A train ride through Morocco

A train ride through Morocco, from Marrakech to Rabat.

A night train that doesn’t stop from 7PM to the morning.

I eat a big meal just before arriving and am prepared for the journey.

A Moroccan girl sits in front of me as the train begins to fill.

She has a brown paper bag of McDonalds. As she begins to eat, she offers me some fries.

I smile and shake my head, trying to say in English that I have already eaten. She doesn’t understand, so I try French.

She looks at me funny, and I can tell she speaks neither language well. Still, she smiles and pulls out a napkin from her bag. She places what must be about half her fries on it and sets it before me with a big grin.

I sheepishly eat, no longer being able to turn down the offer.

Then, the next thing I know, I look up and with a plastic knife she is carefully cutting her Big Mac burger in half. She sets it before me with a big grin.

I’m left speechless.

Before I can even finish eating, she’s gone. She stands, adjusts her head scarf, lifts her bag, and leaves the compartment. She wasn’t riding the night train, but was only heading to the next stop. I’m left there alone with the food she gave me. The last bits of burger and a couple of fries.

She’s just a memory. A young Moroccan girl with a black head dress. I didn’t even catch her name.

A train ride through Morocco, from Marrakech to Rabat.

12 hours to go.

12 hours to think: what a beautiful girl, what a beautiful country, what a beautiful life.

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