In the town in the Sahara where I'll be living for the two years of my Peace Corps service. In my bedroom with the door closed.
I heard a knock on the door. I turned the handle. The door wouldn't open. I turned the key; no luck.
I heard, in Darija, that is, in Moroccan Arabic, "Etini saroot," meaning "Give me the key." I slipped it under the door. Someone tried the key, then shook the door, then repeatedly pounded on it.
The next thing I knew, shards of wood flew at me as the door burst open. My host mother entered with my dinner. Now I love to eat, but they didn't have to break through the door to feed me right away.
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