In 1963 my parents simultaneously received Fulbright Awards to study abroad for the year. My mother went to India (and traveled through Nepal, Bhutan, and a forbidden sliver of Tibet on the border.) My father traveled to West Africa where made his way down the the coast through 13 countries meeting with emerging African authors and poets -- among them Chinua Achebe and Leopold Senghor. It was an interesting year for my brother and I -- since neither parent wanted to relinquish the award, nor take us in tow on their travels. My brother was sent to a boarding school in France, and I remained at home with a newly married couple (she was Tibetan and he was American). I was nine.
Over the course of that year I received a lot of mail from my parents -- my father was especially fond of sending postcards for the cards were visually wonderful and he could write short, loving messages. (He also sent by sea, dolls from many of the countries too.) I have saved them all. And going through them for the first time in a 100 years (ok it feels like that!) I am delighted once more by his selection. These two cards he purchased in Casablanca at the start of his trip. They are embellished with embroidery. I wonder if they still make these?