It will be all right now.
Murad is full of hope. He is sure that everything will be all right, that the days of black despair are finally over. He “comforts himself with the familiar fantasy” that “sustained him back home, when he couldn’t fall asleep” because of worries about “how he would pay rent or feed his mother and brothers.” The man “imagines the office where he’ll be working” so vividly that he can see “his fingers moving quickly and precisely over his keyboard.” Murad pictures himself going home to “a modern, well-furnished apartment, his wife greeting him, the TV in the background” (13). The fantasies help him to stay brave and survive in a world where there is no hope for him.
But, he tried to tell himself, maybe this was just a fleeting interest, maybe it would all go away.
Larbi is in shock because his only daughter has changed suddenly and strikingly: her sudden interest in Islam and radical politics, with a concomitant desire to eschew studying abroad in America and instead remain in Morocco to teach middle school, is the antithesis of everything he wants for her. With her newfound interest in wearing a headscarf, he fears that she “would look like those rabble-rousers” one could see “on live news channels, eyes darting, mouths agape, fists raised.” He tries to tell himself that “maybe it was just a fleeting interest, maybe it would go away” (34), for his daughter used to have many other infatuations that didn’t last long. Larbi's fears influence the reader to think negatively of Faten.
She had to do something for her future—today.
Halima is a mother and that means that she has to think about the happiness and safety of her children. In spite of the fact that she used to love her husband dearly and was willing to forgive him a lot, she is well aware of the fact that she is risking her life for nothing. She has to do “something for her future – today” and it is leaving her husband and gambling with her and her children’s lives. She is sick and tired of being patient and passive, and though the crossing to Spain is perilous and bereft of any guarantee of success (indeed, she does not make it and is deported), she knows she has to try. Though Murad judges her and her children on the Zodiac, Lalami is deeply sensitive to her character, thus leading the reader to feel the same way about Halima.
He couldn't understand these foreigners. They could go to a nice hotel, have a clean bed, go to the beach or the pool, and here they were in the worst part of town, looking around for something exotic.
One of the main themes in the novel is the different ways tourists and immigrants move about and comport themselves in the places they travel to. The latter is privy to innumerable stereotypes, but the former can end up being no more than a watered-down version of an imperialist/colonizer. Tourists visiting Morocco want comfort and safety, to be treated with respect, and to do what they please, but what is the most damning is their desire to find something "exotic" that fits their preconceived notions about what a non-Western country (that they've no doubt admired in the books and films by other Westerners) should look and feel like.
She did not notice the fading afternoon light that lengthened the shadows behind her, framing her body like the arches of a shrine.
Lalami makes it clear that the real saint in this story is not Farid but Halima. In the image Lalami leaves us with at the end of the chapter, Halima is framed like a saint, but her words and behavior in the sections before Lalami writes of the "shrine" are the real testament to the character's saintliness. She is kind and generous to her overbearing mother, clearly loves her children, is patient with her neighbors, and, instead of obsessing over not making it to Spain, chooses courage, community, and resilience as she once again tries to make a life for herself and her children in Morocco.
"A bit salty dear," she said.
Faten smiled, grateful for the truth.
In this quote, Betoul, Faten's roommate, is honest with her about the dish she made for Eid. It might be initially surprising that Faten does not take offense to this, but it is because she is tired of falsehoods and facades—her time with Martin was dehumanizing and reductive, and listening to someone from her own country and religion tell her the truth is a small but powerful moment for Faten.
"Better than the Moroccans themselves."
One of the most skillfully written passages in the novel is the episode of Chrissa and Sandy wandering the wares of the shop where Murad works. Sandy in particular is cringeworthy with her holier-than-thou, racist, and ignorant comments, treating Murad and Anas like they are stupid or barely worth acknowledging at all. And then there is this quote, in which she states firmly that Paul Bowles, a white American expatriate, knew Morocco better than the Moroccans knew themselves. The comment is audacious but not entirely unbelievable given Westerners' assumptions of superiority.
"We're so blinded by our love of the West that we're willing to give them our brightest instead of keeping them here where we need them."
Larbi and Salma find it easy to dismiss Faten, and perhaps early on in "The Fanatic" the reader does as well, writing her off as obnoxious or dangerous. Yet a careful look at the content of her words is important, for she makes compelling points. Why should Noura go to NYU? Why shouldn't she stay in Morocco and bring her intellect and resources to her own countrymen? Faten identifies this as a result of the lionizing of the West despite centuries of colonialism, and implicates Larbi and Salma in this problematic mindset.
Lucky Aziz. He curses his own luck.
In "The Trip," the reader is quickly introduced to several characters—Aziz, Murad, Halima, Faten, Scarface, Halima's children, a Guinean woman. All of them are in the same situation, paid the same amount of money, and entrusted their fate to the same scurrilous man and the hopeful benevolence of the sea. Yet, as Lalami suggests, there is little rhyme or reason as to who makes it and who doesn't. Your strength of swimming and ability to keep your cool in a terrifying situation all come into play, but ultimately the current takes some people, like Aziz, to the right place, and others to the wrong place. This randomness is galling and saddening, but for Murad it also gives him a modicum of comfort because he knows that he can make it if he tries again, that there's nothing special about the people who do other than luck.
He needed someone to trustworthy to deal with Faten, and he knew Raouf would not let him down.
Faten's critique of the way the world works is proven to be exactly correct: Larbi is in an influential position and has influential friends, and thus when something is not going to way he wants it to he only has to make a call and it will be taken care of. In this case, Faten is a problem for him and his wife and he has to "deal with [her] once and for all" (47). He either does not know or does not care that he is the embodiment of what is wrong with Morocco—nepotism, corruption, a class divide.
