by Madalina Dragoi
Morocco. It’s been almost two days since we left from Marrakesh. And here we are… still on the road trotting along like a drifter trying to find a desert that should be pretty easy to find.
Looking through the small window of our caravan, I see a kid. He’s playing with a water gun. For a second that seemed counter-intuitive, as there’s hardly any water around. But sense of whimsy fades in the heat and we move on.
The day goes by without a whisper of wind. Gradually we drift into the cow-corner of the Sahara, we’re dizzy and a bit out of it... but ready for the sandstorms that has been brewing in the distance. We cover our face with Berberian scarfs and hang on to our camels like our lives depend on it...and it does. We let the camels guide us into the night. We stop to sleep in the desert. It is quiet and there's a sudden lull in the air.
Abdul our guide is a Berber, knows the desert like the back of his hand. He tells us to forgo anything that might seem frivolous.
We’re back on the road. The Camels sway as the desert remains constant.
Finally we stop. The dry air and the desert seem omnipresent. My feet sink into the sand and there's magic right away. The sand becomes part of me and… the desert, the greatest desert of all becomes a tiny grain of sand.
Madalina Dragoi is a Bucharest born journalist and stylist based in Berlin, Germany. She is the author of travelogue called StyleTraveler.
Translated by Edi Enache.