Tribute to Robin Weeks Abila

For a few years I’ve been in a group called “Women Who Love Moroccans”, and have formed friendships with some of the most incredible people in that group, including one of the popular admins; Robin Weeks Abila.

I think Robin loved Morocco even more than me, if that’s possible.

In March, she shared with our group that she had been diagnosed with cancer, and today I learned the devastating news that she passed away.

I wrote a rambling letter to my “Moroccan lover” sister, a sort of tribute to her and the wonderful person she was and wanted to share it here.

Dear Robin Weeks Abila,

I was jealous when you went to Morocco & I wasn’t able to see you there.

And again when some of the sisters got to hang out with you at meetups because you were in Florida and you guys took photos and you smiled so filled with happiness and positivity and joy because you were one of the leaders of our beautiful little group, but I was so happy seeing you smile and knew one day I would be taking photos with you.

And I held on to the hope that maybe one day we would all hang out and we would be wearing gorgeous djellabas or caftans and drinking Berber whisky from antique silver teapots that smelled of delicious mint tea.

I kept thinking one day we would all find a way to have a major girls getaway in Morocco and that we would all be together, perhaps at a magnificent fairytale wedding of one of our members who found a good guy and fell madly in love.

I imagined us all on a fabulous group tour at a luxury desert camp in Merzouga, or maybe having a hammam spa day at La Mamounia or Royal Monsier or some other fancy golden riad in the medina.

And maybe we would all go shopping in Djemma al Fna, then at night, we would all go out to dinner at La Trattoria under twinkling fairy lights and lanterns hanging from the trees in the garden, and then head to some fun place in Marrakech for dancing and drinking, laughing as 20 something yr olds follow us around, them insisting that Mohammed’s wife Khadijah was 25 years older, and age is only a number, and we are all so beautiful, so lets get married even though we only just met.

We would giggle and laugh but secretly be flattered.

I thought you would maybe travel to NYC and we would meet up with Helen and Lina and so many others, a big bunch of your friends who love you and we would go to Cafe Mogador or Arabesque or the new place near Helen’s she mentioned for tagine and eat and eat and drink much too early cocktails at brunch.

I wondered if we would all swap stories of our travels to the desert and Rabat and the times we took photos in the Blue Pearl City or maybe we would reminice about dancing under the stars as Amazigh musicians played drums for us at midnight, or the first time we at camel burgers at Clock Cafe or ate seafood in Agadir.

I would tell you the time I tried to ride a camel but fell on my ass, or whisper my confession to you about the time I thought I was about to have revenge phone sex with a guy when I was pissed off with my ex but that shit was a huge failure that had me ended up on the floor laughing hysterically when the drunk Moroccan guy on the phone insisted I place my finger in “the hole”…which turned out to be my belly button.

But you would laugh and laugh because you had such a wonderful sense of humor, no matter what, and you were never ever judgemental, no matter what any of us shared. You accepted us all, as we were, flaws and f*cked up issues and all.

Because you had such a genuine heart and soul and spirit, and you’ve always been so sweet and funny and fun, and that’s probably why The Creator called you home with him far too damn soon, because he cherished you and wanted you near him, one of his favorites.

Oh, how I longed to travel with you, to you, but now you’ve gone on your solo journey to a place far more beautiful and exotic than Morocco or anyplace any of us have ever been, and I’m slightly mad and incredibly sad and overall so so sorry that you’ve left us far too soon, Robin.

That you’ll be up above watching us and shaking your head as we share our misadventures and drunken meetups and stories, and maybe you might give us a sign once in awhile, and talk to us through Sinead O’ Conner’s balloon song or through magical feathers or a sweet song sung by Oum, and maybe you might let us know when we’ve found a good man as you smile down on us.

And maybe, just maybe, if you’re able to, could you please be a ghost and haunt some of the mofo’s who arent so sweet to scare the sh*t out of them before they try anything stupid?

I’m kidding because it hurts too much to be serious and think about the fact that you’ve left us, you sweet, sweet, special friend, and I don’t have the words to eloquently express just how empty the place is in my heart that you once filled.

I don’t know what to say, other than, We will miss you so so much, our sister.

If you knew Robin, please leave a comment about your memories of her here.