What was the name of that hotel with the roaches? Do you remember? It was the cheapest hostel we could find in El-Jadida — two narrow beds pushed to either side, a broken TV, and a door that didn’t quite close.
You squashed the first roach and I thought I could look past it, but then they all came, dozens of them scuttling horribly across the tiled floor. It was just before midnight and pouring rain, the streets muddy and dark and there was nowhere else to go. We set up the tent on the beds and crawled inside, flicking at the dark forms as they tapped their way along the outside of those flimsy nylon walls.