Goulimime is about as far south as you can go in Morocco. It is where the tarmac road runs out and the desert sands start. As far from Tangier as the Pyrenees, it is a very different place to the bustling urbanity of the north. Tourists that make it this far, come for the weekly camel market or to arrange trips into the desert to the south.
Oldgreytravel’s interest was indeed spiked by the thought of the weekly camel market, but what was to transpire was something that still remains one of the most memorable encounters of my life. In January 1984, I was the only foreigner staying in this most inconsequential of towns and no sooner had my feet hit the ground than a “friend” appeared to guide me to a nearby hotel. On the way, he told me of the “blue men’s” caravan outside the town. If I liked he could take me there.
A few hours later, I was precariously balanced on the back of a wheezing Japanese moped as it bumped its way across the desert landscape. It only occurred to me later that this could be seen as a slightly rash move by a lone traveller with no local knowledge. Nevertheless, true to his word about half an hour later an encampment of large tents appeared out of the desert sands. The Touareg, for it was them, their skin dyed blue by the indigo garments they wear, travel here every year to trade their camels. I was taken to see the son of the chief in his tent and my friend became the essential translator. The Touareg stood, hugged me on both cheeks and offered tea. The tea brewed on the little open fire would take 45 minutes to make and in the meantime we talked.
He tells me it has taken them 37 nights to travel to the small village where they are camped, some 12k from Goulimime. His father guides them by the stars. They travel only at night and rest during the day. They come from Mauritania and travel here every year to barter goods. It has not rained where they live for 9 years and families are now forced into selling their personal possessions for food. My friend tells me it has not rained in Goulimime itself for two years.
He lays out various possessions for me to see. My friend explains that I can buy any I want but the price, most unusually for Morocco, is fixed. As these are other family’s personal items there can be no haggling. Prices are set in kilos of food and my friend has to translate this to Moroccan dirham – roughly 2 dirham (20p) per kilo. I choose a thick silver bracelet with intricate Arab script inlaid with enamel and a chunk of amber as big as a conker, which, I am told, all Touareg men carry as protection against snake bites. The price – 100 kilos of food.
While we wait, we talk. He tells me he has never been to Goulimime, 12 k away and shows no desire ever to do so. In fact, he looks in horror at the thought. He invites me to return home with them (37 nights) and says I would be most welcome, but warns me that the life is tough. When I try to explain my work commitments back in England, he appears mystified as to why this should stop me. He says they have seen planes flying high in the sky but he has no real concept of speed and the huge distances they cover. When I tell him England is 2 days away, he assumes it to be very close and cannot be persuaded otherwise.
We have our tea, mint and heavy with sugar, but my friend must be back in Goulimime for his job and we must depart. Again, the offer of staying is repeated and the Touareg looks at me mystified and, I believe, slightly embarrassed for my timetables and schedules and worldly commitments. I reluctantly bid farewell and looking over my shoulder as we drive away, see him standing outside the tent, tall, erect and proud watching us disappear into the distance.
As the current pandemic sweeps the world, oldgreytravel has dived into his archive to bring to light some of the more memorable experiences of 40 years of travel. This account dates from 1984. While no expert on the issue, current news reports indicate that decades of drought and war have brought the Touareg to a dreadful state of dependence on foreign aid and handouts, their nomadic life now gone forever.
