Morocco- Day 1 Part 2-Masamba..ooh say it again..

Masamba...hanging in Tangers.

It only took a few moments standing alone in the middle of a square before I made the acquaintance of a tall, handsome, dark chocolate, deep-dimpled, Sengalese boy named Masamba. I was standing at the entrance to the Medina trying to inconspicuously figure out my map. At first I didn't notice him; didn't even realize he was trying to talk to me. He sat on a ledge about 5 feet away...speaking French. I thought he was on the phone. The 2nd attempt he leaned in towards me. I dramatically ignored him; staring intently at the map in my hands. He tried 2 more times. It was distracting. I needed to give my map my complete attention. I needed to address this. I look up and uttered that familiar French phrase, "Je ne parles Francais". He asked what I spoke.
English?
He shook his head sadly..
Español? He asked hopefully.
I hesitated but finally nodded.
Come stai, he asked...in Italian.
Wait...what?!?
Suddenly things got interesting...
Turns out, Masamba had spent two years in Italy and spoke enough Italian to carry on a proper conversation. We chatted for a bit. He told me how he had followed a friend to Italy (illegally of course) & eeked out a living selling umbrellas, socks etc. on the street. He really liked Italy but with the economic crisis he wasn't making it.  Morocco wasn't any better but at least it was easier to be under the radar. I got a really good vibe from him so when he asked if I wanted some company, I said yes AFTER making sure he understood I wasn't looking for a guide nor would he be paid with money or anything else for that matter. All I had to offer was an afternoon and conversational Italian lessons.
His face dropped. He obviously felt offended and told me I would learn he was not like that.
And he wasn't.
He was clearly interested in me but behaved like a perfect gentleman. We got along like fast friends. I was grateful to have a local to wander around with on my first day in Morocco and I found him to be fun to talk to and easy going as well.
Then at one point late in the afternoon, while we were visiting the American Legion Building (side note: did you know Morocco was the 1st country to officially recognize the United States as a country back around 1789..yup!) Masamba got a very serious look on his face and made me sit down on a chair in the courtyard. He swung his chair around to face mine. He asked if he could go with me to Fez and onward through the rest of my time in Morocco. He had been building up to this all day; joking about coming with me to my next stop but this time he was thoughtful and careful with his words. He made me sit still and look him in the eye as he spoke so I could know he was serious. Then he began.
"If I tell you that I love you, I know you won't believe me."
He went on to tell me how he had gone to a fortune teller 2 weeks ago who told him that he would soon be meeting a woman, older than him, a white woman, who he was destined to marry. He had been waiting in front of the Western Union office across the street from the square when he saw me. He almost never approached women, definitely not white women; definitely not as an illegal black man in Morocco but something about me drew him in.
Uh-huh.
Now this story comes as a surprise to absolutely...noone who knows me at all. I swear my ample ASSets act as a honing beacon to any man within radius that has so much as a hint of African ancestry! After 35 years and the past 4 living in the Caribbean; I've heard more than my fair share of over the top but hollow declarations of true love.
But...
But Masamba was so earnest. He kept looking down and rubbing his sweating hands down the legs of his jeans. He told me he felt embarrassed to tell me all this but he knew I was leaving on a train that afternoon and it was now or never. He wouldn't get another chance to get these feelings off his chest.
Suddenly, my go to move of rolling my eyes and making a snarky comment didn't feel appropriate. My heart leapt from my chest and broke for him. I felt like I could cry from the power of his quiet emotion. The only problem? I didn't share his feelings. He was so nice. Part of me just wanted to make him happy and say, "The hell with it! Let's go! If I can't fall for a sweet, polite, funny, good looking guy professing his undying love for me...well...who then?!?
In the end, we exchanged email addresses. And as I left for the train he told me I didn't know what it felt like to want something so badly that isn't wanted in return.
Oh Masamba...if only that were true..