Casa, continued!

So the airport worker escorted me to the departure area, where I thought he was going to take me aside to make sure that I was ok, then send me on my way as quickly as possible.
Instead, he looked me in the eyes, telling me that when he saw me get flustered at the desk and when tears began to well in my eyes, he felt something for me. Sweetly, he asked if I'd stay with him there to chat for a while. I asked him if he was feeling alright, asking the crazy, flustered girl to stick around. He insisted that he take my email, and in exchange I asked if I could pass through the gates to go sit down. He asked if I had a boyfriend. Why yes, I promised. I asked him if he had a girlfriend, in an effort to stay on his good side so he wouldn't snatch my newly given ticket from my hand and tear it up on the spot. No, he didn't have one. Well, he went on; he did have one, online, but it turned out she was ugly so he dumped her. Ok, I said. I asked hi, if there was a camera recording our interaction or if his friends were watching, thinking
I was the butt of a joke. I then politely insisted that I must sit down on the other side of the gate. So there, we parted ways, but I will always remember my third friendly Moroccan with fondness. Five hours later, I was on a plane, viewing the lights of Dakar and Yoff, about to land.