My younger brother Mustapha disappeared for almost one year. He cut any contact with us, his family. We lived then in fear and distress. One evening, after his long absence, my mother received a phone call. He had settled down in the Madrasa Nahlia, a Koranic school of religious teaching in the mountains, 90 km from Marrakesh. We went to meet him, my mother and I. Through a monologue in the form of a letter, from me to my brother, I will tell our story, evoking his absence whilst capturing childhood memories. I will listen to him and observe the simplicity, austerity and serenity of the Madrasa Nahlia.