Lahcen

After my camel ride into the desert, I was dropped off at the point where my camp hosts had driven me in the afternoon. Now, it was sunset and there was no sign of any car coming to pick me up. I roughly knew the way home so swiftly walked and ran in that direction, not knowing really knowing how far or in which direction. As I entered the outskirts of Zagora town again, I asked an old Berber man passing by for the direction. We struck up a conversation in broken French, both of us speaking a foreign language. Lahcen told me to follow him as he led me through backstreets and shortcuts. He told me he was a gardener, and was on his way home from work. After a while, Lahcen invited me to his home (which was supposedly very close to my 'Prends ton temps' camp) for tea. By this stage, I was tired, thirsty, sweaty and dirty, only really wanting to get home. As we walked on and on through dark backstreets and over construction rubble, I started to feel pushed to my emotional boundaries.

This, however, changed when we approached some familiar main streets and when I was welcomed into the family home. I was introduced to his mother and father, his son and his nephews and nieces...

Lahcen made Moroccan whiskey (tea) with sharp quick deft movements that matched his old age and experience.

He later told me his other wife was in the desert in Mhamid. Mhamid was "Desert veritable." "Ici, ce n'est pas desert veritable." (Here, it is not the real desert).

He recounted to me how, five years ago, he had befriended another young Australian traveller and whom he accommodated and fed here in his home for five days, and that it brought him so much happiness to meet another Australian. Lahcen was so genuine and I felt that I had really made someone happy just by accepting an invitation to share a cup of tea. That traveller's name is Jose Scifoni.Lahcen invited me to have a tagine lunch in his home the next day. He would go to the market early in the morning to buy produce and I would contribute a little money. We arranged to meet at the corner the next day, after Lahcen had already gone to the market early in the morning, to go the same market again so that Lahcen could show me around and be my guide. It was again a hot day, and I was surprised by the old man's tenacity, endurance and ability to withstand the desert sun and heat.

One of the many local traditional spices that go into a tajine for slow steam cooking.

Lahcen's son with the hide of one of the many sacrificial goats that Lahcen has annually slaughtered.

Lunch was a generous affair of tajine, bread, tea, freshly-squeezed juice (just like the kind my mum makes at home), and fruit. Lahcen and I shared the meal, while his family including his wife, parents and brother returned from the Mosque and had lunch separately in a back room. I felt extremely honoured to be welcomed into this man's home, to meet his family and to share tea and lunch with him. He had a modest living, yet made no reservations in his hospitality and genuine kindness towards me. I promised to return one day, inshallah.