Tag Archives: Casablanca

Scrub Away Your Inhibitions

My bare back slips and slides over the stone slab. The only thing that keeps me from toppling over the edge and onto the hard flooded ground is a strong Arabic woman, she firmly grasps my arm above my head. I hope I remembered to shave last night. She stands over my exposed form, dressed in damp togs, furiously scrubbing at my naked chest. I stare up at the stone ceiling, at my friend to the left, at the naked stranger to my right. The kessa mitt, or exfoliating glove, feels like sand paper on my skin, like the scorching fingers of a wandering flame. I feel exposed, vulnerable and completely out of my comfort zone. I’m in Morocco–

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