4th April 2019 Morocco, Rabat
Thoughts in the Rain
The rain was falling as I left the house. I had the forethought to put both waterproof jacket and umbrella in the car. And I was very glad I did.
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By the time we got to Tour Hassan Mosque, it was tipping down. Puddles were forming on the floor as the masses poured through the gates into the esplanade. Smartly-dressed, but already beginning to look a little damp. We stood in huddles under scarce umbrellas as the grey skies overhead showed no sign of breaking and the rain fell, in merciless, unrelenting slats. There was no shelter and the cushions on the seats were like sponges, soaking up the heavens’ blessings, ready to re-distribute to our trousers when we sat down.
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Small groups of Ambassadors formed and dispersed as we sought solace in each others’ company and laughed at the intense misfortune that the fates had chosen this day of all days to drench Rabat. I gave up my umbrella to a group of Arab ambassador colleagues who were bereft and in danger of drowning in the downpour and pulled the cap of my jacket tighter around my head as the rain showed no sign of letting up.
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We sat on our soaking chairs and endured the damp. No one seemed to complain, though puddles were forming in our shoes, ties plastered to our soaking shirts. People held their cushions over their heads to keep the rain off or stole dry cushions from under the plastic coverings on the VIP seats. TV drones buzzed overhead. Our socks like flannels. The chairs swimming in their own private puddles. And still the rain hammered down.
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“Take down your umbrellas. Take down your umbrellas. They are coming and the people behind cannot see”. Reluctantly, the sea of umbrellas closed and folded – our heads now bared to the merciless elements as the rain continued unpitying and relentless.
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Then suddenly, it stopped. Men scampered round, hoovering the water off the red carpets, sweeping it in small tidal waves onto the soaking paving stones.
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The crowd rose and turned to the screens. The Pope and His Majesty the King were proceeding along crowd-lined streets, body-guards running beside their cars. A cheer went up from the bedraggled, waiting masses as the convoy turned the last corner at the bottom of the hill and drove the final few hundred metres to the entrance of the Tour Hassan Mosque.
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His Holiness and His Highness descended from their vehicles and walked across the road to the venue. After what felt like an age of VIP-hand-shaking, to a raucous cheer, the two men walked in. The rain, gloriously, miraculously held off as they made their way to the dais, climbed the steps, took their seats under cover. Then it began again, sneaking down our backs, soaking our trousers, running in rivulets off our umbrellas, over our shoulders, flooding our shoes.
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Despite the unrelenting rain and our soaking shoulders, I think everyone recognised this was a really special moment. Two religious leaders, walking side by side, working together to bridge the divide that has historically so often pitted the two beliefs against each other.
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/His Majesty the King spoke first. His central message is one that deserves to be restated each day: hatred arises from ignorance. Religion is twisted by that ignorance and forged into the evil of terrorism which has afflicted so many families, communities and countries: only education and familiarity can overcome ignorance. We must learn again to live together. We must not fear the unknown and hate the different. Education is the beginning, the middle and the end of understanding. Only education can make the unfamiliar comfortable.
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His Holiness took up the message. We should build bridges between people and communities. We should build understanding and tolerance, we should accept the stranger, the migrant, the outsider. We should welcome them in and reach across boundaries. We should be accepting of difference, tolerant of the other. We should not build walls or barriers – whether physical or otherwise: rather we should seek to understand why people would leave their countries, their homes, their families to risk all to travel to foreign lands to seek a better life.
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I was glad that I had come to hear these messages of tolerance, patience, understanding and the centrality of education as the best way to fight ignorance and prejudice – the rain tricking down my back, my feet gently soaking in the endless drizzle, my trousers ruined into a soggy mess, were irrelevant in the face of this vital message from the two religious leaders.
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I joined the mad scramble as everyone ran for their cars, rain dripping from hair and clothes. Amidst the chaos as hundreds of cars tried to escape down impossibly choked and sodden roads, creating the inevitable traffic jam, I reflected that these were vital messages from the two leaders: messages we should take to our hearts and exemplify each day of our lives. When religion reaches across divides and imparts such a resonant message, it reminds us of our common humanity : there is so much more that unites us, than that divides us.