Uncle's Confession: My Romantic Encounter with a Beautiful Arab Woman (1-6)

page views:1 Publication date:2023-07-12

In March 2017, at the age of 38, I bid farewell to my wife and daughter and flew to Morocco with three colleagues to participate in an aid project, beginning my two-year overseas posting.
(This is a sequel to the first part, "Uncle's Confession: My Story with a High School Girl," and is entirely original; all names in the text are pseudonyms.)

1.
Morocco is located in the northwest corner of Africa, the westernmost country in North Africa, and also a somewhat mysterious Arab country for Chinese people. The official language is Arabic, but French, Spanish, and Berber are also widely spoken.
The country is bordered by the vast Atlantic Ocean to the west, Algeria to the east and southeast, the Sahara Desert to the south, the southern coast of the Mediterranean Sea to the northeast, and Spain across the Strait of Gibraltar to the northwest. The climate is Mediterranean (only the southernmost region near Western Sahara has a tropical desert climate), relatively pleasant, and similar to the climate of Southern Europe and most of southern China.
As the backyard of continental Europe, Morocco is very close to Europe. If Europe is likened to mainland China, then Morocco is equivalent to Hainan Island. Traveling here from Spain is like traveling from Guangdong Province to Hainan Island.
Our group of four was all men, and as the project manager, I naturally became the leader of our small group. The other three included someone a few years older than me, over forty, surnamed Chu (we called him Old Chu), and the other two were younger, one in his early thirties and the other under thirty, and unmarried.
On the day we arrived in Rabat, the capital of Morocco, a female staff member from the group company's North Africa office picked us up at the airport.
Her name was Aimeini, a local employee hired by the group company. She was twenty-six years old, had studied in China for four years, and spoke fluent Mandarin.
When we cleared customs, Aimeini was already waiting there. All four of us were amazed by her beauty; we hadn't expected the office to send such a beautiful employee to pick us up.
Amyna was a typical Arab beauty. She had long, wavy chestnut hair, a tall figure, fair skin, beautiful features, dark eyes, and a high nose. Her non-prescription glasses added a touch of intellectual beauty.
That day, she wore a black blazer over a white fitted shirt, black slim-fit trousers, and high-heeled shoes. A Chanel bag slung over her shoulder, perfectly blending mature elegance with the aura of a professional woman.
After picking us up, Amyna chatted warmly with us and led us to her car, a Ford Escape SUV. Back then, the domestically produced version of this car in Chongqing was called the Ford Kuga.
Driving on the road leading to Rabat, the exotic atmosphere was overwhelming, especially the ubiquitous blue-domed mosques, reminding the four of us that we were now in a completely unfamiliar country on the other side of the world. Everything was new, intriguing, and exciting.
As Amyna drove, she explained the arrangements the group company had made for us over the next few days. We'll settle in for the night, and tomorrow morning we'll go to the North Africa office for a training session, mainly to learn about the project's rules and regulations and Moroccan customs, to avoid any disharmony when interacting with the locals.
Starting tomorrow afternoon, Amy will act as our translator and guide, showing us around Rabat for three days—a perk from the group's headquarters—before we report to the project office in Settat.
The thought of spending the next few days with this beautiful Arab woman filled the four of us with excitement.
Amy took us to a five-star hotel, where she had already booked rooms according to the office's instructions. She told us to rest well and adjust to the time difference, and that she would pick us up after breakfast tomorrow. She also advised us to have dinner at the hotel and not to go out alone at night, as the security here isn't as good as in China.
We settled in and did as Amy suggested, partly for safety and because of the language barrier, and partly because we were tired from our journey.
Although it was a five-star hotel, the conditions were only equivalent to a three-star hotel in China. Morocco is a developing country in the Third World; although its economy and other conditions are among the best in Africa, it is still relatively underdeveloped overall.
The next morning, just as dawn broke, before our phone alarms even went off, we were awakened by the chanting of the imam from the nearby mosque. We got up, washed, and went to the restaurant for breakfast, waiting for Amy to pick us up.
The breakfast selection was quite varied, mainly Arabic food, similar to the cuisine of ethnic minorities in Xinjiang, China, but also including Western and Japanese dishes.
While eating, Lao Chu and two other colleagues also complained about how annoying the noise from the mosque was.
When we arrived at the hotel lobby, Amy was already waiting there. As soon as she saw us, she put down her magazine, stood up from the sofa, and greeted us with a smile: "Mr. Chen, did you sleep well last night?"
