Maghreb Pic #2

We met her in a metal boxcar in the middle of the desert. Let me set the stage: We had been riding the train, 2nd class, back from Ceuta. Appropriate synonyms for the term "2nd class" applied to Moroccan train rides include "overcrowded", and "stifling". Typically, there are 10-12 riders per cabin in second class with 3-4 others crowded around/standing up inside the cabin. Like sardines packed into a can, people people EVERYWHERE: standing in cabins, standing in aisles, standing in the restroom, ahem, port-o-can. There is no space to move, no air-conditioning (not in 1st class either, however) and no breeze (sealed windows). The train makes numerous stops for seemingly no reason and parks on the tracks for an hour at a time. The temperature of our cabin neared 112 degrees F. It goes without saying that we were wearing long clothes because that's what you do in Morocco if you're women who would rather not be accosted. I've never sweat so much in my life; my olive green tunic was stained white through due to the amount of salt I shed.

This woman was riding alone, standing up in our cabin with a fussy little boy. We gave her one of our seats; she was genuinely touched and oozed with gratitude. We struck up a conversation with her. In typical, hospitable, Moroccan fashion, she proceeded to insist that we come stay with her family in a small village outside Meknes. She wanted to show us the city, her way-of-life, and break bread with us. We exchanged numbers. That's one thing I love about Morocco that is lacking at home: the ease with which people invite you into their lives. Moroccans are less guarded; there is no hesitation for fear of encountering cultural differences. Community is a cornerstone of the culture- they want to know you and want you to know them. I am making generalizations, but this is just one of numerous similar experiences with Moroccans.