This morning we piled into two 4x4s to head into the dunes. Our first stop was at a man-made oasis, where we learned about the rather brilliant irrigation system that has been in place since the 12th century, bringing sweet water to the desert from the Atlas Mountains. We watched some men come to get jerry cans full of water from this source.
12th Century irrigation system.
Into the roadless desert
We then drove into the dunes, where there are no roads, just the tracks of vehicles every which way. Our drivers seemed to have an instinct about where to drive, and we rarely spun out in the sand. We arrived at a large lake, Lake Dayet Srij, right there, in the middle of the desert. Unusually heavy rains in the past couple of years have filled what had been a dry lake bed, bringing birds plus a few tourists and trinket sellers. And a particularly enterprising man with a van equipped with an espresso machine. While I didn’t try it, desert coffee is apparently fantastic.
New lake in a long-dry lake bed
"Desert Coffee"
Trinket guy
I'm hoping one of my botanist friends can identify this spiky flowering plant
Our next stop was at a nomad encampment for a visit. This group of nomads has been at this spot for some twenty years, tired of moving about, it seems. We were expected, and were welcome to explore their home with its various structures, and then were invited to sit with the women, a mother and her adult daughter. They brought us tea, of course, and some peanuts to nibble on. They dressed Melica in wedding clothes, laughing with us.
Nomad home
Amazigh (Berber) flag
Kitchen
Conversation before tea
Milica wears a wedding dress:
This particular nomad family regularly hosts tour groups, as I understand it, and I suspect this may be their main source of income, being that they are paid by the tour leaders. These women told Mariam that her visits are the best, because they cannot communicate in Moroccan dialect (which is not precisely the same as Arabic) with guides who don't speak Amazigh, which of course Mariam does. So we get to have a conversation, ask questions, learn about their family. These people are illiterate, have no address, and live with almost none of the amenities most of the world takes for granted. This family has a small solar panel, provided by the government, that powers a single light bulb in their kitchen. They receive some government or NGO support, but their needs are minimal.
After bidding farewell, we were driven further for a stop at Dar Gnaoua, in Khamlia Village where we had lunch of “Berber pizza," a flatbread filled with vegetables, followed by a drumming lesson and a performance of Gnawa music and dance. This music seems more akin to Sub-Saharan music than to what I’ve been hearing in Morocco, and the people looked more Sub-Saharan as well. The drums were djembes, which I suspect were brought in from elsewhere.
"Berber Pizza"
Always tea
Ready for a drumming lesson
Curious about this kind of music I’ve never heard before, I found this:
The day already filled with awe, it was time to head deep into the dunes to Camp Chebbi. This is one of many glamping camps in the area, each consisting of ten or so large tents arranged in two rows facing each other, with a central walkway and a large dining tent at one end, the other end open to the desert. To call them tents is a bit misleading; these are cabins, really, with canvas walls, fully equipped with plumbing and electricity, including a heat pump for warmth or air conditioning, both of which we needed. They are powered by solar panels. Water is brought in, in huge vats.
Camp Chebbi
After we'd settled in, there came what we’d been waiting for: a camel ride up into the dunes to watch the sunset. Our scarves were wrapped into turbans, whether for show or protection, I don’t know, but we thought we looked pretty cool. Uh huh. Mounting a camel is a bit of a feat. The trainer puts a foot on the camel’s front leg so it won’t stand up before the rider is ready. The rider tosses a leg over that great hump of a back, and leans back in the saddle while the animal thrusts itself up. Have you ever ridden in one of those simulators that, you know, take you on a swooping flight to the moon or something? It’s like that, except in this case there’s the very real possibility of falling what seems like two storeys to the ground below. None of us fell off, but some of us might have maybe screamed.
I do look pretty cool, right kids?
Bettyanne's square scarf didn't work very well
Just mounted
This feels as awkward as it looks
Success! Good camel!
My camel peered around several times to see who was the creature on his back this time. These animals do this twice a day, every day, for years or even decades. Not sure how I feel about this, but I suppose it’s not a different life from any domesticated, working animal, and camels have been domesticated for some 3,000 years. We were told that only male camels are used for these rides, that they are fully mature before anyone rides them, and that they are well cared for. I have seen camels in India kick up a fuss, I’ve seen them hobbled, I’ve seen their nostrils pierced. Our camels seemed better off than that, and were very good-natured. But of course, we know what happens when a camel ages out.
