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The Oujda Chronicles (Pt. Deux): A Torrid Tale of Nabil’s First Flight

We last left our brave protagonist (me) escaping the manicured clutches of a walking perfumery. Although I suffered no life-threatening injuries, I could sense that something was out of whack in the universe. I’m not saying I was hexed, but few things can explain the supernatural unlucky streak I survived in the ensuing 48 hours. As with all stories of biblical punishment, we begin with brunch. I woke up hungry, and according to healthstatus.com’s fat burning calculator, the previous evening’s frivolities cost me exactly 978 calories. This figure is based on the number of minutes I dedicated the following activities, as defined by the website: Hairstyling – 10 minutes. Dancing –Aerobic/Ballet/Modern – 120 minutes. Judo/Martial Arts – 4 minutes. Running vigorously – 1 minute. Football – Full Contact – 0.01 minutes.

Andrew had detected wafts of hash browns and eggs Benedict from our hostel window, so we let our noses guide us towards Melilla’s fort, up a long flight of marble steps, and into a white tent, packed with Spanish families. As we took our seats, I asked our server what we could get for eight Euros. She left us a menu and skipped off to ask her manager about that day’s specials. I was reading entrees aloud, salivating to myself, when a pink man with white ring of hair around his head, laid two freckled hands on our table, and cleared his throat. “You may leave, por favor.” “Por que?” I countered, in perfect Spanish. “Porque yo queiro que te vayas,” he shot back, almost singing the words. I could not believe it. NO ME LO PUEDO CREER! Not only was I being kicked out, but the proprietor was also quoting a hit single by Luis Miguel, also known as El Sol de Mexico, and El Rey, perhaps one of the most famous Latin American pop singers alive. Or, maybe I’m just losing it.
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Tags: Oudja