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both Ottawa and the Canadian Embassy in Dhaka (Senegal) about my present location as
well.
IleftinsearchoftheMauritanianEmbassyandontheway,IcameuponUNICEF's
main office. I entered the building simply to ask if I could visit some local projects. The
directorsaidthatunfortunatelythechildrenwereonsummervacation(whichexplainedthe
hordes of children selling melons and playing outside during the day) and that the bureau-
cracy involved in visiting their centres was stifling since they ran the projects jointly with
the Moroccan government. In essence, he needed permission and had to contact certain
people for approval… and over 52% of Africans are under 15 years of age and eggs are
expensive in Morocco, in other words…no. I left with an information package that the UN
was more than happy to give out. I was cordial and said good-bye.
I found the Mauritanian Embassy rather quickly. I met the First Secretary who after
alengthyinterview inFrench,toldmehewasfluentinEnglish.Heaskedmetocomeback
the next morning with 60 dirhams.
Sharing an Olympic Moment
On the way back from buying some spokes for the bike, I came across a modern
department store and watched the 10,000-meter Olympic race on a television behind a dis-
play window. Before the race was over, the building closed and I was asked to leave. A
store clerk suggested that I go across the street to a teahouse to finish watching it. I entered
a smoke-filled room populated with only men who were watching a small TV-set perched
high above the counter. There was animated talk and the noise grew louder as the race
neared completion. The race came down to a final sprint between two runners: a Kenyan
and Hali Sakah, a Moroccan. On the last lap, the Moroccan pulled out in front. The men in
the teahouse were shouting “Iġiri! Iġiri!” (Run! Run!). When Hali Sakah crossed the finish
lineforthegoldmedal,theteahouseexplodedintohugsandtears.Metoo!Iwascaughtup
in the moment and hugged everyone- I felt so proud to be Moroccan, even though I'm not.
What an incredible opportunity to be part of their moment in history.
The next morning, after I went to the Mauritanian Embassy to pick up my visa, I
returned to my hotel to wash my clothes. Since I had to do them by hand, the whiteness
factor was not as important as the smelliness factor. I decided that the next day I would
head to Casablanca and prepared the bike for an early departure.
A Coincidence or Divine Intervention?
IfoundtheroadtoCasablancaquieteasilyandmaintainedagoodpace.Afterabout
an hour of cycling, a dreaded sensation came from the rear of my bike. The increasingly
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