Morocco Day 4: Desert Night

The camp was amazing; it was glamping at its finest. My tent had twin beds, a small lounging area, and a full bathroom. Outside there were recliners, carpeted paths, and cushions surrounding the fire pit. This was a major upgrade from my family’s usual ‘roughing it’ camping style.

I skipped gleefully around the camp and cheered in the light of the full moon. I had actually made it to the Sahara Desert, and it was an utter dream come true. Bryan set up his fancy pro camera and we spent our pre-dinner free time gazing at the craters on the moon whilst sitting reclining before miles of iridescent sand dunes.

The dinner started nicely, and I was having fun joking with friends until Bryan took a bite of the Berber style rice noodles. I’m not sure who it was that realized it first, but somebody said ‘hey wait this has peanuts,’ and I gasped and exclaimed, “Bryan!” or something along those lines. I was panicking so I don’t remember exactly what happened. I do remember Bryan cursing and saying something like welp, guess I’m dead. Bryan's very serious peanut allergy turned dinner into a disaster. I freaked out, we were miles from any form of medical assistance and my best friend's life was at stake, but Bryan reassured me he didn't eat enough to kill him and he'd be fine if he took some Benadryl. After that, the atmosphere of our dinner was tense, to say the least.

The fiasco with dinner had Bryan and I pretty shook up, and it didn’t help that it was a full moon. Although it was beautiful, it was also a pain because we wanted to see stars so bad, but then things took an upbeat turn when we joined the others around the campfire.

The upbeat turn was the beat of African drums being warmed over the fire. Our camp was visited by descendants of African slaves, who happened to be musicians. They had two traditional drums and several metallic hand instruments that clanked together. They sang a traditional tune as they step danced in place to the beat. During one song, some of the girls got up and started dancing, and I remembered what my aunt Annasue taught me. If you have the choice to sit by or dance, always dance. So I listened, and it was fun, but I was worried it was disrespectful to be doing this while they were still performing their traditional dance. So I sat back down and continued to watch.

To my surprise, the performers didn’t do their act for much longer, and it ended with one of them extending his hand toward me. I was shocked, but I took it, I wasn’t going to let the chance to truly dance under the African moonlight slip by. He handed me one of their hand instruments and I tried to copy their movements until eventually, I handed it off to someone else. Everyone came together and stepped to the beat of Morocco. African drums pounded around us as we were twirled with the performers and with each other. Everyone was jumping and swaying, and one of us, Lucas, actually went all out and started whipping his long blonde hair around and clapping his hand instruments in sheer musical chaos.

The night winded down upon the musician's departure, and everyone steadily retreated to their separate tents. I decided to shower but when I smelled the water that spurted from the rustic shower-head, I decided just rinsing off was perfectly fine. I got cozy in my warm bed and fell asleep listening to the sounds of desert winds beating against my tent.