Amy wasn't wearing her non-prescription glasses today, and she had changed her clothes, still dressed fashionably, with a tight-fitting lace undershirt (so sheer that you could vaguely see her bra), her breasts prominent, and she was still carrying the same Chanel bag from yesterday.
I noticed that her breasts were quite large, and she even showed a little cleavage, quite typical of Caucasian women. Of course, I only glanced at her; otherwise, staring at a foreign woman I'd just met, especially a Muslim woman, would have been incredibly rude.
She was as beautiful as yesterday, her mature charm captivating. This instantly refreshed me, given my travel fatigue and lack of sleep, and gave me renewed energy. I guessed the other three felt the same way. The
imam's noisy recitation of the Quran echoed in my ears again, and I chuckled, "Not bad..."
"That's good, let's go to the office now..." Amy said with a smile, leading us to the parking lot outside the lobby.
Amy and I walked side by side. She was quite tall, not shorter than me even in heels, probably around the same height as Li Meishan, no less than 1.67 meters, and a bit taller than Zhao Lin.
"Does the mosque recite the Quran every morning?" I couldn't help but ask.
"Pretty much! There are quite a few people going in to pray every day..."
Amyni said with a smile. "What's wrong? Were you disturbed by the noise and didn't sleep well?"
I couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding. For the next few days, I would be accompanied by the imam's loud voice every morning.
"No, it's just that I'm not used to it," I replied politely.
She smiled and said, "I'm sorry! That's how it is in Arab countries. You get used to it after a while, and it's not too noisy."
"Um, Amyni..." I asked, "Are you Muslim?"
"Yes!" she smiled again, a very measured and charming smile. "In Morocco, whether Arab or Berber, the vast majority of people are Muslim, and it's the same in other North African countries."
I thought to myself, Muslim women are said to dress conservatively, but this Amyni has been wearing neither a headscarf nor a robe since yesterday, only fashionable clothes, and quite avant-garde ones at that. It seems that North African countries are indeed different from other Arab countries.
The office was located in downtown Rabat, not far from the hotel. There were quite a few staff members; after all, it was the office of a large Chinese corporation, with both Chinese and locals.
As soon as we entered, many people greeted Amy, who seemed to know everyone there well, suggesting she had been employed for quite some time.
After we sat down in the meeting room, Amy went about her own business, as we would be dealing with Chinese people from now on, so a translator was no longer needed.
First, a leader from the office gave us a speech, welcoming us and saying that this project was very important. He hoped that we, the employees of the subordinate design institute, would live up to the trust placed in us by the group company and strive to bring glory to the country.
Old Chu listened very attentively, constantly taking notes in his notebook. I thought to myself, what's the point of recording these trivial words? But out of respect for the leader, since Old Chu was taking notes, I, as the design project leader, could only pretend to be serious, though I was mainly just doodling in my notebook. I've loved drawing since I was a child, and I've taught myself sketching; my drawings are actually quite decent.
Old Chu has been working in the design institute for most of his life, but like me, he hasn't made a name for himself. Although he has a senior professional title, he's been a project leader even less than me; otherwise, the institute wouldn't have chosen me instead of him to be the project leader this time.
But one thing is certain: Old Chu is steady, cautious, and very obedient to the leaders. So, the institute arranged for him to join the project team, partly to assist me and partly to help me oversee things.
Although the project was lengthy, it wasn't particularly difficult, and the institute didn't profit much; it was purely working for the group's head office. Plus, nobody wanted to come, so they sent Lao Chu and me, two underutilized people, to lead two young people to complete the task.
After the leader finished speaking, another person explained the project department's rules and regulations and gave us training on local Moroccan customs.
During the break, I was smoking in the corridor when I saw Aimani come out of the copy room, looking at a newly copied document.
She saw me and came over to ask how the training was going. I gave her a brief overview. Just then, a Chinese girl called out, "Aimani, could you translate a document into Arabic for me? It's not much, just one page."
"Sure, no problem,"
Aimani replied, smiling sweetly at me. "I have to go now, see you at lunch."
She left. Watching her graceful figure, I felt that for me and my three colleagues, she was like a breath of fresh air in this country bordering the Sahara Desert.
Lunch was at the office canteen, where they offered both Chinese and Arabic food. After lunch, it was our free time.
Amy first took us to a Moroccan telecommunications store next to the office to get four local SIM cards, and then began our three-day tour of Rabat.

