Had to come home today. Most of Europe was covered by cloud. As we approached UK, thundery storm clouds, such as this anvil, began to feature.
I read a book on the flight. The Death of Murat Idrissi by Tommy Wierenga. It's on the Booker prize shortlist. The writing is sparse but expressive. I had an internalised '3-D' experience of what the characters were going through, heightened I think, because I know the country they were coming from and from what I had been told by Aziz in the past. The absolute poverty of much of Morocco and the desperation to cross the Straits of Gibraltar hoping to make a living. And then, once in Europe, discovering that you belong to neither one land or the other. Although Moroccan amorality slices through like a knife. It reminded me of Mohamed Chukri's For Bread Alone, which was once banned in Morocco.