August 2005

“Even Muhammed Bruce had grown despondent by then. He had lived for more than thirty years. He had witnessed the country gain independence from France. He'd known plenty of foreigners who'd murdered in the cities during those years, my parents included. But he'd stayed in Morocco despite all of this.
"Perhaps it's time to leave," he had said wistfully.
It felt like betrayal, but in truth it was simply Muhammed Bruce's lament for the passing of an era. A time when Europeans had roamed the earth in pursuit of adventure, largely oblivious to the lives and laws of the people in the countries they picked through like cherries. Spitting out the pits. Just like my parents. They had stomped on the world like the Burtons of their era, only worse somehow because they did not think that their shoes left marks.”
Camilla Gibb, Sweetness in the Belly