It’s been a while since I’ve written — catching up now as we settle into Midelt. A lot has happened since we first landed in Casablanca (second time entering Morroco). We flew in from Dakar during the last few days of Ramadan, exhausted but eager to continue the journey. I still can’t believe we paid 3,300 dirhams for that cab to Mirleft — outrageous now that I think about it. But in the moment, it all just… passed. That’s travel. That’s Ramadan. That’s life.
Mirleft was our next stop, and it left a mark — mostly good. Our worldschooling hub host, Aaliyah Santos, was a kind and well-intentioned human being. But to be honest, there were a few moments that didn’t sit right with me. The sick dog incident, the way a situation with our eldest daughter wasn’t handled with the care I’d have hoped for… boundaries were blurred, and I think that’s something Aaliyah may grow into with time.
There was also something deeper — something harder to name. An undercurrent of racial tension. I don’t even know how to fully explain it, but it’s there — subtle, but present. Whether you’re brown, Black, or white, the layers of privilege and perception play out differently in these hubs. One moment that stuck with me was meeting a brown parent in D.C., a single father married to a white woman — even that dynamic brought things to the surface. Nothing’s simple when it comes to race and community. Especially in these transient worldschooling spaces.
But putting that aside, the Mirleft experience itself was magical. Especially for Safia and Zara. Safia made a close friend, and both girls still talk about returning. They learned about the Amazigh — the Indigenous people of the land — and their stories, symbols, and spirituality. That connection felt powerful, grounding.
Saying goodbye was hard. Lots of tears. I didn’t expect to feel so emotional leaving, but that month was special. Our landlord, Majid — just 21 years old — reminded me of the energy and hustle of youth. I still remember the two narrow streets of downtown Mirleft and the hill I climbed a few times to find a moment of quiet.
Selva (Zara’s friend) joined us from France for two weeks and my inlaws came in from Toronto stayed with us for the last ten days, which added another layer of warmth to the experience. From there, we took off on a Monday morning and drove four hours to Tafraoute, a beautiful hill town with massive red rock formations. We stayed at a lovely hotel run by a gracious host named Mohammed, and we celebrated mum in laws 70th birthday there — a beautiful memory.
The next day, we visited a nearby oasis. It was my first time seeing date palms — actual big dates hanging from the trees. It felt like something out of a storybook.
Then came two nights in Aït Benhaddou, and things started to feel heavier. The hotel had bad beds, no working AC, and worst of all — my mother-in-law lost two of her rings. That hit me deeply, more than I expected. It was like a symbol of something slipping through our fingers. The loss, the discomfort, the lack of sleep — all of it left me edgy.
The next day, we hiked to the top of the kasbah. It was scenic and surreal — a place from movies (Lawrence of Arabia, Gladiator) — but I felt distracted. We came back down, did some work, watched the sunset, had dinner. We also quietly celebrated my in-law’s 45th anniversary that evening. A moment of love amid the emotional noise.
Somewhere along the way, I’ve noticed I’ve been leaning too much on tools like ChatGPT — using it as a crutch, maybe. My middle daughter reminded me to keep thinking for myself. Smart girl.
Yesterday, we drove seven hours to Midelt. I was in a foul mood the whole day. I kept asking myself why — was it exhaustion? Grief over the rings? Maybe. But I also think it’s something deeper. I need to rethink my relationship with anger. It’s been too easy to let it play the lead role in my internal theater. It’s time to change that script.
Then there’s Denisse. My most loyal employee. Her departure has opened a floodgate of realizations — the systems that were working, the ones that weren’t, the responsibilities I had slowly handed off that now I need to reclaim. Painful? Yes. But also necessary. It’s time to take back control — in the business, in my emotions, and in my growth as a father, husband, and entrepreneur.
Midelt feels like a pause button. A space to catch my breath. Reflect. Recalibrate.
Let’s see what comes next.
Halai 
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