In Search of Nomads

In the final months of his service, Casey had many important goodbyes to say and loose ends to tie up. On this occasion the task was simple- to deliver a gift, a bottle of maple syrup, to an old friend. This friend just happened to be a nomad in a harsh and remote area of Morocco known as Tifferquatine. Braving the elements, packs of vicious dogs, and uncertain terrain, we attempted to make this special delivery.

The morning of the mission we woke up early. Aaron, Casey and I set off towards a neighboring mountain range. By 8 in the morning the sun was beating down. We followed a steep uphill, dirt road, past a small village, towards the mountains. As we reached the end of the road and looked out at the vast expanse of baron land, we evaluated our options. The nature of nomads is movement, and there was no certainty of when or where we could find our target. We discussed which peak to scale, which one would require the least rock climbing, whether we had enough water for the hike and whether the overall risk was too high. After the discussion we took an anonymous vote using rocks and decided to continue. I expressed my apprehension about serious rock climbing, and we chose a less direct route that was decided to be safer.

After several hours of hiking up the hot rocky mountain, we reached the top. We began walking along the mountain ridge in search of settlements. After some time, we saw a make-shift tent in the distance. As we hiked towards the tent, four enormous dogs ran towards us, growling and barking. Of the many vicious guard dogs I’ve encountered in Morocco, these were easily the largest and most ferocious. We quickly grabbed rocks, an automatic reaction for anyone who has spent time living in the bled. My heart raced. After numerous rocks were thrown and aggressive moves were made, the dogs finally stopped circling us.

We made our way to the tent and were greeted by a woman, a young girl, and several small, half-naked children. It was not who we were looking for. Speaking fluent Tamazight, Casey inquired about the possible whereabouts of his friend. After being pointed in his general direction, we traveled along the mountain ridges, and for a second time were circled by a pack of large dogs, this time six or seven. For a second time I was grateful to be with Aaron and Casey.

We continued walking in the harsh sun over the mountains, looking and wondering if we had assigned ourselves an impossible challenge. After several more hours and searches in all different directions, we saw a small tent in the distance. Casey went ahead, and then motioned for Aaron and me to follow. It was the family of his impossible to find friend. We had finally arrived.

We were greeted with the warmth and hospitality that I have been so impressed by in Morocco. We were immediately given tea, bread, eggs, and raw, rancid sheep butter. A sheep leg was put in a pot to cook over the open fire. The fire made the already warm tent unbearably hot but I was grateful to be out of the sun.

After Casey spoke with the women for several minutes, he removed the large, plastic bottle of New Hampshire maple syrup from his backpack and presented the gift to the family. A small amount was poured in a clay bowl and tasted by the women using a piece of homemade bread. The bottle was carefully closed and stored with the few precious possessions of the family, including several plastic buckets, a small basket and old powdered milk tin.

Casey went out to get fresh water for our return while Aaron and I stayed with the two women and children in the tent. I helped to make fresh bread with the women (a skill I had thankfully practiced during my home-stay), which was cooked over the fire. The women insisted on washing our filthy socks, and scrubbed them clean in a small basin of water. I worried that they would not be dry in time and felt bad knowing they would be just as dirty after the return hike.

After a significant amount of time, Casey returned. The water source, located at the top of a small mountain, was not safe for drinking. I immediately regretted the large amount of water I had gulped down from the communal mug when we first arrived (I continued to regret that decision for the week to come). I also thought about the burden of carrying water from this distant source every day.

While our mission was complete, our journey was far from over. After Aaron and Casey finished their meal of sheep and vegetables (the women were very understanding about me being a vegetarian and gave me more bread and rancid sheep butter to eat), it was time to head back. We thanked our hosts and told them we needed to leave in order to get back before dark. The older woman responded that we needed to stay the night because it was going to storm. The moment she said this, thunder boomed.

Ignoring the advice and warnings of the women, we decided to take our chances. Rain poured down on us and the scorched earth turned to mud. We slipped and slid as we made our way over the uneven terrain. As we walked, the wind blew, lightning flashed and hail began to pelt us.

A serious storm was coming and we needed to get off the mountains. We would somehow have to reach the nearest town and take transportation from there. The quickest way to civilization was down a steep embankment. There was no clear path, only loose, jagged rocks. Casey found the safest looking area and set off down the mountain. Aaron and I followed. My descent down the mountain involved a combination of sliding on loose rock, twisting of ankles, falling in thorny bushes, and a steady stream of obscenities. To my relief, we reached the bottom and made our way towards safety- a small village in the distance. As we walked in silence, muddy and exhausted, I thought to myself, “This was a really great day.”