Smelling myself

There is something about traveling and smelling. Or sleeping outside and smelling. Or putting yourself in smelly situations and smelling. Whatever the reason, I always end up smelling when I travel.

Nowadays my scarf smells like the super sweet incense that flooded through the room my last night in Rabat. It’s not a very pleasant smell. As the people inhaled the smoke they became possessed by a spirit, danced widely and then fainted onto the floor. For real! Suddenly girls just started to fall to the ground and people grabbed them to prevent then from hurting themselves.

I went with some new friends to a Gnawa session that night, a spiritual dance that I’ve heard a lot about before but never attended. It’s a pretty big thing both in Morocco and Mauritania.

The same night I sat outside the embassy from half past three in the morning. I had no sleep at all and the next two nights were spent in the car with the Italian man, Flavio, who gave me a ride to Nouakchott. I’m not even gonna try to mention how I smelled until one hour ago when a hot shower and body shop soap washed it away.

It took us two and a half day to drive from Rabat to Nouakchott. But now I am here. Tired. Enjoying the sun. Flavio and Ibrahim, with whom we had company, continued early this morning to Dakar.

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