In the distance, infinite space! Why was I so transfixed by it, except for the fact that it offered the promise of an oasis? Blessed solitude and surreal calm! I was enchanted as I set out to make a dream come true.

I felt the desert wind on my face and contemplated the sky streaked with gold, purple, orange and pink. The beauty of the landscape surpassed all my expectations and the wild scent of the air disquieted me. My camel carried on at a steady pace… our group remained silent in its golden surroundings, punctuated only by the black burnouses of the Berber men.

The sun marked off the hours

We continued into the heart of the desert. My own heart was beating with excitement, for here nothing seemed changed since Biblical days, since the time when men had arrived with their caravans laden with spices and tea, their women veiled in silk robes, seated on a pillow in a haudary, a kind of cage placed on the back of a camel that shielded them from curious eyes.

An oasis

Here is the oasis of Zagora. It was from here in the 16th century that the Saadians conquered the Souss, then all of Morocco, before setting off on the great adventure that took them to Timbuktu. Of the oases, André Gide said, “They float on the desert like islands.” Since they are rare, encountering them is a privilege. Like an unexpected gift after many miles, finally a hidden little oasis offered us a point of water and a well-deserved break. The caravan leader gave the signal to stop. I was admiring the tops of the palm trees that rose above the dunes when my camel decided to obey the given orders. He lowered his back end, then the front, without warning! What a camel! I grabbed the reins and found myself on the ground at the feet of a little boy accompanied by a white three-legged dog. Dressed completely in rags, he held his hand out to me, helped me get up and offered me a sand rose that the desert wind had fashioned into a work of art.

It was so hot I thought I would faint. I gratefully took off my jacket and went into the tent. I breathed in the strong and indefinable blend of smells that intertwined with that of the Arab coffee, a heady combination that I will never forget. The air had become less oppressive with the hospitality of the kaid: a big smiling man with large powerful brown hands, he offered me a bunch of grapes laid on a slice of bread.

“This will refresh you a bit,” he said. “We call our bread ‘kesrah,’ and we also use it as a plate. It cuts down on the dishes we have to wash since water is rare here.” I looked over this magnificent man, strong and virile, dressed in a white burnoose, with a curved silver dagger hung at his right side that sent a chill up my spine. On his head was a complicated turban that must have required a long traditional process each morning. For a moment I imagined him sharing the mirror of my dresser while I adjusted the elastic on my braided hair. Which of us would be finished first?... I was lost in these silly thoughts when in a mocking tone he murmured: “Women are like grapes. If you bite into them before they’re ripe, you’re sure to get sick.”

“What an amusing philosophy!” I retorted wryly.

The silence was broken only by very soft music. Set out on a low table, the meal was colorful and inviting.

“Medmed will serve you,” said my host. “I hope you like the lamb brochettes with sausages, kidneys and goat’s milk couscous. I’m afraid you’ll have to eat with your hands.”

I got down on the carpet and sat cross-legged. Once the meal was finished, I looked at my hand, shining with grease, before having some fruit. A light breeze was blowing, lifting one of the tent panels. Endless horizons, a sky like a benediction, a bowl of hot coffee and the smell of wood… this was the song of the desert.

Could this have been real?

The caravan set off again. I had chosen to travel before the sand winds came. The sun was high in the sky and the muffled steps of the camels in the silence, like the ticking of my watch, marked off the time between afternoon and evening. My eyes were becoming used to making discoveries… beyond a white patch of sparkling salt, I saw a little lake. We approached, but as we came closer it vanished…. only a mirage!

The goat tree
The weather was calm. In the distance lay a gold-crested sea of sand… real this time! I saw the tops of palm trees come into view. A few sheep were grazing on the yellow grasses that grew, rare and dense, at the base of a spiny tree. This argan tree had something special about it: the goats were climbing it with surprising ease, hanging on to the branches and settling in to eat the argan, a fruit like an olive with nourishing pulp. The pit, which is extremely hard, contains a kernel from which argan oil is extracted.

Overnight lodging
The silence had been pervasive all day long. Only the muffled grunts of the camels and the plaintive sound of a mandolin marked nightfall. The sun had turned dark blue without warning, changing the color of the sand dunes into vague shapes with harsh profiles; in the fading sunlight, they seemed to be cut out of copper.

We had arrived. The lodging was a blessing. I set foot on the ground so nimbly that the camel driver looked on in amazement. The high leaves of the palm tree cast their shadows onto the sand. The coolness of the night was comforting. I unhurriedly headed towards the “tent-hotel” and suddenly noticed, emerging from the leaves, a white robe that discreetly showed me the path that led to my little nest.

A few stars were shining in the night and I remembered an Arabic proverb: “Love and hate are two twin stars that were separated by a storm and which are eternally trying to reconnect. When you think you see hate, it is perhaps love you are looking at.”

Berber supper

• Nuts
• Assorted salads
• Rock partridge tagine
• Couscous with sheep’s milk, flavored with either honey or argan oil

The end of the trip
Sitting in front of the fire, I feel the inexpressible enchantment of the Saharan night’s profound silence. This was my reward for the long and mysterious journey that had brought me over the undulating sand, from oasis to mirage. I closed my eyes in order to remember better… to better feel the sand eroding to the rhythm of the caravan, to rediscover this intense experience of inexplicable happiness… and to not forget so that I could share my trip with you.