Learning to Trust, Moroccan style

Sometimes, life’s lessons don’t announce themselves—they simply appear everywhere. I’ve learned that these lessons come with both subtlety and force. These days, the lesson that shines as brightly as a neon sign is...trust.

As a seasoned traveler—and a frequently solo woman traveler—I’ve learned to be guarded. I learned the hard way to watch my back, remain alert to scams, guard my money, double-check prices before committing, and to not be too overtly American. Or too overtly female. Over the years, these precautions have become second nature; in many places, they’re not just advisable, they’re essential. I’ve even mastered the art of looking confident and sure of my direction, even when my doubts are swirling and I’m inwardly panicking. 

Yet here in Morocco, I’m encountering a very different lesson—a lesson in trust. I’ve been moved and astonished by the genuine kindness and care of strangers. Despite warnings about being cautious, about not standing out, about not looking too intently into the eyes of Muslim men—a sign of respect—I’ve found warmth and openness that challenge my long-held stereotypes and self-reliance. In many of my past travels, caution has been my closest companion, but Morocco has introduced me to a surprising generosity of spirit.

Time and again I have been slapped in the face with this call to trust the generosity available to me. From Omar, the night guard at my lodging, who kindly offered to go find my phone in my room (yep, I handed him my key to my room) so as not to disrupt my dinner to Karim, my remarkable tour guide in the Medina of Tangier, who offered every time I went to the restroom to hold my bag (on the 3rd potty break I decided it was time to relinquish the goods) and even to the man on the street who physically nudged me out of harm’s way when a car nearly hit me amid the labyrinthian kasbah streets, I’m being taught to trust again. 

Since the moment I arrived, I’ve been whisked from one unexpected place and adventure to the next, often never fully understanding what’s happening—even when I try desperately to follow the French words I can make out or catch at least the gestures in Arabic. Yet somehow, miraculously, I always end up exactly where I need to be: safe, well fed, well hydrated and most importantly, awed. 

From what I’d read before arriving, I imagined the majority of Moroccans as relentless merchants—no different from many cultures where tourism is a principal industry and income disparity great. But here, everyone is simply engaged in the art of exchange. No one seems more interested in my money than in sharing their beautiful culture and in building mutual respect and friendship.

Karim, said, as we strolled through the Tangier souk, “Here is my belief. I give some here, I get some there. Everybody always needs something at any given time.” He would not take a payment for showing me around the city for 5 hours. Not a dime. He even insisted on treating me to a Moroccan whiskey (mint tea.)

I must admit, as an American who’s faced her share of travel hardships, I’ve grown a bit jaded, and that realization is bittersweet.

I’ve been dazzled by Morocco’s vibrant colors, breathtaking vistas, rich flavors, evocative scents, and exquisite artisanal crafts. Yet, above all, I must say…  I’ve been most captivated by the sincere, earnest nature of its people.

There are moments when I feel as though I’m being carried along on a magic carpet ride—sometimes even feeling like a princess. Whether it’s because it’s an Islamic culture or because I’m a woman, a solo woman traveler, or simply a middle age year-old with a silver head of hair… or maybe it’s because I don’t speak the language and every simple, kind gesture stands out even more—Morocco has shown me that trust can be both transformative and liberating. It’s so clear why people keep returning again and again to this magical place.