The Misplaced Loot Between Casablanca And Tangier Poem by Alexandre Nodopaka

The Misplaced Loot Between Casablanca And Tangier



We drive through Rabat on the way to Tangier another two and a half hours away. As usual my sister and I sit in the backseat with me pretending to entertain her when she gets restless. She's ten years younger. I don't really remember being a proud older brother. Too many years separate us..

Thank God I am an inveterate reader but until we open our books we hop scotch from tree to tree lining the highway. Besides every few kilometers there are cement markers with decreasing numbers signifying the distance left to our destination. Those were the days!

I mentally leap from one tree to the other and depending on the distance separating them I either slow down or speed up at the speed of the car. When sometimes the trees are too close I stumble. Well, it's all a mental race anyway. No chafed thighs or busted knees. We finally arrive in Tangier where we're scheduled to take the ferry to the Pillars

of Hercules. In Tangier there is this very special to us American Bar where every year we always stop for French Fries and sweet pickles with a glass of milk. It's become a ritualistic tradition. And nah, no Coke for them but one tall bubbly glass with ice that is usually a no-no in our home!

We're always flabbergasted that the combination of milk and pickles doesn't churn our stomachs but that's because the milk is homogenized as I learn later.
We get the bill and you know what? The leather portfolio with all our money and passports is nowhere to be found. It was left back home in Casablanca.

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