There is Room in the Inn

Note: This was initially sent as an e-mail to my father. I’ve kept the post in that form, while editing it and adding pictures.

Hey Dad,

I had an incredible experience while in Morocco that I wanted to tell you about. It was the type of surreal moment that I felt was going to be a story to tell as it was unfolding. It was also the type of experience that restores your faith in people.

Ammon and I were in Casablanca, which is the most populous city in Morocco (and you’ve certainly heard of it because of Hollywood). We’d spent some time exploring the city, but the evening was quickly rolling in and we needed to find our way to Marrakesh as we had booked an Airbnb lodging there.

After consulting with a few different folks, we found that our best option would be to take the train. The journey would take 4+ hours, but it’d be a safe and sure bet, as well as a cost-effective one. Things were hectic at the train station. Lines were long. Payment machines didn’t work. Trains weren’t on time. Despite the chaos, we found help and bought our tickets. As we entered the waiting area next to the train tracks, the scene became even more chaotic. A few hasty individuals were even running across the train tracks. Both sides of the tracks were lined with people as far as I could see waiting to usher the train in. Of course, the train was late, and no one really seemed to know when it would arrive.

A train on the way to Settat stopped at the station and gave us a preview of what was in store. Moroccans were packed into the passenger cars so tightly that there was only standing room and people were literally hanging outside the doors as the train exited the station. After witnessing this, Ammon went back to the ticket office in an attempt to upgrade our tickets to first class, guaranteeing us a place to sit. The tickets were sold out which served to increase our fears about the long, uncomfortable ride that was likely in store.

As the only Americans in this crowd of Arabic-speaking Muslims, we felt a little out of place. However, every person we’d talked to about the arrival time of the train was very kind — and one young man was especially helpful. This young man, Amine, spoke English very well (he is attending school in New Hampshire). After seeing the mad rush that had occurred on the arrival of the last train, we thought it would be wise to follow Amine in our attempt to get on board. I asked Amine if he would help us, and, luckily, he calmly consented.

The moment our train arrived, people surged to the entries of each passenger car creating snaking lines every few meters. People slowly packed into the train like sardines.One thing was clear — not everyone was going to make it on this train.

Our new friend motioned for us to follow and started jogging toward the rear of the train in search of the shortest line. We finally stopped at a line and I couldn’t help but anxiously wonder if we’d picked the right one (I do the same thing at the grocery store). While waiting in line a few people cut in front of us. Our large backpacks made us twice the size of a normal passenger and certainly didn’t make us favorable fellow passengers. We eventually moved up to 3rd and 4th in line, but the line was stalled. No one else was fitting, literally, on that train. It looked like Ammon and I would have to wait another 2 hours or so for the next train, which wasn’t an exciting prospect after spending the previous night in the airport and sleeping for only about 2 hours the night before that.

We later learned that Ramadan would likely end that evening depending on the phase of the moon as judged by Muslim authorities. On the following day, Muslim families would be gathered in their homes for the Eid al-Fitr feast to conclude this period of fasting. Ramadan is the Muslim religious practice of fasting from food, drink, smoking, and sexual activities from dawn-to-sunset which lasts 29–30 days. Ramadan is also a civic practice: if a Muslim is caught eating, drinking, smoking, or in a sexual activity, they will be arrested and put in jail. Ultimately, the likelihood of the Eid al-Fitr feast the following day meant for a huge increase of people needing to use the train

At this point, we were still with our guide Amine, who was certainly feeling the stress of missing the train personally and as a group, yet his expressions were still stoic. He decided to leave the line and walk parallel with the train to further investigate the situation. As he peered into the windows of the passenger cars, he could see that there were gaps between people and more space still available.

This is the part that chokes me up a bit.

Amine, who’d previously had a calm, quiet demeanor, then began yelling at the crowd of people on the train (as amidst the cacophony of sound there was no other way to get their attention). A few men began to shout back at him. However, his diatribe literally moved the people enough to get him a spot on the train at which point he reached out his hand, grabbed my arm, and pulled me in with him. The train was now slowly moving, the door was still open, and Ammon was still not inside. We still didn’t know if it was a good idea to get on this overloaded train, but had to make a split-second decision, and so I reached out my hand and pulled Ammon onboard. With our huge backpacking bags removing even more standing space, fellow passengers weren’t pleased, but we managed to nudge ourselves in away from the open door. One man was still furious with Amine and was yelling at him while everyone around was watching wide-eyed wondering what might happen next.

