Oujda borders the Algerian town Maghnia, a closed border since 1994. Oujda, where my grandmother hails from is the birthplace of Abdelaziz Bouteflika, the man who would be president of Algeria for almost 20 years. The latter two towns, now cities, are close to the Algerian border. Now as an adult I make some detours, have some small adventures but as a child, the vacations I knew were back home and back home was Casa, Berkane, Oujda. Morocco meaning landing in Casablanca going to Berkane and then Oujda and then back to Casa. I never got to go on vacations, I got to go back home. A world very few could or can understand. A few dollars spent and you could enter a world so different from where my parents had settled for a stretch of time, central Florida. Later burned CDs you could buy on the street in Casablanca or at an Indian or Pakistani grocery store, the ones that came in a white envelope with cellophane circle or a plastic sleeve with a bootleg printed paper cover. What we did have were cassettes my mom had brought with her from Morocco or had been given. They were just CDs of singles that cost less than $3 and were bought on birthdays, among them Brittney SpearРІР‚в„ўs Hit Me Baby One More Time and HokuРІР‚в„ўs Another Dumb Blonde. In Florida, where I spent my childhood, we only had maybe five РІР‚СљrealРІР‚Сњ CDs. Buying music was always a luxury for my family growing up. I can sing along to a top 40 (sometimes) but I never really had music on my phone. When people talk about artists here I often find I do not relate, nothing resonates or sticks. It's silly when I get surprised that people know Khaled yet I am always in awe and appreciation and reminded not to be shy or skirt around the music I love and was raised around. The other day on hinge someone asked me what I was up to and I said I was writing a piece on Cheb Khaled and he automatically responded РІР‚СљOmg I love KhaledРІР‚В¦РІР‚Сњ and later РІР‚Сљ.discovered him when I was in Europe, had quite a few Moroccan friends and he is like God to them.РІР‚СњР”Р„dapted in many languages including Urdu (my father tongue), Hebrew, Malay, Polish, and more. It still shocks me when someone knows who he is because he feels weirdly like mine and MaghrebРІР‚в„ўs, although I know that is silly. Cheb Khaled is one of the artists I seem to be sharing the most lately. I attempted tuba for a stretch of time and again found that I just was not great at it. Music to me though always just seemed like something out of my range, I played oboe for years but I was never a natural and had to work hard at it. But for some reason music, especially something I assumed was niche, made me hesitate. That hesitancy was weird for me, someone who sometimes shares too much. I never used to post music and adamantly declared I am not a music person. When the pandemic began, I started posting a lot of music on my timeline. It also was a song that did well with non-Maghrebi audiences and made it on charts throughout Europe.

There is no bad Cheb Khaled album but 1996РІР‚в„ўs Sahra will always stand out to me. Someone knowing this enormous yet secret part of me. He confirmed and texted back: РІР‚Сљecoute moi ooooo.РІР‚Сњ I went back instantly, that moment I felt magic.

This week I reconnected with that friend to confirm it was that song and not a fever dream. A year ago, before the pandemic, a dear friend of mine and I met to talk about our dreams of moving to New York and share delicious food as we parted ways in the subway station he started singing Cheb KhaledРІР‚в„ўs, AР“Р‡cha.

Cheb khaled aicha