A Blossoming Spirit

Continuing on my travel experience in Morocco.

This trip turned out to be very special and will remain a memorable one. Not because of the places I visited or the cuisines I tried. It was more than that. I felt like I saw the return of myself, someone who had always been open to opportunities and to receiving the warmth of people, regardless of who they are or where they are from.

I was on my way to Fes from Rabat. We had to take a train, taking three hours to reach Fes. We booked seats in a second-class coach, which had only about eight passengers.. A few stops later, there was a little boy, his mom, and a grandma who entered the coach. The little boy and his mother came and sat next to me. He was tied to his mother’s back with a cloth, and he seemed happy to see the world from there.

A few minutes after they settled down, I noticed a touch on my arm, as if someone was poking me. I looked up from my reading to see the little boy blushing and turning his eyes to the other side, as if he wanted to hide that it was him who did it.

This kept going on for a few minutes. I pretended I didn’t know who it was, and then I’d catch him doing it again, leading to the cutest smile. In the midst of it all, he also offered me the pink flowers he was holding in his hands. I’d take them, thank him, and then give them back.

Time passed, and I didn’t realise we were getting close to our destination. Across from me sat another girl, probably around ten years old. Throughout the journey, she had been unusually quiet. While the little boy beside me filled the coach with curiosity and playful energy, she mostly kept to herself, looking tired and as though the journey hadn’t been particularly comfortable for her.

So I was surprised when she gently tapped my knee and said, “There is dirt on your pants.”

I looked down and realised it had come from the shoes of my little neighbor as he had been playing. His mother noticed it too and immediately apologized.

I smiled and replied in French, “Pas de souci,” but she looked at me with a puzzled expression. Thinking she hadn’t heard me, I asked, “Vous ne parlez pas français?” To my surprise, she didn’t understand that either. Until then, I had assumed that everyone in Morocco spoke French.

What followed was a conversation stitched together with French, English, Darija (Moroccan Arabic), hand gestures, and smiles. We could barely understand each other’s words, yet there was an unspoken joy in simply trying, to ask questions, to answer them, and to learn a little about each other’s journeys.

Before long, we reached our destination. It was time to say goodbye. I helped them with their luggage, which seemed to make the grandmother especially happy. She smiled warmly and said, “Salam Alaikum.”

“Alaikum Salam,” I replied.

This warmth stayed with me for the rest of the trip. Sometimes, in the constant pursuit of speaking a language perfectly, I had forgotten to simply communicate, to smile, to gesture, to ask, to listen, and to express. And with this encounter, It felt as though I had reunited with that forgotten part of myself and was reminded that human connection needs far fewer words than we imagine.

These are the connections that remind us that kindness can come from anywhere, sometimes quietly waiting in ordinary train compartments, shy smiles, shared flowers, and conversations between people who don’t even speak the same language.