If you remember, I last left you at the end of Part 1 getting off a hot, crowded bus which took me from Tetouen, Morocco to… Chechaouen, Morocco. It turns out that not all “ouens” are the same. I’m getting off the bus when I see a seated Islamic man dressed in all white, staring intently at me. He has a computer in his lap, and it’s not too long after 9/11. He points at me and I’m…. terrified… expecting the explosive worst…. only to find out that he’s pointing at my blue plastic CD player which I’ve left in my seat. “Shokrun”, I say, “thank you”, the only word I know in Arabic, as I get off the bus, the victim of my own racial profiling.