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On our return to base Jordan’s behaviour was impeccable as I prepared to disembark. Maybe he wanted me to return and visit him again?  He turned and smiled for the camera. I was now quite smitten. But then Jordan urinated, and urinated endlessly, like in protest for something only he knew. Everyone was laughing at him. I was embarrassed.

Matt returned from the front section and asked how I enjoyed my ride.

“Great,” I replied, “I really like Jordan. I hear he’s a bit naughty.”

“Yeah, naughty alright. I think he’s really stupid, the dumbest of the lot.”

“Well, I liked him.” I replied defensively.

Walking back toward my hotel room I felt slightly conflicted. I didn’t enjoy using animals for entertainment, at the same time my money contributed to them having a good life. Besides, I didn’t weigh much, considering they are able to carry half their own weight. Jordan was a charming rebel, and I wanted to see him again. However I was leaving in the morning.

Albijam’s drool had dried to a crispy hair-spray-like consistency on the back of my hair. I pondered the merits of marketing environmentally-friendly hair products using camel drool. Moroccan oil was now widely popular in hair care. Camels are everywhere in Morocco. Surely more than a coincidence. Moroccan Slick was a good hair-spray name – a good starting point at least. On second thoughts, Moroccan Silk was more feminine, Slick Gel for men and Silk Spray for women. Problem solved.


As I headed up the hill to my room, a group of well-dressed men strode towards me, one dashingly handsome. The others quickly became invisible in comparison. He sauntered purposefully, no doubt attracted to my camel drool-controlled hairstyle and flushed cheeks. The sun was setting behind me, perhaps giving me some sort of aura. After all, I had been riding young Jordan for the last hour and was feeling quite exhilarated. The handsome man said hello.

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