Mustapha, our intrepid driver, picked us up at at 6:00am. They should abolish 6 am, it’s so early.
He asked us to share our impressions and memories from the trip. We recounted as many as we could in the short drive to the airport. Just before we arrived, he told us he had a farewell gift for each of us. Such a sweet gesture! Small custom made key fobs with our names beautifully handwritten in Arabic. I almost burst into tears. All along, I had wanted to ask him to write my name in Arabic on a piece of paper just as a memento but never could find the right moment to do it. He did me one better and I shall cherish it.
He and I had an interesting relationship. I’m not sure what he thought of me but I thought of him as another adopted grandson. Clean cut, the youngest of 6 siblings and an admitted mama’s boy. It was pretty obvious early on that he was partial to girls from Italy. We asked him if he had a girlfriend, he said he had friends. But everytime we mentioned an Italian girlfriend, he blushed and said nothing. I offered to introduce him to my Italian cousin, he needed only to fly to Italy and I would make it happen. He said he was afraid to fly. There’s more to the story, I think.
Anyway, the flight home went smoothly, no line at the Marrakech airport, hardly any custom control to speak of. And when I arrived in Atlanta, again no lines, breezed through customs and was home a half hour after I landed. Mind you, it’s the Friday after Thanksgiving and only days after the government shutdown.