Tangier, 1938.

Chibi has made a friend.

MARA

You’ve known him for twelve minutes.

CHIBI

Long enough.

MARA

You don’t even know his name.

CHIBI

Something with an H.

MARA

That’s not knowing his name.

The boy sits under a striped awning.

About Chibi’s age.

Dark hair.

Bare knees.

A shirt too large for him.

And cake.

Mara suspects that explains most of the friendship.

MARA

Does he speak English?

CHIBI

No.

MARA

German?

CHIBI

No.

MARA

French?

CHIBI

Maybe.

MARA

Do you speak French?

CHIBI

Enough.

MARA

Say something.

CHIBI

Bonjour.

MARA

That’s one word.

CHIBI

It’s an important word.

The boy waves.

Chibi waves back.

CHIBI

See?

Fluent.

By lunchtime, the hotel courtyard has become a small world.

Spanish.
French.
British.
Italian.
Moroccan.
American.
Belgian.

Nobody agrees on much.

Then a tray of sweets arrives.

Peace becomes possible.

The boy offers Chibi half his cake.

Chibi takes it immediately.

MARA

You don’t even know what it is.

CHIBI

Cake.

MARA

You can’t understand each other.

CHIBI

We’re doing fine.

Later, music begins.

A violin.

A drum.

Clapping.

A Moroccan porter shows a Spanish traveller a rhythm.

The Spaniard gets it wrong.

The porter laughs.

Then the Spaniard exaggerates it deliberately.

Now both laugh.

Nearby, two adults who have argued all morning clap perfectly in time while continuing their argument.

MARA

They’re still arguing.

CHIBI

Yes.

MARA

Then they’re not friends.

CHIBI

I didn’t say they were.

MARA

Why celebrate with someone you don’t even like?

Chibi looks around.

CHIBI

Maybe because they’re already here.

Soon Mara and Chibi are playing with five local children.

Between them they share perhaps eleven useful words.

Nobody explains the rules.

There are stones.

A line in the dust.

Someone throws.

Someone shouts.

Someone cheats.

Chibi cheats better.

Everyone protests.

MARA

You don’t even know the rules.

CHIBI

Neither do they.

One boy says something.

Everyone laughs.

MARA

What did he say?

CHIBI

No idea.

MARA

Then why are you laughing?

CHIBI

Because everyone else is.

Then comes a toast.

Arabic.

French.

Spanish.

English.

Italian.

Eventually nobody is translating anymore.

They’re simply adding.

Good journeys.

Safe arrivals.

Finding friends.

Getting lost somewhere worth finding.

Then the porter says one short word.

Everyone repeats it.

Mara does too.

So does Chibi.

MARA

What does that mean?

CHIBI

No idea.

MARA

You said it.

CHIBI

So did you.

The adults ask.

Arabic?

No.

French?

No.

Spanish?

No.

Italian?

No.

The porter frowns.

PORTER

Old word.

My grandmother.

A Belgian archaeologist looks up.

BELGIAN

I’ve heard that.

In Crete.

A Spaniard shakes his head.

SPANISH MAN

Mallorca.

An Italian woman stops smiling.

ITALIAN WOMAN

My grandfather said something like it.

For a moment everyone is puzzled.

Then someone begins playing again.

The word disappears beneath the music.

Nobody investigates further.

Later, Mara finds Chibi and the boy sharing the last piece of cake.

MARA

You still don’t know his name.

CHIBI

I do now.

MARA

What is it?

The boy says it.

CHIBI

Hamid.

MARA

How did you finally figure it out?

CHIBI

I asked.

MARA

In what language?

CHIBI

Pointed at him.

Then me.

Said Chibi.

He said Hamid.

It’s not difficult.

Hamid offers Mara some cake.

She takes it.

CHIBI

Careful.

Now you’re friends.

MARA

That’s not how friendship works.

CHIBI

How does it work?

MARA

You talk.

CHIBI

We did.

MARA

You couldn’t understand each other.

CHIBI

Some things.

Cake.

Game.

Cheating.

Again.

No.

Yes.

Mine.

Yours.

Funny.

MARA

That’s not much.

CHIBI

Enough for today.

Later, on the roof:

MARA

Do you think everyone downstairs is friends now?

CHIBI

No.

MARA

Tomorrow they’ll still disagree.

CHIBI

Yes.

MARA

Some of them won’t even like each other.

CHIBI

Yes.

MARA

So what changed?

Chibi thinks.

CHIBI

Maybe they know one more thing about each other.

MARA

What?

CHIBI

How they laugh.

Before tonight, that man was French.

That woman was Italian.

Hamid was Moroccan.

That sailor was English.

Now they’re also the person who cheats at cards.

The woman who dances badly.

The man who sings too loudly.

The boy who gives away cake.

Celebration cannot erase borders.

It cannot erase prejudice.

It cannot repair history.

But sometimes it creates a small opening.

A table.

A dance floor.

A game scratched into the dust.

A shared plate.

A song.

A moment where the first question is not:

Where are you from?

What are you?

But simply:

Do you want some?

MARA

You really became friends because he gave you cake?

CHIBI

No.

I became friends with him because I gave half back.

QUESTION FOR YOU

When you meet someone whose language, culture or world is completely different from your own, how much do you really need to understand before you can share something simple together —

a song, a game, a meal, a laugh —

and perhaps stop being strangers for a little while?

PLAY EPIC. FEEL THE STORY.

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