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From Abroad

The words, LA SÉCURITÉ EST LA RESPONSABILITÉ DE TOUS ?security is everyone’s responsibility?grace a sign on the road from Ifrane to Midelt. We were traveling to Jebel Ayachi, a massif with an elevation of 12,400 feet, in hopes of ascending the largest peak in the Eastern High Atlas mountains. We crammed our army of eleven into two grand taxis and sped to Midelt, which is about 20 km away from the summit. We were pulling an ‘Adventure WV’ in Morocco. I brought with me a large amount of gear; piles of synthetic clothes, a sleeping bag, food, water, and a first aid kit weighed down a backpack that is meant for much less. Yet all was necessary as we traveled through an inhospitable environment. During the day, the sun baked down and dehydrated us, yet throughout the night the temperature dropped to right above freezing.

When we arrived in Midelt, our first order of business was to stock up on food for those who had not brought any. We sat at a cafe for a few minutes and I asked for a few loaves of bread to smash into bricks for our backpacking meal. I brought along some laughing cow cheese, so food-wise I was set. After securing a ride to Tattiouine, a village of about 50 people and 500 sheep, we took off on foot to find a place to camp for the evening. The homes in the village were comprised of local materials?rock, mud, and crooked branches?and had smoke pouring out of the top. Young girls were playing in the creek behind their homes as their fathers rode mules that were overburdened with the evening’s firewood. The region had been stripped of all trees and large bushes, leaving behind a few giants that could not be handled with an ax and some muscle. A few had given it a shot, however, as there were some deep ax cuttings in some of the smaller branches.

That evening, we walked in the dark until we came to a flat spot to spend the night. The land was owned by a few sheepherders, but they apparently had no problem with us camping amongst their goats, mules, and sheep. We were greeted by wide smiles as we walked by their homes. They shook our hands vigorously and sent us on our way. The plateau offered a phenomenal view of the valley, which was brightly illuminated by the moon. The largest peak of the massif, Ichichi n’Boukhlib, stood silhouetted behind us. As the temperature dropped, we searched for a few pieces of firewood. The cedar was unbelievably dry and caught fire immediately. Once we got the campfire nice and toasty, we were shocked to see Shobby pull a full chicken out of his backpack! I stood there dumbfounded. We found a stick and shoved it through the chicken, turning our fire into a rotisserie. Fat dripped from the now brown chicken, adding its own fuel to the fire. It was quite tasty!

Getting ready for the roast!

In the backcountry, 9 PM becomes incredibly late. It became chilly and I threw on my down jacket. We sat around the fire, talking about how strange of an experience it is to be in the middle of Morocco cooking a chicken over an open fire. I awoke around 2 AM to hear everyone talking around the fire; apparently, after sleeping for an hour or so, people woke up freezing and had to rebuild a fire for warmth. I was the only one who brought actual backpacking gear with me. Some people had brought a few blankets, although some had only brought a jacket and the jeans they were wearing. Slick was one of the extremely cold, and I invited him to share my sleeping bag for warmth. This proved to be incredibly uncomfortable and only lasted for a half an hour. Everyone else was grouped together under a few thin blankets ripped from our beds at AUI. At this point, the stars were unbelievably bright.

The next morning, I awoke to find that some sort of intestinal bug had once again struck, yet this time the location and timing were not as optimal as campus. After a few too many journeys away from camp, I felt quite fatigued and dehydrated. After I returned, we started out hiking down the plateau and then began our ridiculously long ascent to Ichichi n’Boukhlib. As we hiked amongst loose soil and rock, a Berber herder spotted us and sprinted in our direction. At this point, his sheep were flocking in every direction, disoriented without their human leader. We spoke little Berber so our communication was in hand signals. He first pointed to a few trees that he and his herding partner had planted and made a signal to inform us that we cannot step on them. We pointed to the mountain and I made a ladder climbing gesture to signal our intent to climb the mountain. He waved for us to follow and then sprinted throughout the countryside, over his fences and alongside the sheep. It was difficult for us to keep up, given the weight of our packs and the fact that we are not likewise mountain goats. After reaching the top of a hill, we took a break and he asked us to give him a t-shirt. We obliged and continued to our destination.

Believe it or not, that mountain is much larger than it looks. It was quite the hike to the base.