2.
Rabat, the capital of Morocco, is a very beautiful seaside city on the eastern coast of the Atlantic Ocean, a historical and cultural city with stunning scenery and rich cultural landscapes.
That afternoon, Amy took us to the Royal Palace in Rabat, where the King works and meets foreign guests, and to the Rabat beach with panoramic views of the Atlantic Ocean.
Everywhere we went, we were surrounded by beautiful buildings and lush greenery, and the streets were filled with white men and women with high noses and deep-set eyes—a far cry from the common impression many Chinese people have of Africa. If it weren't for the numerous mosques, we would have thought we were in a European country.
My three colleagues were puzzled: since Morocco is an African country, why were there so many white people on the streets? Amy explained to them. Because I enjoy reading and watching sports, I have some knowledge of the history, geography, and customs of the world's continents.
In fact, Morocco is mainly composed of Arabs and Berbers, both of whom belong to the Caucasian race, specifically the Mediterranean type. Compared to the blond, blue-eyed, and fair-skinned Aryans, their skin is not as fair, and most have black hair and eyes. The Berbers,
as an indigenous people of North Africa, have a darker complexion than the Arabs who historically invaded their region, with curlier hair and longer faces. Many of the taxi drivers waiting for fares outside our hotel were Berbers. For example, the local indigenous people described by the writer Sanmao in her works *Stories of the Sahara* and *The Crying Camel* were Berbers. Furthermore, the famous French soccer star Zinedine Zidane, then manager of Real Madrid, was of Berber descent.
This is true not only in Morocco, but also in several other North African countries—Egypt, Algeria, Tunisia, and Libya—with the exception of Sudan. Therefore, our preconceived notion of Black Africa actually refers to the African continent south of the Sahara Desert, while north of the Sahara is White Africa, the Africa of white people.
We also found that the people in this country have a high average appearance; most men are tall and handsome, and most women are beautiful and graceful. Handsome men and beautiful women are everywhere on the streets, and there are quite a few beauties like Amyni.
Another interesting phenomenon is that some of the women passing by are dressed in long robes and headscarves, completely covered up, while others wear fashionable clothes, at most wearing a headscarf, or even none at all. These two completely different styles of dress coexist harmoniously. Some bold young women even display their cleavage, their avant-garde style rivaling that of Western countries.
Amyni told us that North Africa is more open, secular, and Europeanized than the Arab countries of West Asia, so women's clothing is relatively fashionable and avant-garde. Of course, many women still habitually wear traditional robes and headscarves when going out, but these are mostly more conservative married women, especially older women; younger women still prefer to wear fashionable clothes.
She was right; her clothes were very fashionable, even quite sexy, showcasing her curvaceous figure.
During our conversation, we learned that Amyna was married but didn't have children yet. I thought to myself, no wonder she exuded such mature charm; she was a married woman.
In the evening, Amyna took us to a popular Arabic restaurant to sample local cuisine.
While eating, my unmarried young colleague, Xiao Zhang, out of curiosity, asked Amyna if Morocco was the same, having heard that polygamy was legal in Arab countries. He wondered if every Moroccan man had several wives.
Another young colleague, Xiao Wang, laughed, "Why are you asking about that? Want to stay here and enjoy the blessings of multiple wives?"
Old Chu, perhaps sensing the inappropriateness of the topic, especially since Amyna was a young woman and they didn't even know if she was married, quickly stopped the two.
"Yes! Envious, aren't you?" Amyna unexpectedly smiled generously.
Xiao Wang gasped, "My goodness, can they handle that? They'll be exhausted!"
We all knew what he meant. Old Chu said unhappily, "Xiao Wang, watch your mouth."
He glanced at Amy. I also felt this guy had gone a bit too far. If it were men saying these slightly risqué things, it wouldn't be a problem, but Amy, a Muslim woman, was present.
Amy remained poised and said that Morocco still practices polygamy. According to Islamic marriage law, each man can marry a maximum of four wives. However, since Princess Salma married King Mohammed VI at the beginning of this century, Morocco, while not abolishing this marriage system, has imposed restrictions. A husband must obtain the consent of his existing wives before remarrying, otherwise it is difficult to take a new wife. This has, to some extent, improved the status of women in society and the status of wives in the family.
"Don't think that all Arab men are polygamous. In fact, the vast majority of men only have one wife,"
Amy said. Xiao Wang was quite puzzled and asked, "Why? Since it's allowed, why not marry more?"
Xiao Zhang laughed, "Didn't you say you couldn't handle it all? Aren't you afraid of being overworked and exhausted?"
"That reason you mentioned is secondary; the main problem is that I can't afford to marry them..."
Emmaine smiled calmly and continued explaining under our watchful eyes, “Think about it! How much would the dowry alone cost to marry three or four wives? Not only that, according to Islamic marriage law, a husband must treat all his wives equally. For example, if you buy one a necklace today, you have to buy the exact same necklaces for the others tomorrow. Otherwise, if any wife takes you to an Islamic marriage court, you're in deep trouble.”
She paused, then added, “So, without sufficient financial resources, it's impossible to marry multiple wives, because it's simply unaffordable.”
We all wholeheartedly agreed. Then we moved on to other topics, such as the education level of Moroccans. Emmaine said that Morocco is a relatively underdeveloped country with a generally low level of education and a high illiteracy rate, especially among women. Women like her, who have attended university and studied abroad, are rare in Morocco and North Africa. However, compared to Muslim countries in West Asia, North African women face far fewer restrictions and constraints, not only in terms of clothing, but also in the freedom to work, especially in cities.
Old Chu praised Amyni's excellent Chinese. Amyni explained that she had spent four years in China and had always loved China and Chinese culture, which is why she chose to study there, unlike many other young North Africans who prefer Europe, particularly France.
Xiao Wang then asked Amyni what other languages she spoke besides Arabic and Chinese. Amyni replied that she spoke French, Spanish, and Berber, and could also manage English.
We were all amazed; how could one person speak so many languages? Amyni modestly explained that it wasn't a big deal. French, due to its historical colonial past, was the second official language of North African countries, and many educated North Africans were fluent in it. For example, during her secondary school years, almost all subjects were taught in French. Spanish was also prevalent in Morocco due to geographical reasons, so she could speak it fluently as well. As for Berber, it was a local language of Morocco, and many people spoke it. So in Morocco, people like her who can speak several languages are actually quite common.
I silently observed this Arab woman, thinking that she was not only beautiful and elegant but also well-educated, which is indeed rare among Muslim women.
After dinner, Xiao Wang and Xiao Zhang, still in high spirits, asked Amyni if she could take us to karaoke. Amyni readily agreed and drove us to a karaoke bar in her Ford Escape.
This karaoke bar had Arabic, English, and French songs, as well as many Japanese, Chinese, and Korean songs. Since the song selection screen was all in Arabic, which none of us could understand, Amyni handled all the song selection.
Amyni also sang several songs, all in Chinese, and even a Cantonese song. She sang very well, almost at a professional level.
We then learned that Amyni had participated in "The Voice of Morocco" and had even passed the judges' chair-turning stage. We all thought this woman was perfect—not only beautiful and intelligent but also a great singer.
"Amy, which city were you in when you studied in China?" Lao Chu asked.
Amy smiled sweetly, "To be honest, it was in Chengdu, the land of abundance, where the four of us work and live. I graduated from the School of Economics and Management at the University of Electronic Science and Technology of China."

