her reactions and behaviour, curious about her thoughts. It was perhaps a mere association. The loss of Dawid had been profound and all that was left of him was Mareijke.

Béch knew that he couldn’t allow his mind to plunge into an analysis of his emotions. He couldn’t lose the equilibrium he had always been able to control. It was far more important to suppress his emotions at all costs so that he could focus on their assignment and the best way to push Mareijke to the back of his mind was to keep busy.

He left the apartment quietly for his usual morning run. By the time Mareijke emerged from the bedroom, he had already returned with tickets for their flight to Cape Town. He kept the tickets in his bedroom with the intention of telling her about his plans later that day.

She sank into the soft cushions of a comfortable sofa and Béch gave her a warm mug of tea.

“How did you know?” she asked.

“I’m not sure I understand,” Béch returned.

“How did you know where to find me?”

Béch frowned. “I didn’t find you, Mareijke. When I got back, you were already here.”

Mareijke looked at him in mute astonishment.

“What happened, Mareijke?” he asked, settling down next to her. He listened patiently as she told the story.

“Perhaps they want the artifacts,” she ventured.

“I don’t think so,” he returned.

“Exploitation,” she suggested.

“No,” Béch answered. “Most traffickers operate clandestine.”

“Then what?” Mareijke asked in confusion.

She looked at him questioningly, but Béch was at a loss for an answer and even if he could find some sense in everything that had happened the previous day, he didn't want to explain anything to her at that moment. He looked at his watch.

“I have to go,” he said suddenly.

“Why?” Mareijke asked, as he got up to leave.

Feeling awkward for having asked, Mareijke stood up almost too quickly. Her head started to reel and she swayed dangerously. Mareijke caught Béch by the arm to steady herself and felt his taut arm muscle flinch at her touch. She was suddenly aware of his masculinity and stepped back, putting distance between them. For a brief, fleeting moment they were caught in a wave of consciousness as their eyes locked.

“Please find something to eat,” he said quickly, adding more space between them. “The kitchen has plenty of supplies.”  

He turned and walked out of the room, leaving Mareijke dazed. She tried to make sense of what had just happened. Confused by her own emotions, she went to the kitchen and made a sandwich. She sat on the balcony of Béch’s apartment and ate slowly.

She looked at the flat beach that stretched out in front of her, disappearing into the sparkling Atlantic. The people on the beach were immersed in their own activities. The beauty of the white sand and blue ocean made it difficult for Mareijke to imagine that the city had once been destroyed by an earthquake.

Her mind kept wandering back to those fleeting moments before Béch had left the apartment. Her actions had been so innocent, a response to a situation. His reaction to her touch was completely unexpected. The sensation that had passed through her the moment he flinched was uncomfortably real.

She suddenly regretted everything that had happened. She was afraid of the effect it would have on their relationship and inadvertently, the rest of their trip.  

Later that evening, one of the caravaneers brought Mareijke a prepared dinner. He made an excuse for Béch’s absence and stayed at the apartment until Mareijke retired for the night. When she awoke the next day, Béch was still not at the apartment. She ate a light breakfast and decided to take a walk.

The apartment was in close proximity to the beach and shops, and the cool Atlantic breeze lifted her mood as she walked down the wide street. It was her first visit into the vibrant Moroccan city. She ambled along the bustling boulevard where sky blue taxis and other vehicles were competing in honking and screech-braking competitions as far as they travelled.

The stench of drain water filled the air and Mareijke found herself constantly harassed by dirty hands begging for “inglish munny” or locals trying to sell something to her. Deciding to extricate herself from the ensnaring trap set in Agadir for foreigners, she impulsively hailed a petit taxi. The driver spoke of a souk and she nodded. Mareijke had no idea what a souk was, but didn’t want the driver to take advantage of her ignorance as a tourist.

The souk was nothing other than an enormous market. It was a hub where tourists were being bantered into various kinds of negotiations by Moroccan hawkers and food cart operators, while little children darted between the people and stalls. She was fascinated with the various products that dominated it and slowly mingled with the brilliant smells of leather, incense, oils and spices.

She was constantly hassled by a merchandiser to purchase something and soon found the experience of being at the souk as daunting as walking the streets of Agadir. She saw a merchandiser approach an elderly woman. The woman lifted her hand and said ‘No!’ quite firmly and the merchandiser seemingly backed off. Mareijke decided to do the same and soon was able to enjoy looking around with much more confidence.

After several minutes of practicing firm and very conclusive assertiveness between the stalls, Mareijke approached a stall where mint tea was available. Mareijke accepted the woman’s offer immediately and stood fascinated as the tea was poured from a fulgurous height. It was done without any mess. Mareijke knew it was poured that way to aerate the tea. She had seen it being done in the nomad camelhair-dining tent at the oasis and Béch had explained it to her. Mareijke drank the sweet refreshing tea, thanked the woman, paid and moved on to another stall.

“No!” she said firmly for the umpteenth time and truly enjoyed the response she got as the merchandiser turned and left her alone.

Admiring a leather handbag, Mareijke suddenly experienced a strange, yet intense feeling that she was being watched. She stopped and scanned the area subtly. Startled suddenly at seeing her abductor, Mareijke was uncertain whether to return to Béch’s apartment or confront the man who had made absolutely no attempt to conceal the fact that he was watching her.

She wasn’t given much time to decide as he casually started walking towards her. She darted behind a carpet. Beneath the prodigious sun, Mareijke started to weave her way through the stalls and people. She found herself running past fresh produce and chickens and goats and goofy smiles. Her feet kept moving in reckless directions. Refusing to look back, lest she stumble and fall over some obstacle or person in the overstocked market, Mareijke kept on running only to stagger eventually into a squalid alley filled with the stench of urine.

She stopped for a moment, bending forward with hands on knees. She was an extraordinary picture of pathetic inability, dry-heaving like a dog. Her legs were heavy and her lungs exhausted; she knew she wouldn’t be able to run much longer. More importantly, she realized that she was lost and would soon be unable to extricate herself from the labyrinth of stalls and walls.

“We need to talk,” a casual voice said from behind her.

Still heaving, she turned to see him standing behind her as casually as he had spoken. Not a hair was out of place and his breath was intact. She straightened her back and stood in front of her abductor, desperately trying to control her breathing.

“I know a nice little café just around the corner,” he said, a wretched smile splashed across his face, “and if you want, we can run there.”

He turned and walked in the direction she had come. She stood for a while, infuriated with his arrogance. She knew now that she had been running in circles and realized there was no escaping his omniscient presence. She followed at a distance and was intrigued with his confidence that she would in fact comply.

Mareijke didn’t know why, but sensed that she could trust the man with the stern composure. He entered a sidewalk café and, pausing outside to glance quickly at her reflection in the window, Mareijke followed. She was a mess, but there was absolutely nothing she could do to change that.

The delicious smell of the grill was very appealing to her hungry stomach. She crossed the room slowly. It was filled with Agadir's smart set and there seemed to be no tables available. Nevertheless, she found her abductor comfortably seated in a far corner, waiting for her. It seemed as if there was method in the madness: while she was running in circles, he perhaps had booked their table.

She didn’t want to waste any time deliberating the matter. Confident enough to approach him, Mareijke remained wary as his foiled attempt to kidnap her still lingered in the dark recesses of her mind.