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I want to shout at the other passengers who show no regret for the disabled young man.We are all so arrogant to allow him to climb up with our heavy bags. Another man, the driver, gets inside and rolls an audio tape around a pencil.My mom was convinced women in Morocco had no rights, she feared that I would get abused.
Then the young man comes to me to collect the money for my ticket. Maybe I am wrong to identify him with his disability, like the Morrocan passengers next to me do. Check them too.” Oumar swears in his honesty, but I still don’t believe him and insist on searching his pockets. Besides, people in our group are richer and have no reason to take my camera.
It is hard to even breathe when the thermometer hits “so-hot-you-can-pass-out-if-you-go-outside” temperatures. I feel she is my friend and a cultural guide ready to answer all my ignorant questions.
Stupid comments like “So you aren’t allowed to have a boyfriend here… Najla tells me she is actually dating a guy but she keeps this in secret.
The air fills with dust as I sit and sink into my hollow window seat. My eyes are looking only at him, thinking about his disability.
It is not fair that destiny has decided to take a limb from someone and give all sorts of expensive things and privileges to another.It is a genius method for fast-winding the modern world has forgotten.