Life Questions From Strangers

The Sup@Tours Bus between Essaouira and Marrakech, July 30th.

The man sitting across from me speaks good English, though his taste in clothes leaves much to be desired. His right eye is not quite off-kilter enough to be considered lazy, but it is in no hurry, either. He waits til we stop for a 10 minute "drain and refuel" stop, and then moves into the seat next to me. He asks me where I am from, how old I am, and how long I have been in Morocco. He asks if I have bought my parents presents, and from what city. "What country!" I reply. He asks me what I think of Africa. "It is a continent," I say, I think many things." He asks what I am studying, and if I am planning to work for an NGO. He asks if I am the oldest in my family, and if my parents don't worry about me so far from home.

Then he says, "How do you feel about your age?"
"What do you mean?"
"You are happy with your age, or you feel old?"

This question floors me a touch, I must admit.

"Well..." I clear my throat. "I'm 21. I can't complain."

He cocks his eyebrow at me curiously.

"I mean," I try again, "I think I've managed to fit a fair bit into that time... I think... yes. No, I don't feel old. Yet."

"Should I?" Is the implied question, which I don't ask, as perhaps I am afraid of his answer. Why are you asking me these things?

"What is your hope for the future?"

Now I have to laugh. One hope? I get one hope?

I want to do something. I want to do something that matters. I want to matter.
Could this count as one? Is that really what he meant with that question?

"I don't know yet," I stammer, "Still thinking. Lots of hopes, I guess."

He nods but seems disappointed with this answer. Am I overthinking?

I am relieved when my seatmate gets back on the bus, and we carry on our way to Marrakech.

N.