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help a sister out

22 December, 2014

While waiting to board our flight back to North America from Morocco, way back when, a Moroccan woman quietly went from woman to woman in line, having a short conversation. As she neared me, I could hear that she was imploring her sisters to help her by agreeing to hold one of her three small children on their laps once on the flight.

Through the line she went, being met with excuses and apologies, and no one willing to help her out. She had skipped over The Husband and me in line, probably because she didn’t think we’d speak Arabic. And as she neared the front of the line and had yet to find someone willing to help, I approached her and said we would help her.

Prior to The Child’s first fight, I had never flown with any infants/toddlers on my lap; the closest I had come to that was smuggling Mook and Ninja out of the carriers under the seats in front of us and tucking them into a sweater on my lap. The Husband and I had no idea what we volunteered for.

As it turned out, ticket holders may have only one infant or one pet per ticket, so at the gate in the airport, that poor mother had to once again ask strangers to help her with her babies.  How she was able to book her flight with three children under two associated with her ticket, I don’t know. I chalk that up to it being Royal Air Maroc and Morocco.  And I really don’t know how she managed that flight. Traveling by yourself with one babe is hard enough, so I really can’t imagine having two more thrown into the mix.

I was thinking about that Moroccan woman and her children while struggling to keep The Child from raging on our flight home from Phoenix earlier this week.  That whole scene captures so much about what I love and miss about Morocco.

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