New Family

We were nearing the end of our trip, and we'd yet to encounter the famous Moroccan hospitality. On the contrary, everyone was looking to rip us off or make money from us. Jaded and cynical, I began speaking with a young guy on the bus ride back to Marrakesh. Moments after introducing myself, he was telling me that we're welcome in his home, and that we have to visit him in Agadir. His mother invited us to their home, but we apologized and told them we didn't have the time, as we were flying out two days later.

We spoke for hours about grunge music, sang Nirvana songs on the bus together, and then the
bus slowed as it approached the village where their aunt lived. They were going to break their trip in half and rest tonight, and we were welcome to join. We declined, regretting that our schedule was too tight. As the bus pulled away, I turned to Marlena and told her that it was really too bad, because we were probably missing a great opportunity. We could only wonder what it would have been like. To hell with it she said, stop the bus! We jumped up and stopped the bus, then ran back and found the family.

In their home, we were treated to tea, biscuits, coffee, and they couldn't stop laughing at us. Dirty, barren and poor, they opened up their home to us and for the first time in my life, the words "Our home is yours" rang true. After tea, they plopped us down on the floor and turned on Arabic music videos and asked us what we wanted for dinner. I told them we'd already eaten, but they told us, sorry, OBLIGATION.

Marlena, dirty and tired, asked if she could have a shower. They led us upstairs to a concrete closet, with no lights and no water. Okay? they asked. Yes, but where is the water, Marlena asked. We are cooking water now. They dressed Marlena up, all the women fussing over her, giggling, laughing, giving her a robe, a bucket and towel. Me, taking pictures and laughing too, not sure why. Then, they took her upstairs and one of the women returned shortly after with more hot water and washed Marlena's back and arms.

3 hours of Arabic Idol and Arabic MTV later, an enormous dinner was served up. Two roasted chickens, covered in olives, pickled lemons and spices which we ate up with bread. All the good meat was pushed our way, and when finally I had enough, I fell onto my side. That's when the second course was served, stewed lamb. Then fresh fruit. I was barely conscious when the food was taken away and we all slept together on the carpeted floor, snoring and belching the night away, Marlena, me, and our family.

The next morning, after an extended encounter with a squat toilet, they fed us coffee, tea and more food. Then they took us to the train station and travelled with us to Marrakesh. In Marrakesh, they asked us if we would like to join them in Agadir. No, I told them, we have a plane tomorrow morning so it's impossible. They flagged us down a taxi and then screamed at the driver to give us a fair price. We hugged and kissed goodbye then they put us in our cab. With Marlena crying, and me sniffling, I had trouble understanding what just happened. Hadn't I met these people just 18 hours ago? So why were we crying like we were saying goodbye to our family forever.

Of all the things I'd seen in Morocco, this was the most exotic, by far. Sheeps brain for dinner, berber music in the Sahara, winding streets of souqs. While not entirely anticipated, these were the differences that I had expected on our trip. The way we eat, the way we do business, the music we listen to. Each culture has it's own, and it's wonderful to discover these things that we all have in common, but do differently. But to meet these people, convinced from the beginning we'd be taken advantage of, but instead, who treated us to every comfort they could afford us, with absolutely no expectation in return, this made no sense. This had no parallel to our society. When I've travelled in the Western world, I've come to expect a certain gamut of experiences. From the worst person you meet to the best, there is a difference, but it's a relatively narrow one and you know what to expect from people. Someone tries to cheat you, someone else takes the time to help you, to drive you to where you need to go, takes some of their own time to help you. Could you imagine meeting someone while backpacking who took you into their home, fed you, washed you, and the entire time wasn't capable of communicating with you? This story only makes sense in the Western world if the next day you wake up missing your kidneys.

But in Morocco, we went from screaming matches, from rage, to suddenly being welcomed into a home and treated like family by people that we didn't know, and who we couldn't even speak with. The gamut of experience was far greater, and being lifted up this last day after having experienced such lows earlier gave this a far greater impact.