My hand full of small thorns. It hurts a little bit.
Yesterday, whilst playing soccer, I fell down on bush that was covered in thorns. At the time, I noticed a stinging sensation but brushed them off since we already down a goal and time in the game was running out.
Last night, however, I noticed there was still a little pain and the thorns were still stuck in and agitating my skin. I spelt on it hoping everything would be better in the morning but it was not.
I did not have the time, or desire, to remove them this morning and have been since laboring around with my right hand in pain. It would not be so bad but every time you run into a person you know there is an obligation for some sort of hand contact.
Rather it be a hand shake or high-five, I can not avoid having people touch my thorn covered hand. In a simple 20-minute walk to the cafe, I saw seven people I knew and all seven times there was some sort of hand contact. I tried using my left hand once but it was so awkward that it was not even worth trying again.
It was the first time I realized just how important one’s hand is in greeting people in Morocco. They are a people who enjoy their high-fives and hand shakes.
