In the past five years, I have lived in five different cities in
three countries--not to mention taking an eight month world trip. If that
doesn't classify as nomad status, please tell me what does. With that being
said, none of my said “nomad activities” had prepared me for the Berber nomads
I would encounter in the mountains of Morocco.
It was a drizzly morning, and my travel buddy Sam and I set out for a hike
through Morocco's famous Todra Gorge.
Half way into our journey the wind picked up, and the blowing rain caused us to
lose the hiking trail. Debating whether or not to turn back, we agreed to hike
a few more yards in hopes of picking up the trail again.
We couldn’t find the trail, but we did stumble upon a settlement of three caves surrounded by stone corrals with goats and chickens running wild. I was elated! I had heard stories of the indigenous Berber nomads residing in caves throughout the Moroccan mountains, but never did I expect to personally encounter these intriguing people. I quietly crept through the village, discreetly taking pictures when I eyed a family huddled around a fire cooking in their cave. Just as I pointed this out to Sam, the father turned to notice us. Just as I reached to clutch my backpack and bolt out of the village, (for fear the family would become upset at the sight of a trespasser) the man surprised me with a waving gesture. I would have normally declined, but the idea of meeting real Berber nomads was irresistible, and knowing this would surely make a great story for Let's Go, I only had one option; to enter.
The cave was ten feet deep with a seven foot ceiling and a stack
of blankets lining the back wall. I could tell it was a well-loved cave as the
walls were caked in dark soot from years of fires. The husband arranged blankets
at the end of the cave for us to sit on. Through an act of charades and
relaying the two words we knew in Berber, (saha-thank you and besaha-cheers) we introduced
ourselves and thanked the family for inviting us in.
They poured us two glasses of thyme tea and handed us bread heaping with roasted
vegetables. We ate our food wide-eyed while watching the family chat and the
children playing on the dirt floor. We were amazed with our luck and the
opportunity to experience true nomad life. We eventually thanked the family and
continued on our way. The wife was even kind enough to redirect us to the
hiking trail.
For the remainder of the hike I couldn't get my mind off these
nomads and their cave lives. They didn't have bank accounts, running
water, or even an address. They lived off of the land, trading their handmade
textiles for clothes and food from the Arab Moroccans and gathering their
belongings and move to Western Sahara for the winter when the weather became too cold. Yet, here they
were inviting us into their cave and sharing with us the little food they had.
I thought long about the true meaning of nomad—someone without a home, moving
from place to place. While I technically fall into that category, I have to
give credit to the Berbers for being much more hardcore!