3.
We were all quite surprised and thought it was a small world. I asked with a smile, "Amy, can you speak Chengdu dialect?"
She immediately said in somewhat broken Chengdu dialect, "You little rascal, what's wrong with you? You're such a fake..."
Then she laughed a little embarrassedly, "Sorry! I wasn't cursing, I was just trying to speak Chengdu dialect..."
She then sang the Chengdu dialect rap song that was once popular all over China, "I'm Not Going to Work Tomorrow.
" "I'm not going to work tomorrow, awesome, so cool. I'm not going to work tomorrow, I can be as lazy as I want..."
We all laughed, thinking this Arab woman was really cute.
Aimei stopped laughing and said, "So ever since yesterday, whenever I hear you speaking Chengdu dialect, I feel so warm and familiar, it reminds me of those four years of my youth. I miss Chengdu so much, and its food, like hot pot, cold pot skewers, spicy rabbit heads, Juntun Guokui, etc., they're all so delicious. Although I'm Muslim and don't eat pork, Chengdu's food still left a deep impression on me."
"Aimeini..." Lao Chu looked at her and smiled, "If we have the chance to go to Chengdu again, the four of us will definitely treat you well."
"Yes, thank you, I will definitely go if I have the chance."
I smiled and said, "Since you miss Chengdu so much, how about singing Zhao Lei's 'Chengdu'? Do you know it?" "
Of course I do!" Aimei smiled and selected the song on the song selection screen.
As the intro to "Chengdu" began, Aimei took the microphone and started singing.
"What makes me shed tears is not just last night's wine, what makes me reluctant to part is not just your gentleness. How much longer will the road ahead be? You hold my hand, what makes me feel troubled is the struggle for freedom.
"Parting always happens in September, memories are the sorrow of longing." The tender green willows of late autumn kissed my forehead. In that rainy little town, I never forgot you. Chengdu, the only thing I can't take away is you. Let's walk together on the streets of Chengdu..."
She sang beautifully and with great feeling. I saw a faint glimmer of tears in her eyes. I thought, that city not only held four years of her youth, but also people and things she could never forget.
Back at the hotel, in the elevator, Xiao Wang looked on with envy, saying it was a pity that Aimeini was married. With her face and figure, wouldn't it be wonderful to have something happen between them? I laughed and said, "You should learn more about the laws and customs here before saying that! Don't get any ideas about Muslim women, or you won't be able to leave Morocco."
Xiao Wang replied... "Then I might as well stay here forever." I said, "Aren't you going back to China? Aren't you going to abandon your wife and kids?" Xiao Zhang joked, "He'd like to! But someone has to be interested in him!" We all couldn't help but laugh.
Because I started missing Li Meishan again, I couldn't sleep for a while, so I got dressed and prepared to leave the room. Lao Chu had just finished showering and came out of the bathroom, asking where I was going. I said I was going for a walk. He told me to be careful, but I said it was fine, just a stroll in the hotel garden.
While walking, I saw Aimei's Ford Escape still parked in the parking lot, and wondered, is that hers or the office's? If it was the office, why was she parked here so late instead of driving back to the office? You know, in recent years, government agencies and enterprises in China have been very strict about managing official vehicles, prohibiting their use during off-hours and outside of work hours, even for overseas offices.
Then I thought, maybe she didn't need to drive back to the office to make it easier for her to accompany us these past few days? Then why hadn't she left the hotel so late? Had something happened? So I called her.
Amy said she was at the hotel bar and asked if I wanted to come find her. I said no.
In the end, I went to the bar anyway. Upon entering… In the bar, I saw Amy sitting at the counter, sipping a glass. Her coat was draped over the back of the high stool, and she wore only a semi-transparent black lace top, her bra barely concealed; her silhouette was incredibly alluring. Just
as I was about to walk over, I saw a tall, muscular, pot-bellied middle-aged white man approach Amy.
He was clearly not Moroccan; he was from Europe or America. He gently patted Amy's shoulder and said something in English. Amy looked at him and immediately said, "No, no..."
She spoke resolutely, shaking her head as she spoke. I understood that the man didn't know Amy and was trying to pick her up, perhaps even looking for a one-night stand. The middle-aged white man seemed unwilling to give up and tried to pester her further, saying a few more words, but Amy remained steadfast in her refusal.
I walked over, patted the middle-aged white man on the shoulder, and said in English, "Excuse me, this lady is waiting for me."
My English was passable. Amy looked at me, her eyes showing surprise. The middle-aged white man also looked at me, and perhaps because I was a short, not-so-tall Asian man, he arrogantly said, "So?"
I stared at him and said, "So, please leave."
The middle-aged white man smiled, his eyes flashing with malice, "Chinese, this isn't your country."
I met his gaze without backing down, "This isn't your country either."
Amy looked at the middle-aged white man, then at me, her expression somewhat worried.
Seeing that he wouldn't get what he wanted, the middle-aged white man cursed "Damn it" and walked away.
I sat down next to Amy, and she asked me, "You're very brave. That man was so strong, weren't you afraid at all?"
She probably thought I was at a disadvantage in terms of size, not in the same weight class. At that time, she didn't know I had practiced Muay Thai for many years, and I was confident I could handle that tall but clumsy man.
I smiled, "We're colleagues now, I can't just stand by and watch someone bother you."
A hint of joy and admiration appeared in her eyes as she looked at me, and she said, "Didn't you say you weren't coming? Why are you here?"
Before I could answer, she asked again, "What would you like to drink? It's on me."
I laughed, "How could I let you treat me?"
"It's okay, we're all colleagues, how about some beer?"
I nodded, and she called the bartender for two bottles of Budweiser.
I took a sip and asked, "Aren't you Muslims not allowed to drink alcohol?"
Amy raised her glass at me, "This is just lemonade on the rocks."
We smiled at each other and chatted as we drank. She said that although she didn't drink, she sometimes came to places like this to have a drink and find some peace and quiet.
Amy asked me what year I was born. I told her I was born in 1979 and am 38 years old this year. She said she was born in 1991 and is 26 years old this year, exactly 12 years younger than me; we're both born in the Year of the Sheep. I think she really knows Chinese culture very well.
Through our conversation, I learned that Amy's hometown is Marrakech, about 240 miles (390 kilometers) from the capital Rabat. Her parents live in Casablanca, Morocco's largest city, where she and her husband also live. She works alone in Rabat, and she and her husband are a weekend couple, living with her cousin during the week.
Amy's mother is Spanish, born in Melilla, a Spanish exclave (overseas territory) in Morocco, to a Spanish Muslim family. So she has half Spanish ancestry but is entirely Muslim.
The Ford Escape is her own car; the office reimburses her for fuel when she uses it for work, like taking us sightseeing in Rabat these past few days—that's considered business.
She also told me that she had been a university teacher for two years. After returning from China, she taught economics courses at a private business school, also in French. Later, she applied for a job at the North Africa office.
I asked her why she gave up such a good job as a university teacher. She said that in Morocco, university teachers are not as part of the system as they are in China, so they are not as valuable. She likes to try different jobs, and maybe one day she will be teaching again?
At that time, neither of us expected that her casual remark would come true years later, only the place of teaching had changed from Morocco to China.
I asked Aimeini what her full name was. She asked the bartender for paper and pen, wrote her full name in Chinese on the paper, and then said, "Aimeini Mahrani Abdul..."
As she wrote, I noticed that the top button of the diamond-shaped cutout at the chest of her tight lace undershirt was undone at some point. With her bent-over posture, her ample breasts were more exposed, and her cleavage was deeper. I couldn't help but feel a little tempted, and I admired her in my heart, "Wow, they're so big!"

