Love teaches me not to love
Aiub. Ioug. Ayub. Ainou. Aiou. I had the same difficulty pronouncing his Arabic name as I did understanding that our love was impossible in an impossible world.
This name came to destroy, in some way, my West. Initially, this project was meant to save a man in a vulnerable situation, and for that man to save me from loneliness. I traveled to Tangier (Morocco) to find him, marry him, give him my papers as a Europeanized sudaca, and create a new work from that.
But Ayoub appeared, and the project collapsed. His name (“the returned” or “the repentant”) is very common in Islamic countries: 615 boys with that name were killed by the Zionist state of Israel in the Gaza Strip.
For those dead, I give your name to this work that speaks of you, of colonialism, of Palestine.
And of everything I want to kill inside myself.
Marina Otero