The Magical Moroccan Rug (Paperback)

Yusuf is like any other 10-year-old boy living an ordinary life with his parents. He likes nothing more than spending time with his best friend Jack. Eight years after Yusuf’s one and only trip to see his grandfather, the Ayouch family excitedly prepares to welcome Grandpa to England, at last! But even Jack has to agree that the gift that Grandpa brings Yusuf from Morocco is disappointingly ordinary. Or is it? 

Little do the boys know that together they are about to discover a world so much bigger than either of them ever imagined and learn how, with a curious mind, things are not always what they seem. But will it finally teach them to appreciate the most valuable gift of them all? 

Chapter 1

“Oh no!” shouted Yusuf. “Look at the time! I promised my

mum I wouldn’t be late.”

“Hang on,” said Jack, “you forgot your–”, but it was too

late. Yusuf had already jumped down from the tree and

was halfway down the path which led out of Oakwell Hall.

“Jumper,” sighed Jack to himself, tying it around his

waist so he wouldn’t forget to take it with him.

Yusuf and Jack had been best friends for as long as

they could remember. They first met at nursery and had

been inseparable ever since. They each lived on one end

of Country Lane and even though they did not attend the

same school, they saw each other as often as they could.

They always met on a Thursday evening at Scouts and at 

least once more during the week. Since last year it had become

a Saturday tradition to meet at Oakwell Hall. Both

their gardens backed out onto the country park behind the

Elizabethan manor house and they loved spending time

there. It was the perfect place for two children who loved

the outdoors. They spent their time climbing trees, building

dens, making dams in the shallow stream and generally

getting as grubby as they could.

This particular Saturday, the second Saturday in September

to be precise, was an eagerly anticipated day for

Yusuf and his family. It was the day his grandpa was due

to arrive from Morocco. Grandpa had always wanted to

visit England and for years their weekly conversations over

the phone usually ended with ‘insha’Allah, I will visit.’ But

due to ill health and family commitments he was never

able to come. ‘Insha’Allah, I will visit’ became something

he always said before he hung up. It was said so often that

when Grandpa phoned them in June to inform them that

he would actually be arriving on the second Saturday in

September, everyone fell silent for a few seconds, shocked

that the visit Grandpa had been promising was now just

around the corner!

Since that phone call, Yusuf’s house had been filled with

excitement. To say they were all looking forward to the

visit was an understatement. Yusuf’s parents had cleaned

and re-cleaned the house a number of times

and they still didn’t feel it was perfect enough

for their special guest. They steamed the

carpets, washed the curtains and cleaned

the windows until the house shone. His

dad finally got round to

completing all the odd

jobs he’d been putting

off. He even fixed the extractor

fan in the kitchen, something his mum had been

reminding him about on what seemed like a weekly basis.

This made Yusuf smile. He didn’t think Grandpa would

notice the extractor fan, but it was nice that his father

wanted everything to be perfect.

Yusuf enjoyed helping his parents prepare their home

for Grandpa and loved seeing them so happy. His parents

left Morocco many years ago, soon after they had married.

They had a dream of studying at a university abroad and

arrived in England almost penniless. Their families had

tried their hardest to convince them to stay in Morocco.

‘Why do you want to leave? You have everything here,’

they would say, ‘Both of you can study here, we will support

you.’ They were all against the move to England – all

except for Yusuf’s grandpa. “Let them go! They are young

and they have dreams. Do you not remember having dreams

at their age?”

Everyone disapproved. As the eldest and most respected

member of the family, he should be trying to convince his

son otherwise, they thought. But he continued to support

them while they studied in England and would send them

money regularly.

Yusuf often felt sad for his parents on occasions such

as Eid when other people got together and visited their relatives.

It was only the three of them in England, and when

they would phone Morocco on Eid morning after returning

from the mosque, the longing in his parents’ voices would

bring a lump to Yusuf’s throat. His parents had always

planned to visit home regularly but life and more specifically, 

lack of finances, got in the way. They managed to save up enough money 

once when Yusuf was two years old but that had been their only trip home. 

Sometimes Yusuf sat and thought about how difficult it must have been for

them not to have seen their families for eight years. After

their first and only visit, they had struggled to save money

with both of them completing their degrees and then starting

their teaching jobs. Money had been tight and since

buying their house, a holiday was out of the question. That

was why this day, the second Saturday in September, was

so special. And he was on the verge of ruining it.

Yusuf stopped running to catch his breath, he bent down

and stretched. The sides of his body ached from sprinting

so fast. He looked up. He could see his garden fence from

where he was standing. Not far to go! Yusuf had promised his

mum before he left that morning that he would be home

in time to shower and change before Grandpa arrived. But

then he and Jack started building a den with bits of wood

they found lying around. They had become so engrossed in

their project that Yusuf had lost track of time. It was only

when he’d heard Yankee Doodle Went to Town blaring from the ice cream van, 

which arrived at Oakwell Hall at precisely 12 o’clock every Saturday, 

that he realised how late it was. Yusuf tried to ignore the stitch that was burning the

sides of his body and ran on. As he frantically hurtled

through the garden towards the patio door, he could see

his mum standing there. The look on her face made him

feel awful. He knew she wouldn’t shout at him but somehow

this made it worse. She would just look at him with

disappointment on her face. Yusuf hated disappointing his

parents.

“Mum I’m so sorry we were building a den and I didn’t

look at my watch and then I heard the ice cream van and I

knew I was late and I feel so bad!” blurted Yusuf, without

taking a breath.

“Upstairs. Shower. Now,” she said, shaking her head.

“Your father phoned ten minutes ago to say they’d be here

in half an hour!”

Yusuf kicked off his muddy

shoes before coming inside and ran up the stairs straight into

the bathroom. He was getting dressed when his mum knocked on the door, 

“You’re one lucky boy, Yusuf! Dad just phoned to say they’re stuck in

traffic and they’ll be delayed by at least fifteen minutes.”

Alhamdulilllah, Yusuf thought.

He sat down on his bed, exhausted from all the rushing.

Yusuf caught his reflection in the mirror. His hair looked

as crazy as it always did. He grabbed some gel to try and

flatten it but it didn’t help. His hair had become his trademark

at school. It was super curly, wiry and wild and because

it added an inch or two to his height, he looked like

one of the tallest boys in his year. He rubbed some more

gel onto his hands and then placed them on his head keeping

them there for a while but, as soon as he lifted them

off, his hair bounced back to where it was.

Never mind. He was sure his grandfather wouldn’t be

too bothered about his hair. After all, everyone in the family

said it was grandpa he had inherited it from. Last year, his

mum sent his school pictures to their family in Morocco.

Everyone agreed he was the spitting image of his grandpa.

Aunty Fatima, grandpa’s sister, found an old photograph of

grandpa when he was ten years old and sent it to Yusuf’s mum. 

Yusuf gasped when he saw it. He looked exactly like

Grandpa! They both had dark curly hair and the same

green, almond shaped eyes framed with long, thick lashes.

The only thing that set them apart was the scar Yusuf had

just above his left eyebrow. He was the only grandchild

who didn’t live in Morocco and the fact that they looked

the same somehow made him feel more connected to him.

“They’re here!” shouted his mother from downstairs.

Yusuf ran to his parents’ bedroom and looked out of the

window to see his father’s car pulling into the driveway.

His father was beaming as he hurriedly got out of the car

and walked over to the passenger side door and opened it.

Grandpa got out slowly and looked around. Yusuf rushed

downstairs, feeling both nervous and excited, and waited

behind his mother as she opened the door.