Nothing like a sacrifice

With Marrakesh behinds us, we took the road to Fez, up in the Atlas where snow had settled by October. Impossibly romantic cities, gorges slit into rock, and stormy desert stretching towards Algeria - it was all a rush. Throughout, Saïd was our steady and bemused guide.

Outside the desert town of Erfoud, on our last full day of travel, he announced we would visit family to celebrate Eid al-Adha, the Feast of the Sacrifice. The country was thoroughly on the move, preparing to commemorate Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son. Everywhere, we saw sheep. Legs bound and wedged into vehicles, or hoisted on top, or dragged along. Muddy, bleating, stubborn. Eid al-Adha is not a good time for them. Symbolically taking the place of Abraham’s son, they are sacrificed, becoming food for families and friends, who customarily share with the needy.

The prospect of eating with family made us hungry. A local’s meal was hard to come by, never mind something home-cooked. Restaurants were touristy; few Moroccans could afford them. Street food was the winner by far, and we fortified ourselves with dried fruit from markets.

In a building next to a mosque off a main thoroughfare, Saïd’s sister greeted us: same eyes, same smile, but no language in common with us. Her husband, her children, and her brother-in-law were also there. We sat in a U-shape on cushions on the floor at one end of the living room: tea ready, Turkish soap on the TV, and not a glimpse of the rest of the home.

The meal passed in blurry gluttony. Olives, bread and skewers were followed by more bread and thick, syrupy tangine. Even my vegetarian travel companion dug in, though truthfully there wasn’t much choice. We licked sticky fingers. We held the baby and made faces at the little ones who giggled, came close and ran off in fits of shyness. No language necessary. Surrounded by his family and home, Saïd visibly relaxed. For days, on the job, he had answered our endless questions. Now he started asking. Are you religious? Why not? Why not eat meat? Suddenly, we got a glimpse of him, easy in his life.

The ugly gaps that can divide us - money, visas, opportunity – vanished for me, as they usually does when something abstract becomes someone human. We all need to eat, we all need the comfort of people we love, and we’re suckers for smiling kids. I didn’t get a chance to find out how Saïd felt about it, though. When we invited him to eat with us at our hotel that night, he politely declined.