He was right. I felt more at ease, more content, more sated than I had in years. The desert had worked its magic, and I was definitely under its spell.
Spellbound is one thing, but seeing things is another. There are stories of crazed souls wandering lost in the desert thinking they see water in a mirage. But I was neither dehydrated nor crazed when I saw it: not water, but a plastic water bottle. It was empty, upside down and nailed to a wooden post high atop a sand dune near our camp. We were seemingly in the middle of no-man’s land when I spotted it.
Something about the way the sun gleamed off the plastic bottle caught my eye. I was about to move on when a flash again captured my attention. In the distance, a colorfully clad nomad family crossed the desert headed for the post. Were they using it as a landmark? Was it there to guide their way? Curious, I pulled binoculars out of my day pack to get a better look.
The woman and child stopped and sat down to rest within the cool shadow of the high dune. The man climbed on toward the post. Wait. Had I lost my mind? Could that be a cell phone he produced from the empty, heat-scorched water bottle?
I lowered the binoculars, rubbed my eyes, and looked again. Indeed, it was a cell phone. He checked something, perhaps its battery charge (or even worse, his voice mail), and then returned it to its desert phone booth and rejoined his family.
At camp that evening before dinner, we gathered for our daily jolt of Morocco’s true passion, the a la menthe, highly sugared mint tea. Seated on tiny canvas stools surrounding a round, low table; it had become our evening ritual to gather outside enjoying conversation under the warmth of the sun’s last rays.
Under the influence of a sugar-induced high, I regaled the others with my tale of cell phones and nomads. They questioned my sanity. Could I blame them? After all, the previous evening dubious expressions had been exchanged when I shared my shabaan epiphany.
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