When nightmare becomes reality

Whenever you get into a taxi here in Morocco, nine times outta ten the taximan will have his radio tuned to the Q'uran station. All Allah, all the time, baby! I wouldn't really have a clue what they're saying, it being Arabic and all. But the way the Q'uran is recited has a very specific cadence, tone, and melody (if you call it that). So I can recognize that I'm hearing about God and his homeboy, Mohammed, even if I'm not sure whose bitch got smacked up or when.

So imagine my surprise when I climbed in a few days ago and heard the whiney strains of The Corrs piping through the speakers. What's this!!?? I thought I had gotten away from those evil, EVIL people when I fled Ireland! Have they followed me here, to the wilds of Africa?

As the song finished, I forced myself to focus on the passing people, cars and buildings, convincing myself it had only been a horrible dream. I practised my breathing and other anxiety reducing techniques Oprah and Dr. Phil taught me, successfully extracting myself from the taxi a couple of kilometers later with my sanity still intact. (I never realized being a couch potato was gonna come in handy!)

But I discovered this afternoon that I was wrong. Oh, so painfully wrong. It wasn't just a dream, it was reality, and now it's on my TV! I was channel surfing when I came across those vile people-whose-names-are-unmentionable AGAIN. It seems Arabic TV is now beaming the Corrs' concert to Allah-and-his-homey-lovers across the world, not only in Morocco. Live and in color! This sucks.