4.
"Is Abdul your husband's surname or your father's?" I asked, taking a sip of my Budweiser, quite presumptuously.
"Neither. To be precise, we Arabs don't have surnames."
"No surnames?" I was quite surprised. "Then... what do you use as a symbol of family lineage?"
Aymani told me that, generally speaking, an Arab name consists of their own name plus their father's and grandfather's names.
"For example, my name!" she pointed to her name on a piece of paper and explained further, "Aymani is my given name, Mahrani is my father's name, and Abdul is my grandfather's name. We use this form to express family lineage. Some prominent families will add the place of their ancestor's birth to their grandfather's name, which is equivalent to a surname, but it's not actually a real surname..."
Aymani continued to introduce me to Arab naming customs, "Of course, not everyone names themselves this way. Some people's names only include their own and their father's names, but usually a word is added between the two names..."
she said. She wrote an Arabic word on the paper. "This word is pronounced 'ben,' which translates to 'original' in Chinese. It also means 'of,' meaning 'so-and-so's child.' For example, if my father named me this way, I would be called Aymani-Bin Mahlani, meaning Aymani, Mahlani's daughter."
I found this way of naming children in Arab culture particularly heartwarming and said, "I understand..."
She thought for a moment and asked, "Do you watch football?"
Aymani nodded several times. "Yes! We Moroccans love football, we're especially passionate about it."
"You know that Real Madrid has a French star named Benzema, who is of North African Arab descent?"
"Yes, I know..." she nodded again.
“His full name is Karim Benzema, which actually means Karim, the son of Benzema. Am I right?”
She laughed. “Yes, you understand our culture very quickly.”
I continued, “Osama bin Laden, the infamous terrorist and leader of al-Qaeda who was killed by the Americans, was translated as ‘Ben-Laden’ by our domestic media. But that’s not a complete translation. Bin Laden is his father’s name, meaning ‘son of bin Laden,’ but it doesn’t specify who bin Laden’s son is, meaning it doesn’t mention his real name, Osama, right?”
Amyni nodded and smiled again. “That’s right. That kind of translation is incomplete and doesn’t understand our Islamic culture.”
After this conversation, the distance between Amyni and me had narrowed considerably, and we were getting along much better.
I took another sip of my Budweiser and asked, “Amyni, you just said that Moroccans love football. Are you a fan too?”
“Of course!” Amyni said excitedly, with an air of “If you keep talking about this, I won’t be sleepy anymore.”
Then she told me that her whole family were football fans. Her father, several uncles, and her brothers and cousins were all fans, not only passionate about watching football but also frequently playing it. She still remembered how overjoyed her father and uncles were when Morocco won the Africa Cup of Nations for the second time in history in 2000, a memory still vivid in her mind even though she was only nine years old at the time. Influenced by her family, she also loved watching football, her favorite teams being the Moroccan national team and the capital team, Rabat.
Amyni asked me if I was a football fan too. I said yes, my favorite teams were China and Brazil, but the Chinese team had always disappointed Chinese fans. I used to especially like and support my hometown team, Sichuan Quanxing, but the team had already disbanded before she went to study in Chengdu.
That night, we talked about culture, football, and Chengdu, enjoying each other's company immensely, as if we had known each other for a long time. Amyni smiled charmingly, her ample breasts trembling slightly, her cleavage fully revealed, truly captivating.
On this Mediterranean night, I chatted and laughed with this beautiful 26-year-old Arab woman, feeling as if bathed in a spring breeze.
I secretly wondered what kind of man Amy's husband was. Such an outstanding woman like her must have a very outstanding husband, otherwise she wouldn't have married that man.
Before we knew it, we were chatting late into the night. I insisted on taking Amy to her car, afraid that some man might bother her again.
I told Amy that to avoid any unnecessary misunderstandings, I hoped she wouldn't tell my colleagues about our meeting at the bar that night. She agreed.
Watching Amy drive away into the night, I felt that this night spent by the Mediterranean was truly wonderful.
Back in the room, Lao Chu had already woken up from a nap and asked why I was only back now. I said I had walked around for a while and had a drink at the hotel bar. Lao Chu said, "Go to sleep quickly! We have to go out early tomorrow morning!"
Over the next two days, Amy took us to visit several famous attractions in Rabat—the Kasbah of the Udayas, the filming location of *Mission: Impossible 5*, and the ancient Roman ruins of Cherah. There are still many attractions in Rabat, but due to limited time, we had to leave the others for later.
The three-day holiday flew by, and soon it was time to say goodbye to Amy. But on the afternoon before I was to report to the project site, something rather thrilling happened.
That afternoon, Amy took us to the largest shopping mall in Rabat. The place was very modern, with a wide variety of goods, including many international brands and Chinese products, not unlike shopping in a mall in China.
I asked Amy for advice on choosing a high-quality Arabic headscarf, saying that price was not an issue. She smiled and said she was happy to help, diligently choosing one for me.
Amy asked if it was for my wife. I said no. She glanced at me, smiling as she chose, and said it must be for a woman. I said it was indeed for an important female friend. She didn't press further and chose a high-quality, beautifully patterned Arabic headscarf for me.
Actually, this was something the four of us had planned beforehand—to give Amy a gift to thank her for her company during our time in Rabat. Because we're reporting to the project office in Settat tomorrow, it will be difficult to see Amyni.
After spending these past few days together, this warm, generous, beautiful, and intelligent Arab woman has left a very good impression on us, even making us like Morocco as a country.
We decided not to let Amyni know yet, and I would give it to her at a suitable time.
Coming out of the shopping mall, we encountered provocation from two Arab men. One was a middle-aged man in his forties, over 1.8 meters tall, taller than all four of us. The other was in his twenties or thirties, slightly shorter than me, but also looked very strong.
I didn't know when we had offended them; the two men pointed at us fiercely and cursed, leaving us stunned and utterly bewildered. Amyni quickly stepped forward to intervene, but they then turned their attention to her.
None of us understood Arabic; we couldn't understand a single word, only seeing Amyni suddenly become angry.
Although there were four men on our side, they were all rather weak and bookish; Chinese people are generally afraid of trouble, especially abroad, and although there were only two of them, they were both very strong. For a moment, my three colleagues were terrified and at a loss.
Afraid that Amani would be at a disadvantage—after all, she was a woman—I stepped forward and stood between her and the two men, telling them to calm down in English. The middle-aged man started shoving me, and I retreated while continuing to tell him to calm down in English. Amani also spoke to him in Arabic.
The middle-aged man's actions became increasingly aggressive, and I was forced to fight back, so a fight broke out. Amani and my three colleagues watched us helplessly.
To be honest, at the beginning of the fight, I wasn't confident, after all, the other party was incredibly strong, and we Asians are naturally at a physical disadvantage. But after a few rounds, I gradually gained confidence. The other party may have been in many fights, but his punches were completely disorganized, basically just a chaotic jumble of blows. I, on the other hand, was well-balanced in my offense and defense, my strikes were ruthless, accurate, and fast, forcing him to retreat step by step, only able to parry and unable to retaliate, and I quickly knocked him to the ground.
Seeing this, the young Arab man rushed forward. After a few rounds, I knocked him down with a Muay Thai high sweep kick.
But he quickly got up and charged at me along with the middle-aged strong man. At this point, my three colleagues, seeing that I was holding my own against two opponents, perhaps partly inspired by my bravery and skill, and partly not wanting to appear cowardly, plus having more of them, stopped standing by and started throwing punches.
The two Arab men fled in disarray, pointing at us and cursing as they ran, seemingly still resentful. We breathed a sigh of relief and, to prevent them from calling for more revenge, quickly left the scene.