After assessing their water situations, Shobby and Kapalie decided to head back to Tattiouine, find some water, and then attempt to find us a cab to return to Midelt. After spending a night on the freezing mountain, everyone (especially those in jeans) decided to get a hotel for the evening. I found that I had about a liter and a half of water remaining and thought that this would be sufficient for the remainder of the climb and the hike back to Tattiouine. If we were not able to retrieve a taxi, we would be able to fill up our water bottles at the village and then make the night hike to Midelt.

Nerry, the hobbit, up in a tree as Slick takes a break

The ascent became more strenuous as we neared the summit. We still had about 1500 vertical feet to go when I started to feel the effects of my stomach ailment. Each step I took made me weaker and I had to frequently stop to reassess my energy level. About 1000 v. feet below the summit, I sat down due to extreme fatigue and dehydration. My head was spinning and I started to think about the futility of continuing. After pushing on for hours, it was difficult for me to give up when we were so close to the peak. Only a two hour climb separated us from the summit. Yet I started to think about a rational decision; I was extremely fatigued and dehydrated and to push further may have exacerbated my situation. I was distraught over the fact that I would not be able to conquer what I had set out to do. For me, not making it to the summit would be tremendous blow to my ‘adventure’ ego and I was overwhelmed with disappointment. Olbera came down and gave me a bit of a pep talk and I decided to continue on despite my condition.

I took another long break a few minutes later. I stood up and realized how much worse I had become. I was dizzy and disoriented, but still capable of doing a cost/benefit analysis (thank you, economics!). I recognized that my mind had switched into survival mode and climbing a peak appeared silly and the ecstasy of making it to the top was not worth the risks. To make it back to Midelt, even after rehydrating at the village, would be an immense challenge and I knew I had to forgo my summit bid. I took this as a major defeat and wished my companions the best of luck. The descent was more treacherous than the climb; large rocks floating in the loose soil tumbled down the face with every step I took. Alone to the desolate environment, I started beating myself up for not making it to the top. But I started thinking about what Brittany told me about playing it safe in the outdoors. We were quite far from any form of civilization and even though I lost the summit, I kept my health.

Eventually making it down to where we had shedded some of our excess weight and bags, I took refuge under the only tree at the base of the mountain. I was out in the middle of nowhere, alone, amidst an arid mountain environment. Yet I was not by myself in such a state. I started to hear voices near the mountain to my left. I saw a figure in black clothes appear at the top of the hill, followed by a teenage Berber. Here came Yijen, who had become separated from the group and disoriented. She told me that people had split at the top to find a path to the summit, which was evidently much more difficult to ascent than previously thought. As she walked down the path to find her gear, I attempted to converse with the young herder who helped Yijen to the bottom. He didn’t speak Arabic, French, Spanish, English, or anything else that I could remotely attempt. I tried saying a few words I found in my guidebook, but the conversation never began. We tried to say things to one another, but it was all lost in our misunderstanding of one another’s language. He did, however, say hobbes, which is bread in Arabic. I got into my bag and gave him half of my bread brick. He inhaled it and then smiled. We sat in silence for a while and contemplated what to do next. He made a motion for cigarettes and I handed him two out of my stash. I don’t smoke, but it is a good way to make friends in Morocco.

View from 11,500 ft, sharing a ?hobbes-ian? (both the bread and the state of nature) experience with the young Berber

All I could hear were sheep crying out in the distance. There was still a terrific view of the valley at 11,500 ft. I imagined as if I had made the ascent while I sat in the shade of the overarching tree. I found that I had no more need to fast during Ramadan to appreciate food and water. Being in a desert environment forces you appreciate such things. Resource abundance is a beautiful thing. The Berber herders must be some of the toughest people on the planet. Running around all over the mountains in broken sandals, these people must go without food and water for quite some time. Outside of the village, there is no electricity, refrigerator, running water, or promise of a next meal in such an environment. Some sort of predator bird circled over top?talk about ominous?and I hoped to see the rest of my crew fairly soon. I started to wonder what happened to Shobby and Kapalie.

