I’m flying to Morocco tomorrow and of course I am scared.
I am scared of the plane.
I am scared of what will greet me there.
I am scared to leave my husband.
I am scared for my mother.
I am scared for my father.
I am just an anxious scaredy cat. But you know what, y’all? I am a grown ass woman and so will have to just suck it up and enjoy myself.
I shall meet my paternal grandmother, who lives and flourishes there. I shall explore and wander around a country that I have only been to but once before, but which is rich with part of my heritage. I shall try to learn the dialect, and try to cook the dishes. I shall go to some Moroccan baths, of course. My father tells me the baths make dirt crawl out of your pores like insects, and you feel so light afterwards.
After hearing that, my body now feels gross and heavy with clogged pores full of insect-dirt! It needs a Moroccan bath!
It will be mighty hot so I have packed only the coolest of garments. I am looking forward to getting some pure Argan oil, and exploring markets and gardens.
My father tells me how he used to walk to the seaside, and buy fruit to sell so he could afford to buy books. He was pretty poor back then.
Anyway. I am excited. Let’s not ruin it by worrying about rubbish that may never happen. And if it does happen, well, we’ll cross those bridges when they come, won’t we.
(That’s what my mum always says).
I have also scheduled some posts to go up while I am away, because the place where I am going is remote and there won’t be any internet for some time.