5.
On the way back to the hotel, Amy asked me if I was hurt while driving. I said I was fine.
She complimented me, saying I looked refined but was surprisingly good at fighting. She asked if I knew Bruce Lee's kung fu. I laughed and said, "Far from it. My rudimentary skills are only good for dealing with a few people lacking fighting skills."
My three colleagues also praised me, saying, "Chen, we didn't realize you were so capable!"
I asked Amy, "Why did those two men provoke us?" Amy said she wasn't quite sure, maybe they were upset to see a woman from their own country with several Asian men? North African men generally aren't very educated, and they're often quite aggressive because they're physically strong.
I asked her what the man had said to her. Amy hesitated for a moment, then said, "He asked me why I was hanging out with several Asian men. He called me a slut and asked if I slept with them."
We then realized that the two Arab men were indeed jealous of Amy, such a beautiful woman, with us, and that's why they caused that scene. Luckily, nothing serious happened.
When we got to the hotel, the three of them said goodbye to Amy and went upstairs, leaving me alone to give her the gift. The project team will send a car to pick us up tomorrow morning, so Amy's mission with us will end this afternoon.
I took the headscarf out of my backpack and handed it to Amy, smiling at her, "This is for you, please accept it."
Amy's face lit up with joy, and she laughed, "Oh my god! So you asked me to help you choose a headscarf because you wanted to give me a gift..."
I smiled and said, "Yes! You chose it yourself, you'll definitely like it."
"Mmm, mmm, I like it very much, thank you..." She took it and looked at it again and again, "If I had known you were buying it for me, I wouldn't have chosen such an expensive one, why should I let you spend so much?"
I smiled and said, "It's not a waste of money, it's just a small token of our appreciation from the four of us."
Her smile vanished instantly, a hint of disappointment flashing in her eyes. "The four of you?"
I said, "Yes! To thank you for your company these past few days, we chipped in to buy you this gift.
" Amy then smiled and said, "You're so thoughtful, thank you!"
"It's nothing, it's what I should do… I'll go upstairs now…" I said, pointing upstairs.
She looked at me with a smile, "So… did you give me a gift yourself?"
My heart skipped a beat, but she added, "Just kidding! Go on upstairs!"
I thought for a moment, then took out my large notebook from my backpack, flipping through it as I said, "I might actually have one…"
Then, a little embarrassed, I smiled and said, "Let's forget it. It's completely unpresentable. Besides, it's not really a gift."
Amy laughed, "What? You're almost ready to give it, and now you say it's unpresentable? How can you be like that?"
I laughed, "It really isn't presentable, forget it. Never mind."
Without further ado, she took the notebook from my hand, revealing a sketch of her portrait. It was a sketch I'd done casually on the second day after we arrived in Morocco, during a training session at the office. I don't know why, but without realizing it, I drew a sketch of Amyni.
"When did you draw me?" Amyni smiled, playfully tapping my arm, her eyes full of joy.
I said it was during training that day, and asked her not to mind if I didn't draw her well. She said it was very good, and she hadn't expected me to have this talent.
"Can I have it?" Amyni smiled at me.
"Of course, after all, it's a drawing of you, if you like it..." I smiled back.
"Mmm, mmm, mmm, I love it." She nodded repeatedly.
So I carefully tore off the page with her portrait and handed it to Amyni.
"I'll keep this special gift safe. See you again sometime?" Amyni smiled and shook my hand goodbye.
Watching her car drive away, I secretly marveled at the connection with this beautiful Arab woman. Would I ever see her again? Perhaps I'd have a chance to meet her when I came to Rabat on business?
The following day, the project team sent a car to pick up the four of us and take us to Settat, about 40 miles (65 kilometers) from Rabat, where we began our work.
The project team was located in the suburbs of Settat, and the group headquarters rented dormitories for the project team's employees in downtown Settat. Every morning, we took the project team's shuttle bus to work and returned to our dormitories after work.
In this daily routine of going back and forth between two points, I still missed Li Meishan. Even though we were thousands of miles apart, it couldn't lessen my guilt towards her. I thought that perhaps what I owed her in this life, I could only repay in the next.
Settat is much smaller than the capital, Rabat, and has a much smaller population. Its conditions in various aspects are also quite different from Rabat's; the city's size, infrastructure, level of modernization, and standard of living are only comparable to a small county town in China.
The four of us lived in a four-bedroom apartment, which was almost entirely occupied by Chinese people from the project team. We usually ate lunch at the project site canteen, and were too lazy to cook breakfast and dinner. In the mornings, we'd each make noodles, some bread, and eggs. On Saturdays and Sundays, we'd cook together if we felt like. Sometimes we'd eat out and enjoy Arabic cuisine.
Like Rabat, Settat has many mosques. This Islamic country is dotted with mosques of all sizes, probably more than Buddhist temples in our country. No wonder, Morocco is a predominantly religious country, and fewer mosques would be insufficient to meet the needs of its followers.
After staying here for a while, we got used to the constant chanting of the imams in the city without being disturbed.
We also learned some everyday Arabic phrases, and with a translation app on our phones, even without a competent translator and guide like Amyni, we could freely explore and experience the culture and customs of the Arab world.
We also took advantage of holidays to travel in our rented car, for example, to Casablanca, another coastal city on the Atlantic coast. This is a world-class city, like Rabat, with stunning scenery and rich historical and cultural landscapes. It is also Morocco's largest city, famous for the Hollywood film *Casablanca*.
As we interacted more with the Moroccan staff at the project site, we noticed a significant difference between Chinese and Moroccans. Chinese people are generally more diligent, have a strong sense of time, are organized, and consider overtime a regular occurrence. Moroccans, on the other hand, are generally more laid-back, more casual, and almost never enjoy working overtime.
During off-hours and holidays, the project site is almost entirely filled with Chinese people working overtime; you won't see a single Moroccan. Of course, different countries have different views on overtime, and it's hard to say which is right or wrong; perhaps foreigners value their right to rest more.
Conversely, Moroccans also find certain phenomena observed in Chinese people incomprehensible, besides overtime. For example, they believe that Chinese people are too obsequious to their superiors, too eager to please them, and too subservient to them.
Not only did the Chinese employees in the project department treat the project leaders this way, fearing to displease them, but whenever Chinese leaders visited the project site, they were fawned over wherever they went, and every word they uttered was treated like a royal decree. Even the best and largest rooms in the project department's dormitory were reserved for the leaders' exclusive use, and even if they were empty, they would never be used by other employees.
Of course, they wouldn't understand that our servile mentality, inherited for thousands of years, is similar to their lack of respect for women due to the influence of their own country's religion and customs.
To the surprise of the four of us, one day the beautiful Amy returned to our side and spent every day with us.