I hear rocks tumbling down the face, signaling that the group is descending. I climb up into the tree to get a better view, only to hear Olbera and Pooscar’s voices echoing from the mountain. I was pleased to see everyone once again. After assessing their water caches and investigating the pitch of the ascent, they decided to likewise forgo the summit bid and try to make it back to Tattiouine before dark. We walked for hours down the steep pitch, pushing rock after rock down the face. Eventually reaching the river bed, we were all overcome with dehydration and our pace quickened in hopes of making it to the river and to the village. We traveled through a ravine that had been carved out of thousands upon thousands of years of floodwater. There were intricate caves and areas where the water had rushed against the rock, forming a smooth indentation in the hill. Parched, we finally reached the small river and filled up water bottles. Cows were standing in the water doing what they do best: pooping. Thus, I reached for my chlorine dioxide solution to kill whatever was in the water. It was surprisingly clean and was incredibly refreshing. My brain started working again; I had been on auto-walk mode, drudging through the large gravel and blaring sun.

Beside the river was a ten-year-old kid working with sheep. I said, “la bas,” which is a common greeting in both Berber and Arabic. To my surprise, he responded in Spanish and we started walking with him up the hill. A younger kid, well versed in French, followed in tow, telling us, “donnez-moi l’argent!”?give me money. Declining this, we heard, “donnez-moi bon bon!”, which was his way of asking for candy. Fencer had some sort of sugar candy in his backpack and gave the young fellow a few pieces. He beamed and ran off to the village.

Berber village in Tattiouine

Upon entry in Tattiouine, we found that Shobby and Kapalie had been offered refuge in a small village home. From there, Shobby was able to get ahold of a taxi by speaking with the local villagers. He sent out his ‘spies’?the young kids?to search for us. The same family that helped them out offered us into their homes to get out of the sun. All eleven of us walked in to their home and sat down on the living room floor. Everyone in the house spoke Spanish, so we were able to converse decently. They offered us mint tea and bread. I felt hesitant to accept such a gift from a family that was in the throes of impoverishment. Their hospitality amazed me. Having very little, they still welcomed us into their homes and provided us with food and drink. The wood-fired bread was delicious and the tea perfect. In reciprocity, Slick and Nerry helped carry water from the stream to their house to help them in cooking their Ramadan meal. The rest of us were loading up gear in the taxis to head back to Midelt. We said our ‘muchas-graciases’ and hit the road. It was a heartwarming experience to meet such hospitable people!

Finally arriving in Midelt, our taxi driver took us straight to a hotel and we checked in for the evening. It was the most I have paid for a room (about 70 DH) but it was a welcome divergence from the desert. The mountains looked so innocent from inside the city; little do unsuspecting campers know, they are comprised of gagged, loose rocks and sharp, prickly bushes. People showered as I sat on the steps of the hotel with Pooscar and Yijen. We spoke with a Midelt local named Abdul, who presented me with the moniker, Muhammad Couscous. He named Olbera, ‘Fatima Couscous’ and Tasharles, ‘Mr. Brochette’. We Americanized the name for Tasharles, as he did not know about brochettes. He was hitherto referred to as ?Mr. Meat Stick?.

It was so comforting to be back in a city. Being in survival mode for the majority of the day, I slowly made the switch back to a civilized mentality. Not only did this town have fresh fruit, juice, and friendly people, it also had Berber peanut butter that is “known for its aphrodisiac values”. However, this PB must be “made safe from humidity and strong smells”. I love mistranslation.

Our ‘friend’, Abdul, told us that he would take us to his house to meet his family and subsequently play some music. “You can play drums and sing American music and I can play and sing Berber music,” he claimed. After receiving unbelievable hospitality from the Berbers in Tattiouine, we took up his offer. After eating a tajine and some harira with bread, we followed him to his house. Strangely, he lived in a commercial enterprise called Berber Maison. We entered a room with walls flanked by large carpets. On the back wall sat a large bench with two tea holders in front of it. I knew what we were in for; it was a scam. They would bring us delicious tea and offer us traditional Berber sentimentality, only to coerce us to buy rugs. Modes were my thing; earlier was survival mode, followed by civilization mode. Now I was in Norwegian mode, where I only spoke 10-15 words of every language and made silly Norwegian references to what was currently happening. This gets me out of a lot of binds.

Olbera getting ‘wrapped up’ in the scheme

I didn’t let this experience ruin the hospitality of earlier; I was truly thankful for the Tattiouine Berbers’ welcoming. It was a tremendous experience to find a lush, green valley with terraced fig and apple trees behind Berber homes after being stuck in the desert for the day. The experience, as a whole, was wonderful. The adversity and subsequent relaxation made for a unique and memorable weekend.

Remember, sécurité est la responsabilité de tous!