Jane (left) in her traditional Berber wedding finery and Abdel (below), the inspiration for both her first novel and a new, exciting life


down from the mountain I would quit my job, write my first romantic novel and, most importantly, I would get to know this stranger whose face kept returning to me all that night – my ‘pirate chief’. Eventually the rain stopped and we made a harrowing five-hour descent to safety. Back at the village, word had spread that we’d been trapped overnight on the famous mountain and there was wild celebration of our survival when we returned, which took me greatly by surprise. Abdellatif and his friends and family insisted we join in, playing Berber music for us, and we danced with the villagers till 2am. Then, just before I was due to leave, Abdellatif took me aside and placed an antique ring on my finger, a family heirloom shaped like a traditional tent. From now on, he promised me, I would be protected from harm. I was overwhelmed by this gesture, but while I knew it was significant,


I had no idea what it meant. On the plane home, Bruce hooted with laughter and said I was probably now Abdel’s third wife! In fact, he could not have been further from the truth. Like me, Abdel, then 42, had never been married and the gift of


Berber women were


failings as far as men fierceness. To him, my


the ring was to be the start of an old-fashioned courtship conducted – for a few weeks – over the phone. While I worked on my first novel,


The Tenth Gift, by day, by night I spoke to Abdel. My phone bill was enormous, but I didn’t care. We


68 OCTOBER 2011 | WWW.CANDIS.CO.UK


in my own culture were prized for their


concerned were assets


spoke every night, in halting French (Abdel’s third language) and got to know each other – the language barrier meant asking direct and simple questions. After two months, I flew back alone to Morocco, feeling nervous about what I was letting myself in for. But my fears proved unfounded. I was taken into the family house and treated like a queen. They even took me on a midnight picnic up into the mountains to symbolise my night on the Lion’s Head, this time with carpets, candles, cooked chicken and songs! Over the week I was to


discover that Abdel was a proud man who projected


a great inner calm, a man with a strong sense of his own identity and pride in his heritage who was intrigued, rather than threatened, by me as an independent woman. You are like a lioness, he told me. Historically, Berber women were


Photos Charlotte Murphy, jane Johnson © Jane Johnson 2011. Visit Jane’s website at janejohnsonbooks.com


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