I got into an elevator at the airport with a French Muslim family--three old women all in long white garments and veils, one with Berber chin tattoos; and a boy and girl in their late teens, speaking French and dressed in modern clothes, escorting them. The old women were in a very good mood, bubbling over, as they squeezed their baggage carts in. It looked like such a nice family. I held the door for them and overheard one of them call another "Hadja" in a playful voice. They were going to Mecca!
"Are you going on the hadj?" I asked.
"Oui, oui, oui!" they said joyfully. But the two young people looked up sharply at me, hoping I wouldn't spoil their mood. There is a lot of anti-Muslim antipathy in France. I struggled for something tactful to say.
"You must be very happy! Bon voyage!"
The boy beamed and nodded as I got out. "Merci, Madame!"
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