Hello, from Morocco. Where I am, alone. I have to say this isn’t a particularly pleasant country to be a solo white girl in. This also isn’t a particularly pleasant country to be very, very, very sick in. And I am very, very very sick.
A doctor showed up to my hotel room on a house call (I have just no idea when or how or by who this was arranged, it may have been an accident). He spoke no English and I speak almost no French and definitely no Arabic. Before I came to Morocco I wasn’t horribly self-conscious about my limited French, but I now know that it is a personal shortcoming that I should be deeply ashamed of. Seriously, if you’d ever like to feel like the most disappointing person the world has produced, try explaining to a Moroccan taxi driver that you are a white person who can’t speak French.
But, anyway, this French and Arabic-speaking doctor arrived in my room, barked a few completely indecipherable French phrases, and then rolled me over, pulled down my pants, and gave me a shot in my butt. He wrote up my bill and I paid him and he left.
I’m only now looking at the bill. His letterhead says “Dr. Jalal Mansour Hassane, Médecine Esthétique Morphologique & Anti Âge.”
Again, my French is very limited, but I think I may have just gotten butt Botox?
Going to go throw up again, but at least my ass is looking great.