I mean, he was Moroccan too, and we'd no more (and no less) in common with him than anyone else in the street, but he looked just like the blokes we were used to seeing in the street markets back home in London. And the whole place felt much less scary.

I think this story very nicely makes my point that exposure is more important (in the absence of any training in bigotry) than sameness. This man felt comforting, not because he was the same as you in any way, but because you were accustomed to seeing people like him in your day to day environment.