This Is Why I Love Morocco

I mean, there are many reasons, but this is the most recent one.

Our story starts, as many stories do, with me. (Because this is my blog, and isn't it logical that many of the stories I tell about my trip involve me?)

Today, after our group pow-wow (I'd tell you all about the Super-Secret, High-Priority, Confidential Topics, but then I'd have to do a some Obliviate-ing; the only plus ostensibly being that, having attained 17, I would have no Trace to prove it was me) I decided that instead of pointlessly waiting around at school, I would   attempting to copy the actions of a sane human being   come home and take it easy. Some days, I do homework at school, chat, and wait to see if any old medina residents wish to share a cab. Today, I was done.

Perhaps I should move along with my story so that you don't become bored stiff. (Wait...if you're bored stiff, you can't move, and thus have no choice but to continue reading, unless you'd like to be left alone with your thoughts. My evil plan to keep you reading is working! Just wait 'til I get going!)

Where was I?

Australia!

(To a select few: I love you all right now. If you have to ask why, you're not one of the Select Few. To the rest: Morocco, actually.)

Anyways.

Me.

I left school, and got into a petit cab with the driver (obviously) and two middle-aged/older women who were headed somewhere near the old medina, (or more accurately, the train station I chose as my landmark). I was cheerfully greeted with a "Ramadan Mubarak," and peppered from all sides with questions that I only half understood. After communicating as best I could the answers to some, and, to the rest, that I didn't speak enough Arabic to understand or answer, I was left mostly to my own devices as the cab continued along (sort of; traffic was terrible today). I should probably interject that I was welcomed to Morocco numerous times; before, during, and after I had explained myself. (I think I've said it before, and I gladly say it again: Moroccans are friendly. I don't think people in the US would deign to share a cab with strangers, let alone chat with them extensively   or as extensively as was possible   and welcome them to their country.) Let me be extremely clear, here: all three of these people were quite loud. An extensive conversation was held on our journey. It got heated for a while, but I don't believe anyone was arguing, because at intermittent points, they all seemed to agree, before continuing on in their aforementioned loud manner. I think a third party was being discussed at length, because the word hshuma was thrown around quite a lot, and believe me, strangers here do not use the word hshuma extensively with each other and all seem happy afterwards, if the subject of the hshumas is themselves. This continued until we arrived at my destination, where I was only slightly ripped off, and I was again welcomed to Morocco and wished a good Ramadan, the latter of which I returned (again).

You're probably sitting there with a semi-glazed look on your face, wondering why this is why I love Morocco. I love the fact that people talk to you, and seem pleased when you reply in their language, even if it is atrocious. I love the fact that people are friendly; that cabs are shared; that they talk to one and other; that the driver talks to everybody; that I was in this particular cab on this particular day with those particular people who (though I doubt I will ever see them again) made my day better.

So yeah. There are many things that I love about Morocco. But that was what I loved today.