Backstory: Europe bound - why a Moroccan heads north

Though I'm not able to ask Aziz about this - Jessica, who was translating the family's Moroccan Arabic for me, didn't want to go near such politically sensitive questions - he certainly must be aware of the tensions between immigrants and Europeans. And yet, he seems to have no qualms about leaving these serene hills for the possibilities - and potentially dangerous uncertainties - of life in Europe.

His father points out that 15 of Aziz's peers in their neighborhood have immigrated to Spain illegally. Some have found work, some haven't.

"I have no choice [but to leave]," he tells us, while Fatina and her daughters prepare a massive plate of couscous with olives from their trees. "There are no jobs in Morocco."

Morocco's unemployment rate is officially estimated at 12 percent - only slightly higher than France. But one key difference is that with the burgeoning population, Morocco's young people shoulder a much greater proportion of that unemployment burden. And though Morocco, with its new modern-minded monarch, is much better off economically than most of its North African and Middle Eastern neighbors, the proximity of Europe and the huge gap in living standards between the two continents make immigration a tantalizing option for Morocco's restless youth.

Indeed, last month Italy announced it has experienced a 15-fold increase in illegal immigrants coming by sea, a third of them Moroccan. Italian officials attribute the rise to a clampdown on immigration in Ceuta and Melilla, Spanish enclaves on the Moroccan coast, after illegal immigrants stormed the razor-wire borders of those autonomous cities last fall.

But Aziz won't be storming any fences or sneaking across any borders, he tells us as we huddle under heavy blankets, our noses red-cold. Over the background buzz of a fierce handball match between Norway and the Netherlands emanating from the TV in the corner, Aziz explains he has thus far been unable to get the necessary paperwork to emigrate legally. But with no other options, he'll just have to try again, he says.

"What does Mama think about the possibility of Aziz leaving for Spain to look for work?" we ask Fatina. Her broad, patient smile communicates her approval. "Baba," the moist-eyed patriarch, is also in favor. He, however, with proficiency in three languages, was fortunate enough to be well-employed for most of his working life.

"Did you see the mine?" he had asked us earlier in the evening, when we returned from a brisk walk in the hills with Aziz. "I used to work there, for the Russians," he explained in accented French, beaming proudly.

From a grassy hilltop overlooking the center of Jerada, Aziz had indeed pointed out the coal mine that was abandoned in the late 1990s when the company discovered better prospects in southern Africa and Poland. The departure definitely left more than one kind of crater in town.

As we headed back toward Aziz's home in the pale post-sunset of a winter night, the call of the muezzin echoed across the cold high desert.

Allahu akbar [God is great], came the muffled voice from the mosque in the distance. Aziz stepped to the side of the trail, and - kicking aside some stones before taking off his shoes - knelt on the ground in prayer.

As a journalist I shouldn't take sides, but I couldn't help hoping that his prayers would be answered.

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