6.
In May of that year, because one of the Chinese female translators in the project department suffered from severe acclimatization problems, the group company had to send her back to China. As a result, the project department was short-staffed in translators, so Amy was assigned to work in the project department. After being separated from us for two months, she became our colleague again.
My three colleagues and I were very happy about Amy's arrival. After all, in the monotonous work and life in a foreign country, having such a beautiful woman by our side was always a pleasant thing.
Amy also lived in the project team's dormitory, though not in the same building as us. She was beautiful and had a cheerful personality, quickly integrating into the project team as soon as she arrived. She cooperated and got along well with both the Chinese and Moroccan staff, and everyone liked her. The Chinese staff affectionately called her Xiao Ai.
Since I was the project manager for the design team, I had the most opportunities to interact with Amy among the four of us, and we gradually became closer. I could even sense the envy my three colleagues, especially the two younger ones, felt towards me.
As I spent more time with Amy, I learned more about this beautiful Arab woman. She came from a well-off family; her father was a businessman with two wives. She and her two older brothers were born to the older wife, and she also had two half-brothers and a younger sister.
Her husband's family was also well-off. However, she remained independent both before and after marriage, whether it was studying in China or working in Rabat now, it all reflected her independent womanhood.
Once, I even overheard some of her unspoken thoughts.
It was mid-May when Amy accompanied me in her Ford Escape to the property company in Rabat. Moroccans are notoriously inefficient, and by the time we finished, the city lights were already on.
Amy suggested we have dinner in Rabat before driving back to Settat, since it's only a little over an hour's drive. I agreed.
We found a Chinese restaurant; there are quite a few Chinese people in Morocco, so Chinese restaurants aren't hard to find.
The food at this restaurant was quite good, and they even sold various Chinese liquors. Although Morocco is an Islamic country, it's quite open-minded and doesn't prohibit non-Muslim restaurants from selling alcohol; there are even many bars catering to foreigners.
When ordering, I deliberately avoided any pork dishes and ordered a bottle of Wuliangye (
a type of Chinese liquor) to drink by myself. After eating for a while, Amy offered to have a drink with me, which surprised me. She told me that Moroccans do drink alcohol; as far as she knew, many people drink secretly, but they just didn't dare to drink in public.
I laughed and said, "Aren't you afraid of disobeying God's will?"
"Don't you Chinese monks also eat meat and drink alcohol, but keep Buddha in your hearts?"
Amy patted her chest and laughed, "God is always with me; I am God's child. He will forgive me for a little indulgence."
I then said, "Aren't you afraid of being seen?" She looked around and said, "It's mostly Chinese people eating here, it's alright."
So I asked the waiter for a glass and poured some wine for Aimei.
We drank and chatted, and I suddenly remembered that night at the karaoke bar when she sang "Chengdu," and asked, "Aimeini, in Chengdu..."
She looked up at me, her pretty face already slightly flushed. I hesitated for a moment and said, "In Chengdu, is there anything... or anyone you still remember?"
I didn't mean to pry, but tonight I was alone, and the alcohol made me ask.
Aimei was silent for a moment, then picked up her glass and took a sip, her eyes looking at me like they held the stars and the sea. "Engineer Chen, let's play a game?"
"What game?" I asked.
"Tell each other a secret, but no lying, okay?"
She was still staring at me, which made my heart flutter, and I didn't dare to look her in the eye. I nodded and asked with a smile, "Then... who goes first!"
She thought for a moment, "How about rock-paper-scissors? Rock, paper, scissors, whoever loses goes first, how about it?"
I thought to myself, she can play rock-paper-scissors? On second thought, she realized she had spent four years in China and knew the country very well, so naturally she would know.
The rock-paper-scissors game ended with Amy losing. She took another sip of her drink and began her story.
During her junior year of university in China, Amy met a professor who taught them. The man was about twenty years older than her, gentle, refined, and erudite.
Amy loved his lectures and admired him greatly. The man, in turn, was also attracted to this intelligent, studious, beautiful, and exotic Moroccan girl.
In their private conversations, the man often confided in Amy, revealing his marital discord, their significant differences in personality and interests, his distress, and his lack of hope in life.
As time passed, despite knowing he was married and that Islam considers extramarital affairs a grave offense, Amy fell in love with him. They secretly began a relationship.
