A Life Worth Living

I'm standing on a bus as an armed policeman holds me back. Outside, a man runs into a baron desert. He doesn't run. He sprints without looking back. My bus driver. Almost alone on the bus, I am restrained yet again as I try to force past, subjected to words in Arabic that I don't understand. In a desert, somewhere in Morocco, I am a prisoner on a bus. Breaking point occurs as the bus pulls away and through the window, I see my friend disappear. 'How did this happen', I wonder to myself. 'How has my life come to this point?'

Drawn by the intrigue of a 1,600 mile charity hitchhike to Morocco, I had joined the masses to find out more. Unlike them, I chose to jump. All the fears and dreads of hitchhiking floated away as softly as a Chinese lantern lifting gently into the night sky. Ecstasy took control as I achieved ride after ride through multiple countries.

Only as I reached the Moroccan border did I start to realise how privileged I was. Faces were pressed against the wire mesh, five wide, hundreds deep. Queues of potential emigrants attempted to escape poverty and enter Spain. Passing from another world, I paid a small fee and got an unmemorable stamp before continuing on my journey. This border changed their life. For me, it was a holiday.

I lost control in Morocco. Four times we were stopped to have passports checked as bribes exchanged hands. The fifth time, a knife was drawn and the panicking conductor slashed wildly at bean sacks before withdrawing hidden door locks and stowing them elsewhere.

At length, our bus was impounded and we were allowed to continue by other means. Lacking Arabic, I will never fully understand what happened in those fearful few minutes. For a passing moment, I was overwhelmed by panic, held in a situation completely beyond my control. Like the people desperately pressed against the fence, my privileges had been withdrawn. I will forever appreciate the world, it's beauty, it's accessibility. I will forever promise, to live my life.