Southern Excursion: Into the Sahara

From Fez down to Merzouga, through the High Atlas Mountains and back to the coastal city of Essaouira, we had an exhausting week of bus rides, sight seeing, shopping and lectures, but the trip into the Sahara - although touristy in itself - offered a bit of a respite from all of that. Dance parties broke up long bus rides, with Badrdine at the front playing songs from his top 10 -- everything from Call Me Maybe to Hot in Here made the list. I'm fairly sure I'll never get the sound out of my head of Badrdine singing certain lyrics into the microphone, or stop wondering if he really knew exactly what he was singing to a bus full of 20-somethings.  Was it a case of lost-in-translation, or was he fully embodying the role of embarrassing dad/crazy uncle? Either way, what's a road trip without some good, old fashioned sing-alongs? Even if it is to LMFAO's Sexy and I Know It ("Girl, look at that Badr, I work out").

The truth is, it was a memorable week, in which every city had something different to offer us or an experience for us to remember it by. In Fes, it was the medina's narrow alleyways – different from the medina we’d grown so accustomed to at “home” in Rabat; it was the tannery and the weaving place, the spice store where we all took a hit of an herb that temporarily shocked our senses; it was the beautiful architecture and artwork of the ancient medrasa, the world’s oldest university. In Azrou, it was the snow covered hills that reminded a few students of their home in Colorado. In Tinghir, it was the immense gorges and in Marrakech, it was the night Marguerite, Paris, Evan and I spent dancing for a crowd with the self-proclaimed "Moroccan Michael Jackson.” In Ouerzazate, it was meeting, dancing and singing at the top of my lungs with dozens of young women pursuing an education; it was introducing myself and the SIT journalism program in Arabic to a room full of strangers. In Essaouria, it was eating shrimp for the first time and playing soccer on the beach, where Badrdine’s “mean side” shone through and my competitive nature became all too apparent. In El-Jadida, it was the pizza I didn’t even know I’d been craving. 

But the Sahara was a different kind of experience. We arrived to Rissani, a small desert town in eastern Morocco, for lunch at Panorama Restaurant. As has become the custom, we were first served a series of salads - cooked veggies and fresh ones - to dig into before the main course: khboz medfouna, or "buried bread," also known as Berber pizza. Beef, eggs, cheese, a variety of eggs and seasons were stuffed in between two slices of dough and cut into triangles that we ate like a slice of pizza. Despite such an odd assortment of ingredients, the pizza was delicious - enough so that I downed two large slices and would have happily eaten a third had there been enough. After a brief presentation from Hayden and Evin on camels, the desert and Gnawa music, we retreated back to the bus to get our overnight pack and anything we'd need for the night in the desert. It was hot, and as much as I wanted change out of my thin sweater and into a short sleeve, it was too early in the trip to risk getting a sunburn. In groups of four or five, we loaded ourselves into four land rovers that would bring us to our campsite in the small Saharan village of Merzouga. With music blasting, the vehicles picked up speed and zig-zagged along roads that didn't seem to exist, and for fear of hitting my head against the roof of the rover, I grabbed onto the back of the seat in front of me. I trusted the man behind the wheel, if only because I had no choice but to trust that he knew what he was doing. I could see from the rear-view mirror the smirk on his face as he looked out the window to see where the other drivers were at in relation to us. When one driver picked up speed, he did too. When he went around a dip in the ground, the other driver went through it. To my left, I saw Badrdine waving his scarf out of his front seat window, laughing and taunting us to do the same. For the Americans, it was a wild, roller-coaster of a ride through the dunes of the Sahara; for them, it was a game: who could get there first and have the most fun doing it. 

Before we reached our final destination of Merzouga, we made a relatively short pit stop at Association Hassilabiad, an association the first of its kind. AHL is a non governmental organization dedicated to sustainable development, protection of the environment and the rural community it serves. Although open to men and women alike, the association has a strong presence of women, a presence that has grown considerably over time, thanks to the changing mentality of women and men's understanding of gender equality. There are literacy classes for women and for girls and boys who've never attended school. Women who graduate from the literacy program are awarded an income generating item, such as a sheep or a goat; some of the younger women also have the opportunity to take jobs teaching the classes they graduated from. After a lecture and with our questions answered (and our tea cups empty), we loaded back into the rovers to begin part two of the journey into the desert.

We pulled up to Auberge du Sud, where we we greeted by an army of camels, one for each of us. We wandered towards the camels a little hesitantly at first, not really sure what we were expected to do. It didn't take long for the guides to match us up with the camel we'd be spending the next hour with.