The man promised Amy he would divorce his wife and marry her. And Amy willingly stayed in China for him.
But in the first semester of her senior year, the man suddenly went abroad with his wife. He was going as an exchange scholar, and his wife was going to accompany him. After finishing her studies abroad, Amy left China with endless sadness and melancholy.
"That was the first time I fell in love with a man. I loved him wholeheartedly and gave him everything I could, including the most precious thing a girl has..."
At this moment, Amy was in tears, covering her chest with her hand, immersed in the sadness of the past. "I even betrayed my religious beliefs and was with him despite his being a married man. But he abandoned me without a word and went abroad with his wife. I..."
Amy choked up and couldn't speak for a moment. I had never imagined before that this beautiful, cheerful, and intelligent Moroccan woman would have such a heartbreaking and unforgettable first love, and a history of being ruthlessly abandoned by a man. This made me think of Li Meishan.
"So... you haven't seen him since then?" I asked softly.
Amy wiped away her tears and shook her head, saying, "He never returned to China until I graduated, and he never contacted me. Back then, I really wanted to find him and ask him why he did this to me."
"Do you still love him?" I asked again.
She took a sip of her drink, wiped away her tears again, her eyes filled with sorrow, and looked away, saying, "What does love matter? What does not love matter? I just always wanted to know one answer: we were so deeply in love, why did he just leave like that? I only found out from others after he and his wife had gone abroad. Didn't he have any lingering feelings for me, no remorse at all?"
I silently looked at the woman before me, enveloped in sorrow and sadness, and once again thought of Li Meishan, feeling a pang of sadness myself.
Actually, to be honest, I was pretty much the same kind of person as that man, except I was slightly better; I at least gave Li Meishan an explanation and didn't just leave without saying goodbye.
Amy told me that after returning to Morocco and dating a younger man for a while, she married him to forget that painful relationship.
I was about to ask her if she loved her husband when Amy wiped away her tears, looked at me, and smiled, "Your turn..."
I took a sip of my drink and slowly said, "I also dated a girl much younger than me. When we started dating, she had just entered university..."
I told Amy the whole story of my relationship with Li Meishan, without hiding anything, and told her that this was the main reason I came to Morocco—I wanted to settle down.
Tonight, she opened her heart to me, and I reciprocated with honesty.
“…That day I was upstairs, she was downstairs, we looked at each other, her face streaked with tears, the way she looked at me, even now, whenever I…”
I had been trying so hard to control my emotions, but suddenly I lost control, choking back sobs. I finally managed to regain my composure, wiped away my tears, and continued, “Whenever I think about it, I… I… feel so agonizing, like my heart is breaking…”
I lost control again, one hand on the table, the other covering my face, and I began to sob. Amy took my hand from the table, looking at me with tears in her eyes.
Some people around us looked at us, wondering what had happened. I had never been like this in front of anyone before, but at this moment, pouring out my heart to this Moroccan woman, I was overwhelmed with self-reproach and guilt towards Li Meishan.
Once I had finally calmed down, Aimani said tearfully, "Chen Zhongyan, you're a bastard. Even though you have your reasons, you shouldn't have gotten involved with her in the first place."
I choked back tears and forced a bitter smile, "You're right, that's what she said to me too."
Aimani added that it was no wonder she'd always sensed I was melancholic and burdened with something on my mind since she'd met me.
That night, I got completely drunk, and Aimani drank quite a bit too. We couldn't get back to the project site that night, so Aimani helped me to a budget hotel near the restaurant.
As soon as we entered the room, I rushed into the bathroom and vomited violently into the toilet. Aimani knelt beside me and patted my back.
After I finished vomiting, she poured me a glass of water to rinse my mouth, then helped me lie down on the bed, covered me with a blanket, and even washed my face.
"Mr. Chen, you should rest! I'll go back now and pick you up tomorrow morning,"
Amy said, getting up from the edge of the bed to return to her place in Rabat.
For a fleeting moment, in a daze, I mistook her for Li Meishan, grabbing her hand and murmuring, "Don't go, stay..."
Amy froze, and with a strong pull, she unexpectedly fell onto me.

(To be continued)

URL 1:https://www.sex3p.com/htmlBlog/63475.html

URL 2:/Blog.aspx?id=63475&aspx=1

Last access time:

Previous Page : slut's first time

Next Page : High-quality single man in Chengdu seeking development opportunities

增加

comment Open a new window to view comments

Contact Information

Uncle's Confession: My Romantic Encounter with a Beautiful Arab Woman (1-6)

comment Open a new window to view comments