Being Mirranda - Trapped in Marocco P1

So I'm a researcher yes. I had this one horrible month tracking around Europe working on a political story for an American newspaper. My boss, you know 'the dragon lady', red hair red lips and skin like old yellowing rubber, green snake like eyes and the temperament of a disturbed hornets nest. Well she called me in London and had me jump on a plane to Marrakesh for some sound bite from an very well known French CEO, well let's call him MR X. Lets just say I'd so had enough of jumping on long hall flights at all hours of the day and night to get three sentences of info and a photo to satisfy the dragon lady's writing success. We arrived for our scheduled stop over in Casablanca when all hell broke loose. Well not really all hell, just my own personal corner of hell. My bags including my laptop, lost. My boss on the phone yelling in my ear, apparently Mr X's people had called to decline comment and he had gone into hiding. And to top it all off my connecting flight was canceled due to some problem with the plane's engine. Just wonderful. After a few phone calls, and luckily finding i had packed my company credit cards in my carry on bag with my passport, the dragon lady ordered me a new company laptop to meet me in three days at the airport in Casablanca with a fresh company uniform and press id in time for a new flight to Marrakesh. True i could have taken another airline, buss or train but without a laptop and company wardrobe I'd just be sitting around without any prospect of finding Mr X or my much loved lost luggage. This all took just a few hours too many. I've never been able to sleep on planes and exhaustion was creeping in around me. I stumbled to the Cash exchange in the airport lobby and filled my purse with company credit. They would only see the credit to cash transaction on my card records so i could spend the cash as i please, and all i wanted at the time was a fresh change of clothes a stiff drink and a long sleep. I don't speak Arabic or french so using a little badly pronounced high school Spanish i managed to tell a friendly taxi driver i wanted clothes. We drove through a very new metropolitan area of Casablanca, if it wasn't for the street signs we could have been anywhere. Sky rises and glass shop fronts advertised expensive goods and services. A beautiful mosque the only reminder of the cities past. We drove around for a short time till the taxi stopped outside what was clearly an out of my price range boutique. I managed to explain that it was much to expensive and we drove out of the shiny glass city into an older section of Casablanca. The streets here where lined with tall classical European style white buildings, cafes and not yet opened restaurants. We stopped outside a smaller boutique withblue jeans in the window. Yes this is what i was after, jeans and some t-shirts, simple easy. The taxi driver, a short round middle aged man, with a full mustache and dark brown hair, freckled olive skin, who tolled me in so many words his name was Kamal, smiled as i asked him to wait and tossed a handful of cash in his lap. The bright shop was small, it had two long racks of clothing, bottoms on the left and tops on the right, shoes lined up on the floor under the racks with change rooms in the back. The young woman working in the shop only spoke Arabic so i made do with pointing and smiling. I really should have picked up a language guide in a bookstore before i left London. I left the store with a happy horde of clothing, three pairs of shoes (black stilettos, white joggers and some wooden wedges) three pairs of jeans, one pair of long black dress pants, four modest t-shirts, a nice dusky rose collard business jacket, and a long simple black well cut backless evening dress. The Girl in the shop was very pleased, i would be too if someone came in off the street and brought out half my stock. She didn't even have the dress i bought on show. She brought it out from the back room as it was just my size, and well it was gorgeous, fit me just perfectly and the fabric was so soft to touch it was like wearing an extra skin. My purse was feeling significantly lighter as i got back into the taxi and tolled Kamal as carefully as i could in my broken Spanish that i needed underwear as well. He drove me around the corner to another boutique where i picked up a few pairs of simple cotton underpants and plain bras. Much to the dissatisfaction of the woman behind the counter who had seen all my clothes shopping and tried to sell me the most expensive raunchy bit of lace in the whole shop, before realizing i had no idea what she was saying and leaving my to point and smile in peace. Shopping done i was dead on my feet, sleep and drink was all i could say to Kamal. We wove through the paved streets till we came to an older restaurant bar with an upstairs hotel. Kamal helped me with my shopping and was gracious enough to help me check in and carry my bags to my new room. I paid him with a tip, whatever he asked, he could have walked off with the entire contents of my purse if he had wanted, i was so dizzy and tired. I locked the door, dropped the bags at my feet, kicked of my sandals and fell face down on the bed, curled myself in a comfortable ball and fell asleep.......