I sent my last package home yesterday in an effort to lighten my backpack for my upcoming journeys (especially after my back problems) through London and onto Turkey. I've sent so many packages home from Essaouira now that the people at the main post office have come to recognize me.
Yesterday, when I entered the post office again, a very friendly security guard approached me, started shaking my hand and asking me questions I couldn't understand. When he made the motion of playing a guimbri, it dawned on me who he was: the very same security guard who, six months ago when I sent my guimbri home just before I was leaving for Mali, got down on the floor with me to help me wrap the guimbri in foam and bubble wrap and then spoke a blessing over the guimbri (“mismillah”), praying for its safe journey to the States (guimbris are often seen as sacred instruments here). I hadn't recognized him but he recognized me and treated me like an old friend.
I had been so touched by this man the first time I met him. You just don't find security guards like that back home. So it was equally touching when (here it was 6 months later!) he made an effort to greet me and ask if the guimbri had made it home safely, if all was well with me and my studies.
There was also something about this that gave everything a feeling of having come full circle. I remember how sad I was to leave Esssaouira last December and sending my guimbri home was a bit hard for me since I didn't know if I'd be returning. So seeing the security guard again while, once again, sending home my last package before leaving felt a bit synchronistic in a moving way.
It also sticks with me as one of those things I just love about Morocco- the fact that I've got a security guard buddy at the post office.
