No snow when we get to this town that looks a lot like any ski area. Which is funny because all day I have been thinking about our winter visit to the Grand Canyon. There was something homey about getting to Ifrane. Maybe the western feeling of being able to have a coffee and a millefeuille (a French pastry) or the fact that the houses look like what we are used to. People dressed in fancy winter jackets driving new cars. This town is radiating luxury and wealth.
We find a perfect place to pitch our tent. Right by a gas station. Antoine asks the restaurant next door permission twice and it is no problem. How nice. We start pitching. Then somebody else from the restaurant approaches us. How dare we even want to camp here. There is a campground right nearby, only three minutes away. We do not feel welcome anymore and pack up our bikes again, rather confused.
Of course there is no campground close by. Everyone we ask tells us how incredibly far away it is. There we are, stuck in this nice town without a place to pitch. By now it is too dark to find something outside town. Around a corner we find the solution. We stayed in firestations in France, Denmark, Spain and Portugal. Why not ask in Morocco? We approach the guard who has to call the chief. Several fireman are standing in a half circle around us, curious about what it is we want. The chief answers that it is difficult for us to sleep insides the station but pitching our tent is not a problem. Meanwhile we are already seated by a fire to warm up. This is the way these fireman have to keep themselves warm as well. When we pitch the tent in front of the building all eight men want to help. They take shovels and picks to make the ground flat, put cardboard on top and help Antoine pitch the tent. I am very grateful for their help but also scared to death that they will break our precious tent, while trying to help. Luckily this does not happen. Just the ground of the tent looks like a mudpit, but who cares. Anything that is not human waste... (Since we pitch in anything from donkey shit to compost, we changed our attitude. Anything that is not human waste is not dirty. Except for dog shit I guess.)
The guys are extremely friendly to us. They stand around me as I cook pasta and make a fire so we can stay warm. And firemen know how to make fire: with lots of gasoline. All of them speak French and we have an evening of interesting conversation. We talk with one of them who has finished two degrees in university. However, there is no job for him available in Morocco. Now he works at the level of someone who just finished high school, cleaning the firestation and fixing its trucks. This is very frustrating. Next year he will visit family in Canada and try to find an engineering job outside Morocco. If he is succesfull, Morocco will loose one of its well educated inhabitants.
Another one is a ski champion in Morocco. He has travelled in Europe to compete and he did very well. Now he`s a fireman in Ifrane, but his dream is to be a ski instructor in Europe. He has all his diploma`s but obtaining a visa is almost impossible.
The men are interested in us and our culture, as well as we want to get to know theirs. We talk about politics in Morocco and in The Netherlands and I feel free to discuss my experiences in Morocco with them. About how little boys have been throwing stones at us and the little house with very friendly people but no bathroom. They understand and explain how different parts of the country have developed differently. How some people are forced to live very poor lives because they have no means to do differently. These men are not like most people we have met so far. They are educated and financially better of. Yet there is still sadness in their lives. Unlike firemen in Europe, they do not all enjoy their jobs. The men we talk to aren`t proud of being firemen like the French `pompiers` or the ones we met in Spain.
We have not met a single Moroccon yet who is happy to be living here, who would not want to move away. Some people first invite us in their house before they try to get us to give them our address (which we really do not have) and our telephone number. Maybe we have a sister their son can get married to, or a friend? Others do not speak anything but Arab, but their `bring me to Holland` is very clear within the first two minutes we talk to them.

We have travelled to many countries. We have stayed with wealthy people as well as with very poor families. But nowhere have we felt such desparateness. The people we have met feel like there is no future for them in this country. Yet many make decissions that will not help them to get a better life. They do not educate their daughters because they need to work in the house. In the house there is indeed a lot to do, because the people cannot afford facilities that make life easier like laundry machines. They make their bread from scratch on a daily basis which is time consuming and hard work. However, it saves a couple Dirhams per week. But if women as well as men would get some education, life could potentially improve.
Working around the house and in agriculture can be very fine and rewarding, when it is your choice to do so. Many people here do not like their lives and are convinced that it is better in a different country. Because in Holland you do not have to work and you still get money, is what a young Moroccan told me. I quickly woke him from his dream.