My gentle, patient steed
After our ride, as darkness fell, we had dinner in the dining tent, warmed by a wood fire. Then the people working at our camp lit a huge campfire on the dune above the tents and transformed themselves into musicians. They sang and drummed in a style I’ve always associated with West Africa, but they told me it was Berber music, that they grew up with it.
Milica and I wandered away from the fire to better see the stars on this clear, moonless night. One of the musicians followed us up the hill (we later learned he was not supposed to do this), and showed us the constellations, and took some long-exposure photos of us and the stars.
And so ended another astonishing day. A "holy-shit!" day. A day I would never have thought possible to experience.
We were met at our hotel in the morning by a local woman who would guide us on a walk through a part of the Ziz Oasis.
The main impression, looking at any oasis in these parts, is of hundreds, even thousands, of date palms. What we don’t see until we’re walking in them is that the palms are underplanted by small fields growing barley, sugar beets, carrots, fennel, broad beans, and, I’m sure, many other crops. These are fed by irrigation channels that can be blocked off by a farmer to flood just his plot, then unblocked to continue to feed the length of the growing area. Date palms themselves are sometimes marked for ownership with painted patches. These are family-owned palms, not a corporate plantation.
Our guide through the oasis
Small piles of stones mark boundaries between fields
Our destination was a women’s couscous co-op. Several women from the neighbourhood decided to take on this enterprise. We were greeted at the home of one of them, and shown a small, spotless kitchen that was filled with the scent of something delicious, and invited to sit in a large living room lined with long, low cushions.
Preparing our lunch
Mariam made tea, a necessary part of every Moroccan meal, and necessary for greeting any guest that might arrive. She explained the history of how tea came to Morocco from China. Tea here is a blend of green tea and an herb, not always mint. Traditionally, it is served very sweet, and I remember great blocks of sugar being put into a tea pot during brewing, but Moroccans have learned that tourists prefer a less sweet blend, and will often ask if we want it sweet or not.
Mariam pours tea. The higher the pour, the more honoured the guest.
The women then demonstrated how they make couscous. It is like a ceremony, with the women gathered, singing. This moment, I shall never forget.
Finished couscous, made with half-and-half barley flour and wheat flour
We were then served a beautiful couscous meal, not with the
couscous just made, because it takes hours to steam, but one they had
already prepared for us. We shared stories and laughed together. It was a
room filled with love and sisterhood.
Couscous with chicken, the meal
Mariam is an
indigenous Moroccan. She speaks the Amazigh language, and this enables
her to get us into these places, where people may not speak the
Moroccan-Arabic dialect. She seems to be friends with everyone in the
country, and she is able to facilitate communication between us and
people we would otherwise have no contact with. We are so lucky.
It
was time for us to move on, and our driver, Amal, met us nearby to
drive the two-or-so hours to the desert. Along the way we stopped at a
date co-op where we tasted a variety of the fruit. They are all Medjool
dates, which we get at home, but these were of a variety of quality and
freshness. Yum.
From the van, we began to see the sand dunes we’d
been looking forward to. We outsiders tend to think all of the Sahara
is dune, but in reality, the dunes are patches in a vast rocky place. I
don’t know how or why they occur; you’ll have to look that up on your
own.
Van window view: the desert
Van window view: a grid of pens with straw walls help to keep sand from blowing across the road. First view of the red dunes in the distance.
Merzouga by the dunes, where we'll spend the night
Sue and Bettyanne, ready to walk the dunes
After arriving at Riad Chebbi, yet another beautiful
accommodation, Bettyanne, Sue, and I wandered out on the sand to witness
our first desert sunset. We saw the tracks of 4x4s and dune buggies, and the tracks of camels We saw the tracks of scarab beetles, not
knowing what they were until we saw one beetle dragging its feet across
the sand, looking for a good spot to dig its lair.
Sue and I venture out, followed by the shadow of the photographer
Clusters of camels waiting for sunset tourists
Scarab tracks
We had yet
another tagine for dinner at our riad — no, I’m not sick of tagine! —
alongside a great platter of veggies, then sunk into our beds
dreaming of couscous and the day to come, when we would head into the
dunes to camp.
