Love letter to Moroccans

As I was leaving the office today, I got into the elevator with two Moroccan guys who I had never met before. In the time it took for us to travel from the 4th floor to ground level, we had exchanged names, discovered that I was from Washington and they were both from Casablanca, and discussed the differences between the various Moroccan cities. And then, as I left the building, one of them wrote down his name and his phone number, handed them to me, and told me to call him if I'm ever in Casablanca.

I doubt there are more than five people in all of the US who would invite a foreigner they have known for five minutes to visit them. And yet over the last six weeks I've had lunch, dinner, tea, or invitations to such things from countless people, many of whom I had known for only a very short time. It's not so much that Americans are unfriendly, it's that we're cynical and suspicious, and we have less of a tradition of hospitality (rumors of 'Southern Hospitality' are greatly exaggerated). It may also be a function of our relative positions in the world. Americans are taught to believe that everyone must want to come to America; Moroccans have no such myth, and are consequentially surprised and charmed by the very fact that you want to visit their country.

Whatever the reason, it's a facet of the culture that I think takes many Americans by surprise. Don't they hate us? Don't they envy our wealth and freedom? A lot of Americans operate under the assumption that they should keep their national identity secret; I've been counseled by a few people to say I'm Canadian if possible. But while many Moroccans disagree with US government policies, I've yet to meet one who has held it against me personally.

There are plenty of things I dislike about Moroccans: they drive like maniacs, they refuse to stand in lines, and God knows it wouldn't kill some of them to bathe a little more frequently. But none of these things matter much compared to their open and generous attitude towards everyone.