We rode on their back for about 20 minutes before we disembarked and walked to the top of a dune where we could watch the sun set behind the dunes in the distance. The sand was cold against my bare feet, the temperature was dropping and a slight breeze chilled my skin, but the evening couldn't have been more beautiful.We took photos, and some of the girls -- on a dare from Badrdine -- rolled down the side of the dune, covering themselves in sand from head to toe. Sand was tossed - some of it ended in my mouth - and the sun disappeared almost instantly. Before it got too dark to find our way from where we sat to where the camels waited, we picked up our things and made the trek down the hill - a much easier feat than getting up it. 

This is the point at which I thought I'd be walking back to the auberge on my own two feet.

I had just finished tying my shoes when I looked up to see Jerry and Evin's camel, Kanye, running rogue in the small valley we now stood in. I didn't know whether to laugh or panic - these animals couldn't really get away, could they? I was perfectly okay with the concept of walking back to the auberge; I was not, however, cool with the idea of one of these four-legged, hump-backed animals charging at me. Once our guide noticed their behavior, he ran after them, giving both of them the brilliant idea to run the opposite direction. In the distance I could see our camel guide laughing at his failure to catch the ropes that hung from their snouts, he wasn't the least bit worried. Comforting, I suppose. It only took him a few minutes to get the two of them back into his hands, but while I helplessly waited for him to settle the two camels down, I wondered what I was getting myself into - getting back on the hump of a camel who had just enjoyed a taste of freedom. 

Now at the back of the group, we made the trek back, passing camels one by one. The way back was relatively quiet, all of us taking in our surroundings. There is an unparalleled silence in desert, one that doesn't compare to the small town quiet I consider Reading to have in comparison to Chicago. 

We all made it back to the auberge in one piece and were greeted by what I considered to be the highlight of the night: a personal musical performance of Gnawa music, the ancient music passed down from generations of African slaves. It embodies both history and religion, every song a personal and spiritual experience for the men who perform it. They perform with qraqabs, which are iron castanets that make the noise of clashing chains when clapped together -- a sound that symbolizes the chains of their enslaved ancestors. By the time we arrived to the campsite, night had descended over the desert, a fire roared and music filled the small space within the circle of tents where we'd later be sleeping. We all stood speechless at first, recognizing that had we tried to speak, the music would have drowned out our words. Hassan, a young man working at the hotel, passed around small glasses of mint tea, and with those in hand, we watched as the group of six musicians put on a performance with a beat that had all of us dancing together in no time.  We circled up, following the beat and the instructions of the musicians. Left, right, into the center and back. We took turns dancing in the center of the circle. 

After the initial welcome performance from these men, many of whom were brothers and childhood friends, we had a short period of time to settle into our tents and explore the neighboring auberge before regrouping for dinner. I put my stuff into my tent for the night and after checking out the auberge's pool, I wandered into the desert on my own. I walked just far enough so as to not lose sight of our camp, but to escape the noise from within it. I sat down in the sand and stared up at the night sky. I'd never seen so many stars at once before, nor had I ever felt so small - it was a feeling that paled in comparison to standing at the edge of the ocean. Those ten minutes were the first I'd really had to myself since this whole adventure began - from the homestay to classes, I've almost always been in the company of others. Out there in the desert, I recognized what an incredible experience I had signed up for. Going abroad - not just the adventure into the desert - was exactly the kind of change in pace that I needed. 

Content in a way I haven't found the words to describe, I began the walk back, slowly approaching the sound of laughter emulating from the campsite. We ate dinner as a group - where there was a lot of "silly talk," as Badrdine calls it - and returned to the campsite for a full performance of Gnawa music. Badrdine, who'd grown up with the music in his home, joined in for a number of the performances, trying his best to keep with the pace of the men's choreography.

The night ended around the campfire once again, listening to music and trying to make some of our own with whatever we could find around us. We were joined by Hassan and another traveler, offered more mint tea, and talked with one another until it got to be past midnight.

I don't think I slept more than a few hours that night. It was cold and uncomfortable, but I was also wired from the night I'd just had. Six in the morning came faster than it ever has, and I anxiously got out of bed to end the night of tossing and turning. By 6:45, I saw the sun rise over the Algerian border. By 8 am, we were back in the land rovers, onto our next destination: Ouerzazate. 

I know that our experience was an exceptionally touristy one - that was made pretty clear by the large sum of tourists that ate in the same dining room as us for dinner - but I choose to see it as more than that. It was the night in the desert I didn't even know I needed.