Sahara Desert

“Always do what you are afraid to do“ - Ralph Waldo Emerson

Morocco's southern border with Algeria is situated in the Sahara Desert. Here, the Berber reside; a nomadic people who live simply, utilizing the land for all their living needs. That's right, these people depend on the Sahara freakin' Desert for resources – if that is not rugged, then I don't know what rugged means. Relying mainly on livestock such as goat and chicken, these sand folk get by using methods that would amaze any Westerner, and shock a few others I'm sure. It was with the Berber that our party decided to journey with on a 3 day/ 2 night tour of the Sahara. Our method of transportation would be by Camel, and our trust would be put in our guide, Zaiyeed – a special man with certain knowledge of the desert only achievable by being raised in the searing heat and cracking dryness of that part of Africa.

It was day one, actually night one, as we hopped on our camels and began into the orange dunes. We had to leave in the evening because traveling the Sahara in the middle of the day is like asking for torture and the chance for worse. It was two hours until we stopped at camp 1. During that two hours, we had time to get acquainted with the seemingly metal saddles we would be sitting on for three days, and also the weather we might encounter , as we got caught in a minor dust storm about an hour in. Looking out into the environment, I imagined Lawrence of Arabia being filmed in that exact location, it must have been! The dunes were endless; they stretched as far as the eye could see, and then kept going for a distance that would have scared me to know at the time. It is a strange feeling being guided on a tour, where you have to put complete control in a person you just met, especially when that person is a Berber, who probably is a great guy, but has brown teeth and smells like stale olives. For safety measures, I took a compass reading of where our base camp was, but there was little faith in my mind I would find it in the event of our guide misplacing us. So, I accepted my lack of control, and my mind was free to space out and enjoy the experience, and the scenery.

Camp 1 consisted of a few Berber tents, which were made of a canvas material with hand made rugs scattered about the interior and exterior. They looked lovely, but trapped heat like an oven, so we spent most of our time sitting around a sandy courtyard, drinking mint tea of course. After we ate a traditional Moroccan tagine dish for supper, we sat around looking at the crystal clear stars, and listening to the Berber's play their drums in the dim lighting of the camp. As the night air got cooler, the rhythm began to lull us to sleep, and we fell to it one by one.

The Sahara Desert heats up so quickly in the morning that one can feel the temperature go up with the rising of the sun, and it doesn't take long before the cool morning gives way to the scorching heat which reflects off the sand and gets you again on the way up. It is a beach, plain and simple – a beach without an ocean. Shoes must be worn at all times or the skin on your feet will blister and melt away. It's always a good idea to wear pants as well, lest you find a scorpion crawling up your leg while you're going to the bathroom. I had my pants tucked into my socks the whole time; I looked like I was playing shortstop for the Yankees in 1923, but I felt safe, and that was the goal. I suppose a snake could have gotten through, but these things are nothing to ponder while in the Sahara!

Day two: we traveled for two hours before stopping for lunch and rest at a Berber camp located on the lee side of a great dune. As we approached, the family there were making an awning for us to catch some shade. For some ludicrous reason, these people were wearing long sleeve shirts and traditional robes that covered their entire body. Perhaps they had forgotten it was 100 degrees in the sun! Maybe they wanted to impress the foreigners with their ability to refuse heats existence, or maybe they were actually chilli? My Berber is not great, so I did not inquire. We took four hours in the shade, which was still suffocatingly hot, and then mounted our ugly camels and continued for camp 2. Out of the dunes and into the flats we went, trading sand for gravel, and heat for fire. By the time we reached our last camp, I was about to fall off of my camel like in one of those movies where the hero has been traveling for days through the desert and just collapses off the saddle. I would have felt like a hero too, if I had not laid down on a rug like a lazy bum while our guide prepared our beds and dinner with confusing amounts of energy. Once again we had an amazing meal; Berber chicken cous-cous, with the family of goat herders whose home we were staying at. It was interesting to see the dynamics of this family. The wife who had cooked the whole meal sat away from the table and just stared at the men while we ate. After we had finished, she was allowed to pick at what was left. I felt terrible, but that is just the way of the Berber.

The next day we rode for two hours in the early morning and got back to our base camp around 10:00am. There, we relaxed a bit, negotiated some prices with our guide (of course) and were on our way back north, away from the dunes of the Sahara.