Friday, 3 October 2014

Morocco 1 - Rabat

The compartment went black as the electricity failed. The emergency stops came on, filling the train with the hot bitter smell of brakes. The other occupants in our compartment barely reacted; the lady on left carried on texting, the white glow of her iPhone now the only light. The children opposite carried on sleeping on their mother. The young man on the right swore once in arabic, but he seemed in a hurry. Muttered complaints filtered through the carriage, but no-one reacted with surprise. Moroccans react with a calm fatalism that makes it impossible to tell if you’re experiencing a rare bad event, or if that’s usual and everything going to plan is the exception.