My friends and I decided to go hike Mount Zalagh. We wanted to end our second to last evening in Morocco taking in the beauty of the old Medina of Fez, Morocco.
On our way up, we saw a man shepherding sheep. My friend, who can hold somewhat of a decent conversation in Darija, started talking to the man—the basics: What do you do? How many kids do you have? Where do you live? Unforeseen, the man left us with his ten sheep and we were told to wait. Or, at least, that’s what my friend could make out of the conversation. While we waited, and while I panicked that his sheep would run away every time they moved, all I could think was did he really just trust us to watch over his sheep?
The man returned, followed by his two kids—a girl who looked around the age of 8 and a boy who must have been no more than 4 years old. The girl was holding a tray, and before we knew it, we were having coffee and meloui. This man had just met four random Americans, of which only one could hold a conversation with him. He didn’t know much about us, and he probably knew he wouldn’t see us again. But his hospitality was unparalleled.
On our way back home, my friends and I agreed that we just had the best meloui in Morocco thus far. We hadn’t even left Morocco, but we were already missing it.
I love this story! How sweet this man was.