Undercover Rockstar

by Jessica Da Costa (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

I didn't expect to find Morocco

Anna was sleeping in the seat next to me with her head against the window. Karyn sat silently in the passenger seat staring straight ahead. She might have been asleep too – her sunglasses gave nothing away. It had been a few hours in the car already, and we were somewhere between Fez and the Berber camp in Merzouga where we were due to spend the night. Our driver was, to put it lightly, a man of few words. Three days in a car with Mbarek and we knew next to nothing about him. As the silence in the car droned on, I too drifted off. I was awoken by a torrent of sweat sliding down my spine. Delightful, I thought to myself. Anna had surfaced too and was fanning herself with a folded brochure. In the front, Karyn loosened her scarf and broke the silence. “Could we turn the AC on for a few minutes?” she asked cheerily. The windows creaked open a fraction and Mbarek sighed as though this small favour was almost too much to bear. Anna sidled closer to her window and let the stream of hot air wash over her. A stifled giggle escaped her lips as she glanced sideways at me. I knew exactly what she was getting at and she wasn’t laughing because it was funny; she was laughing because she was hopelessly uncomfortable. Did he not understand how hot it was? When we arrived at our next stop in the Atlas Mountains, Mbarek told us as succinctly as possible that this was where we could see the Barbary Apes up close. He told us not to be too long and we left the car, glad for the interlude without him. Finally, we could talk amongst ourselves without feeling as though we were inconveniencing him. We bought a few bits of banana from a local man with a stand and ventured amongst the trees. It didn’t take long before the apes surrounded us from all angles, curious and confident though not at all threatening. Back in the car, Mbarek mumbled something along the lines of “did you enjoy the apes” and hmph-ed unenthusiastically as though humouring us with the question was beyond his call of duty. Anna asked him if he’d mind connecting her phone to the Bluetooth, and he silently obliged. Occasionally, he’d tap rhythmically on the steering wheel to the music, but otherwise, his austere manner persisted. The Sahara camp left us speechless. Eight white tents connected by an ornate red carpet set against the seemingly infinite golden dunes of the Great Sand Sea – a true oasis! We were treated to Moroccan mint tea and traditional cakes and left to unwind after a long day. At nightfall, we were invited to a firepit surrounded by large cushions to enjoy a slice of Berber culture in the form of a drum performance under the stars. Four men dressed in traditional Berber tunics and turbans arranged themselves behind a selection of drums and began to play and sing. The music, coupled with the pristine starry view and glow of the fire, was entrancing. Each man exuded passion that was almost tangible, leaving the hairs on my arms standing on-end. The drummer furthest from where we were sitting seemed particularly enraptured by the drumbeats, and his eyes, the only part of his face uncovered, shone with an unmatched intensity. He glanced our way every now and then and it struck me that he was somehow familiar. “I think that’s Mbarek!” I leaned over to the others and whispered. The next morning, we met Mbarek at the car, ready to continue on to Marrakesh. He must have clocked that I had recognised him because he avoided my gaze like a shy boy might avoid his crush. Something was different about him though. He asked us questions about our stay in the camp and put on some music without being prompted. I commented that the drums had been the highlight of the night at the camp and the corner of his mouth twitched, giving his satisfaction away. He was still reserved and brooding but his secret was out. He was a rockstar and he knew it.