My husband and I got to experience a total stranger's kindness and generosity first-hand during a 10-day trip across the High Atlas Mountains and the Sahara Desert.

On our second-to-last day in Morocco, we happily took a trip to Essaouira, an old and beautiful seaside town on the Atlantic. During the journey there, we stopped at an Argan co-operative（合作社）, where we got to taste some Argan oil and honey. After that, we headed where we stayed. We arrived at our small guesthouse in Essaouira at around dinnertime, and on our way to a local restaurants my husband started to feel unwell. He went back to our guesthouse while I had dinner with some friends.

When I got back to our guesthouse after dinner, I found my husband sitting on the bathroom floor, looking very pale. He had been sick about six times in an hour. He spent the rest of the night in the bathroom, getting very familiar with the house's pipe. Our main suspect was the Argan honey—it probably didn't agree with him.

At about 6 a. m., my husband finally managed to leave the bathroom and crawl into bed. He was very weak and dehydrated（脱水的），so I went down to the reception to buy a bottle of water. When I got to the lobby（门厅）,I found a young man behind the desk, who didn't look older than 18, and explained to him that my husband was sick and I needed to buy some bottled water for him.

Our house was very small and basic and didn't have a restaurant or cafe. The young man informed me that they didn't sell any drinks at the house, so I asked him where the nearest shop was.

I looked out the window and my heart started to race. I didn't fancy risking going into the unfamiliar streets of the Medina in the dark, all by myself. In fact, I was afraid of it.

Instead of giving me directions to the nearest shop, the young man asked me to wait for him there.

I handed him a 50 Dirham note （about 5 EUR） for the water.

Many years ago, when I was working as a psychologist at a children’s institution in England, an adolescent boy showed up in the waiting room．I went out there where he was walking up and down restlessly．I showed him into my office and pointed to the chair on the other side of my desk．“Please sit down,” I said．

David wore a black rain coat that was buttoned all the way up to his neck．His face was pale, and he stared at his feet while crossing his hands nervously．He had lost his father as a baby, and had lived together with his mother and grandfather since．But the year before David turned 13, his grandfather died and his mother was killed in a car accident. Now he was 14．

I looked at David．How could I help him? There are human tragedies that psychology doesn’t have the answer to, and which no words can describe．Sometimes the best thing one can do is to listen openly and sympathetically．

The first two times we met, David didn’t say a word．He sat in the chair and only looked up to look at the children’s drawings on the wall behind me．As he was about to leave after the second visit, I put my hand on his shoulder, but he didn’t look at me either．“Come back next week, if you like,” I said, I hesitated a bit．Then I said, “I know it hurts.”

He came, and I suggested we play a game of chess．He nodded．After that we played chess every Wednesday afternoon- in complete silence and without making any eye con-tact．It seemed as if he enjoyed my company．But why did he never look at me?

Some months later, I sat starring at David’s head, while he bent over the chessboard．I thought about how little we know about therapy(治疗)—about the mysterious process associated with healing．Suddenly, he looked up at me．“It’s your turn,” he said．