We were now traveling at a high speed with the door of the train ajar due to the middle-aged, mustached man standing halfway in and halfway out on the entry step. There were people who were jammed in the small open space between the train cars where one can look down between the cracks in the floor and see the iron tracks and hear the rolling of the wheels. Ammon and I could barely shift our feet without stepping on toes or bags. Tension was still high, yet we’d made it. Amine, whose countenance still emanated a quiet, dignified composure, had courageously interceded with a mass of hungry, anxious people to get us onboard.

…

The tension began to die down at this point. Amine and his chief opposer made amends. As we came to our senses about the crazy episode that had just occurred, we began to laugh about this situation. We took a few selfies to capture it.

After about an hour of standing with 6 inches of breathing room, people finally started to exit at the intermittent stops. As space opened up, so did the passengers around us. The young men began taking pictures, asking what questions they could in broken English, adding us on Facebook, and laughing about the entire experience. Meanwhile, Amine stayed close by this entire time never saying much, but acting as a silent guardian. By the end of the 4+ hour train ride (75% of which was spent standing), multiple people had warmed up to us and invited us to their homes for the Eid al-Fitr feast and for a place to stay. Amine had quietly invited us to his home prior to anyone else, and though we’d only known him for a few hours, we confidently accepted his invitation.

Previously, to open up some standing room, we’d placed our bags in the bathroom. We thought by putting our bags in there we would free up space and make things more comfortable. About an hour into our ride, we noticed there was an inch and a half of water on the ground. We then slowly came to the realization that our bags in the bathroom were also soaked in this water. However, the water in the bathroom was of a different make, with the addition of urine and fecal matter. Later on, we hung our bags in a makeshift fashion, but alas, it was too late and the damage was done.

With the setting of the sun, it was time for the passengers to break their daily fast. People in different seated areas of the train began to bring out their water, juices, cookies, crackers, Moroccan dates, & cigarettes. I observed different groups sharing their drinks, food, and cigarettes with each other. At this point, I was sitting right outside of the train car (pictured below) on my backpack watching the mini-meal unfold. Maybe it was sympathy for Ammon and I, as we likely appeared to be two helpless, hungry children with our hands flat against the shop window yearning for the candy inside, but we were then offered food. We were passed packets of cookies and crackers, as well as some tasty Moroccan dates. It was a touching moment to be a part of the group, and though we weren’t fasting, to have complete strangers welcome us in.

Eventually, we made it to Marrakesh. Amine’s younger brother conveniently picked us up. After experiencing some trepidation about our destination for the evening, we arrived at a very nice multi-level home, with a room and beds for us, a shower, a washing machine, and a TV room! These niceties seem as givens in hindsight, but at the time, we had no idea if we’d be sleeping on the floor or the couch. Further, our utter fatigue, filthy bags, and hunger combined to make our appreciation of these niceties soar.

In Amine’s quiet and humble way, he gave us a tour around the home and showed us where we’d sleep for the night. He took our clothes and began to wash them for us. He offered us a spot to shower and freshen up. After we’d cleaned ourselves up, Amine brought in an assortment of local delicacies (various nuts and my personal favorite — Moroccan dates), bread, meat, and drinks. We chatted about Amine’s life in the states, his family, and about Morocco. We were then taken on a tour of the city of Marrakesh with Amine’s girlfriend Yussra. As we sat on one of the highest points overlooking the city with the four of us, my feeling of gratitude for Amine’s sacrifice flowed warmly through me in contrast with the chilly breeze of the night. Upon our return to his home, we were served another simple, but delicious meal of Moroccan bacon and eggs.

Amine quietly took care of us — everything from washing our clothes, to feeding us, to allowing us to shower, to giving us a bed, to taking us around the city, and to feeding us again — without expecting anything in return. Truly, Amine made room in the inn for us. We were exhausted, dirty, and hungry. Our clothes and bags were soaked and reeked of urine. And though we had nothing to offer, he helped to feed us, clothe us, and give us a place to rest. There was room in the inn — from a Moroccan Muslim man to two American Mormons.

“Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.” (Matthew 25:36)

My worldview too often morphs itself around my newsfeed — one where a day that passes by without a trending story about a terrorist attack, a mass shooting, or a hate crime, is perceived as a rarity.

My worldview too often stagnates on the basis of Islamophobic posts, racist tweets, and vitriolic political debates.

This is why I travel: to escape the reality created by digital pixels to find the reality created by human interaction.

My worldview too often recalls seeing the American flag at half-mast while driving home and wondering if that’s the 21st century status quo.

My worldview too often forgets the acts of nurturing, sacrifice, and altruism that sustain humanity.

This is why I write this story: to remind myself that amidst the chaos of hate, there is a chorus of love.

…

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