We were working at a university in Rabat, and this was about the first chance we'd had to get away for a weekend and see some of the country. I was suffering from the obligatory diarrhoea, which was intermittent but violent enough to rival a certain scene in Dumb And Dumber, and was to go on for a further six weeks. I found the toilet a few doors down from our room, consisting of a hole, a tap and a bucket.
The bucket was for 'flushing' and the tap for washing your left hand after you'd used it to wipe. Hole-in-the-ground toilets, I was assured by all Moroccans, were better for you 'because of the angle'. But that didn't account for the fact that you had to have a particularly fine aim, particularly with diarrhoea.