Dreaming of stars, breakups and camels

by Joriam Ramos (Germany)

Making a local connection Morocco

The night in the desert can get so dark that you can't see your own hand if you put it right in front of your eyes, but I didn't know about that yet. I'd spent most of the afternoon riding a camel called 'Ronaldinho', a fitting choice for a Brazilian like myself. Just like the football player, the camel had a smile with too many teeth, but he was a sweet. If not a little stinky. I had traveled with a friend from the chaos of Marrakesh to the almost empty landscape in the border of Morocco and Algeria. We were following an old dream of mine: see the Milky Way in the darkness of the desert. I was fortunate enough to infect somebody with it. The Sun was setting when we got to our final destination: a huge tent, so big it looked like those royal quarters you see in movies about jousts and knights. I had no eyes for it, though. I came here to see the stars, sleeping was the least of my concerns. Our guides were thoughtful and well prepared; they served tea, strange bread and damascus spread. We sat around a fire — not that it was cold, but I guess they knew the dramatic effect it would have on us. They told us about Berber customs, traditions and — a bit pushed by me, I'll admit — myths. By the end of my meal, I understood the tea I'd been drinking had historical weight, it had been part of people’s dreams for a thousand years. Our master storyteller announced it was time for bed. I had been entranced in his tales, not realising how much time had passed. I looked up, expecting wonder. Ah! The disappointment! Do you know how rare cloudy nights are in the desert? The total number of stars above me was unfortunately not the 150 billion strong in the Milky Way, but instead zero. My friend was not as disappointed as I was. In fact, he had discovered a new toy! He realised that if he walked a tiny bit away from the light coming from the tent — he could see absolutely nothing. I followed him and gosh! Even the towering dune right in front of us was nothing but a fait silhouette. — Come on. We came here ready to stay up all night long, let’s climb the dune. We know it’s right in front of us. It was not the night I had been dreaming about, but we talked about our teen years, our first loves, our first breakups. It was not only dark, but also empty. We could hear sounds from far away as if they were mere meters from us, so we’d joke around saying it was a coyote or a scorpion. Eventually one of the sounds grew closer and closer. To the point that I felt we might indeed be in danger. A heavy-accented voice called: — Are you two ok? It was two 14 year old boys, maybe the sons of our guide. They’d come to check on us when somebody noticed two empty beds. How remarkable that they could find us without so much as a lantern! We assured them we were fine, then welcomed them to our conversation. Since we were talking about our teen years, we asked them how their teen years were going. They told us they wanted to own ten camels each and once they were old enough, traverse the Saharan desert by foot. I’ll never forget how different that life felt from the broken-hearted 14 year old me, born and raised in Rio de Janeiro. Little by little I felt my eyes adapting to the darkness. I could catch a glimpse of the boys’ faces and sometimes even read their expressions. I didn’t realise, they had to tell me. — Have you looked up yet? The clouds had partially cleared — that’s why I could see them now — and through the holes came the light from millions and millions of stars. Something inside of me stirred. For a moment, just a fraction of a second, I felt the burning desire to cross that desert by foot.