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Morocco:
The Road to Erb Chebbi
Author
- Lee Ridley 1999
Merzouga
is at the end of the road, but the bus only goes as far as Erfoud,
probably because the "road" onward is just a sand trail
marked by the occasional rock as it heads out into the endless Sahara
Desert. It was dark when the bus finally pulled into Erfoud, following
a gruelling nine-hour trip across the High Atlas Mountains of Central
Morocco. I had intended to spend the night there in a cheap hotel
and make my way into the desert the following morning, but as I
went to leave the bus, a young student asked me if I was intending
to travel onwards to Merzouga. If so, he was heading out there with
some friends that evening and would I like to accept a lift for
just $10? I knew Merzouga to be some 70miles out in the desert so
the price seemed very fair. I accepted.
 Photo
(Right) : I took this picture at midday in the Erg Chebbi
region of East Morocco, about 10 miles from the Algerian border.
The dune in the background is about 600ft high and approximately
1/4 mile away. It took me two hours to get there. The Algerian border
was marked by a mountain ridge to the east and was clearly visible
from the top of the dune.
There
were five of us in total, four Moroccan students, and I. As we drove
across the desert in the beaten up Land Rover I wondered how on
earth did this guy have a clue where he was going? All I could see
out the windscreen was sand, monotonous, nondescript sand. At times
our driver would come across a small rock painted white and almost
buried, and then adjust his heading. I tried to see if there were
any tell tale lights in the far distance but there was nothing at
all. In fact I could have sworn Merzouga should have been off to
the right. It occurred to me that these guys may have had cruel
intentions and were just taking me somewhere where they could rob
me, or even worse! I casually put my hand in my pocket and closed
it around my penknife. Was I being stupid? Probably.
After
an hour and a half our headlights picked out a lone building up
ahead. It looked like a small fortress, no lights were on and all
was dead quiet as we pulled up outside. "What's this place?"
I asked, voicing my suspicion.
"Merzouga. You are in Merzouga."
"Merzouga is a village," I said, "not a building."
"Merzouga is very close," I was told, "this is the
Auberge Sahara. You stay here tonight."
When I insisted that they take me into the village centre as agreed,
they became offended and explained there are very few hotels or
places to stay in the village. When people come to see the sand
dunes at Merzouga they usually stay in an auberge such as this.
"How far are the sand dunes?" I asked, still looking for
a way out.
"Right there in front of you!"
I had to concede. There didn't seem any good reason to insist on
going into Merzouga that night. I only would have headed back out
this way the next morning and I could see that these guys weren't
going to try to rape and pillage me.
Once
inside, candles were lit and we sat down while they set to making
chai for us all. I heard a generator fire up and then the lights
came on. I was introduced to a guy by the name of Ibrahim, a local
Berber who was dressed in the bright blue traditional robes of a
Tuareg. They still do that because they think it's what the tourists
want. I let him believe what he wanted. I explained that, yes, I
was interested in taking a camel trip into the dunes and staying
with the Bedouin, but that my main objective was to cross the border
into Algeria. "Not possible," he said, "the borders
are closed with Morocco."
 Photo
(Left) : I went out in the early morning about 6:30am
to get some pictures when the light was softer and the shadows longer.
This was one of the pictures I took, probably a couple of hours
later, when the sun was beginning to climb.
"Perhaps
we can just go through the desert and nobody will know," I
ventured. Eventually Ibrahim said we could try but it would cost
$600 per day. I offered $100 but he wasn't bargaining. In the end
I resigned myself to just staying at the auberge for a few days
and photographing the dunes. The Algerian border, marked by a large
ridge in the distance seemed so close, but I wasn't about to set
off into the dunes on foot.
On the
evening of the second day Ibrahim asked me if I would like to accompany
him and this other guy, Omar, to Merzouga; no charge, just for the
company. In truth, Ibrahim was visiting a friend who owned a carpet
shop and figured that if he took me along I might be tempted to
spend money. I didn't fall for it. Instead I sat with them, drank
mint tea and showed no interest in the rugs and carpets; he didn't
hassle me.
This
friend of Ibrahim's was a charismatic gentleman who asked if I could
bring him a bottle of whisky the next time that I returned. I told
him I thought Muslims were not allowed to drink alcohol, that Allah
forbids it. "Ah, yes," he said, "but I will only
drink it at night. Allah will not see."
We stayed
in Merzouga for about an hour, before climbing back into Ibrahim's
jeep. Instead of going straight back to the auberge we took a detour
across the hamada (flat desert) to another village. This one isn't
marked on any map I've seen. I've no idea what it was called. We
stopped inside a small enclosure and I was led into a simple mud
brick house and introduced to Ibrahim's mother and sister. I was
requested to remove my boots before being invited into the living
room, a room of about 10ft x 7ft with a padded rug on the floor
for sitting on. The walls were of dried mud painted white and in
one corner there was a huge Sony Trinitron wide screen television!
Even in the back of beyond, modern technology has its place. The
ubiquitous mint tea arrived almost immediately, followed shortly
by a plate of freshly baked biscuits. As I sat there watching Moroccan
Arabic TV, Ibrahim's family stood in the doorway watching me. I
tried to make small talk in the little classic Arabic I know, but
I may as well have been talking Greek. We stayed for about half
an hour before it was time to head back to the fortress in the desert.
During
the time I was in the Erg Chebbi I photographed the dunes in the
baking heat of midday and also in the coolness of the very early
morning when the shadows were long and the light much softer. Algeria
will have to wait.
Author
- Lee Ridley
Email:
editor@fourcornersexplorer.co.uk
http://www.fourcornersexplorer.co.uk
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