Morocco is great for donkeywatching. I have had a soft spot for donkeys ever since I was a little girl, ever since one bit my friend on the shoulder in Büyükada. It sounds terrible, I know, but I think I envied her in some weird way. I remember her shoulder shining red from the swelling, and the tears running down her cheek— I remember eyeing that dusty grey donkey, who seemed annoyed with us, wondering if he thought she was a carrot. I liked the idea of being thought of as a carrot.
I was an odd kid.