My Perfect Hiding Place

On my last afternoon in Baghdad I took a walk down through my neighborhood ending up where the daily food market was held. As I walked down the dusty streets I handed 100 dinar notes to every child I passed, and when I ran out of children I started handing out money to the women and old men who were following me. 

I considered it a kind of penance for striking back at the young man who had attacked me from his bicycle.

To this day, I believe he deserved to be scared and hurt at least a little after scaring me as he did; however, I felt like I had lost control when I jumped on his bike, and that scared me even more than the stunt he pulled. The dinars I passed out were what remained after hiding as much money as possible in my luggage. After months of brainstorming, I had finally settled on a hiding place for my tip money that I was willing to trust to get me safely through customs and out of Baghdad.