After a morning's flying off Morocco's Atlantic coast, we took a drive up into the Atlas mountains, and there they were; goats in a tree! I wasn't aware that goats could even climb trees but again and again you'd see them in the highest branches of Morocco's Argan trees, nibbling on their berries. Hand shakes and a few dirham passed to the shepherd and everyone's cameras start clicking. Then there were the little cafes nestled in mountain passes where small fish nibble at the dead skin of your feet, sipping sweet mint tea while our guide relates sad stories of loved ones lost on vessels of dubious caliber trying to cross into Europe.
It was a lot to absorb in the few days I was posted in Agadir. I hope I get back again.....
But alas, I'm back in East Africa. Tanzania, down on the Mozambique border, where the modern world struggles to take hold. I was in the depths of a local market, dark stalls made from twisted tree branches tied together, floors of the very earth, amid unabashed stares at the odd mzungu venturing deep, to buy meat and vegetables and rice for a meal with locals. Various rough hewn parts of cattle hang from hooks amidst clouds of flies, voices are raised and deals are struck, a bloody slab is thrown down on a table that would make the sturdiest Western stomach gurgle, an axe is swung violently, breaking bone and cutting meat, scooped up with bare hands that have not seen water recently, then into the rusty metal bin of the scale, another piece thrown in, another...the lead weights start to lift, and the mass is unceremoniously dumped into a thin plastic bag and handed over. I have to admit I quite enjoyed the company, the cooking and the meal that evening, and my stomach is still sound a few days later. As I sit at the airport planning this evening's training sortie, another Captain's upgrade underway, I'm thinking I'm pretty damn lucky for having this opportunity to experience Africa. Our days here are numbered, and I have no idea where I'm headed next.
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