Morocco’s Desert Nomads: M’Barek and the Keepers of the Sahara’s Desert Culture

In the vast expanse of the Merzouga desert, a new landscape unfolds behind each dune. Shaped by the wind and sculpted by the sun, these sand dunes create a different picture with each step. It is here in this setting of red dunes on the edge of the Sahara where M'Barek lives. A camel driver since childhood, he knows the desert by heart. He has traveled each of these dunes from village to village, oasis to oasis. As a child, he and his father led their caravan of dromedaries on a nomadic lifestyle. In those days, there were still rains and grazing. They could rear their livestock and sell them on the markets of the great south. Today, M'Barek's life is not what it was before. He is proud to share his memories and to recount the lives of his forebears with passing travelers. This is what our ancestors told us. There were no borders between countries. They moved around freely. They moved their camps and looked for a flat place to set up their tents. Not so long ago, the caravan's route ran through the village of Tamar Denit. The market was once colorful and bustling, attracting traders in livestock, dates and cloth. But year on year, inch by inch, the desert has gained ground. Driven by the southerly wind, the red sand has swallowed up the earth houses. The village is now choked in sand. The inhabitants have left and the market has fallen silent. When I was little, I would go with my father into the Sahara. When we got back, he would say, tell me what you saw. So I told him about the desert, the beauty of the landscapes, the movement of the dunes, the light on the sand. I love the nature of the desert. I love its silence. I feel at peace here in the Sahara. M'Barek has seen the desert change and drought set in across the Great South. Along with other nomads, he now lives in the village of Merzouga with his family, so his children can go to school. In the red sand dunes, he continues to relive the stories of his childhood with a whiff of legend. Nowadays, certain nomads have decided to move to the city. But I'm fine here. It's so beautiful. God has provided me with what I need to live my life. So why would I go look for something else in the city? I don't want to be anywhere else. Here I've got food, I'm well clothed, and I feel safe. I don't need anything more. And I thank God for that. The Atlas Mountains offer ever-changing scenery. From the depths of the Wadis, river valleys, to the highest summits, a fresh, majestic landscape endlessly unfolds. When the sun is at its zenith, the lines and contours become sharper, and the colors of the land become radiant. As if in a finely detailed painting, the tiny silhouettes of the people and livestock are lost in the vastness of the landscapes. At Tidrarine, the red of the earth symbolizes virility and power. All the men of the village are horsemen. Shel Goum is the chief of the Tiborida troop, a warrior demonstration which dates back to the tribal conflicts. It involves the bravery of the rider, the power of the animal, and gunshots. Every day, Shel Goum trains his youngest son to become a Tiborida horseman. We adjust our saddles to mount our horses. Then we will go to train so our father can teach us the Tiborida. Tighten the straps. Hadela has been learning this traditional warrior art since the age of eight. He has perfect control over his horse. But before becoming a horseman in the troop, he must learn to shoot. He who learns the Tiborida becomes a knight. He becomes a bardi. And then he can teach others. My father taught me to ride a horse at the age of 14. He taught me to hold a rifle, to adjust a saddle, how to hold the reins, and to reproduce the movements of the Tiborida. He taught me just as he was taught by his father. And in turn, I'm doing the same with my children. This year, Hadela is training hard to be able to take part in the Baroud, the climax of the race, involving coordinated rifle fire by all the riders. Sit up straight. Go on. He has to be able to release his horse's bridle at a gallop and spin his rifle over his head. For the occasion, Hadela has put on his bardi costume like all the other men. He says his prayers and slips a Koran into his bag to bring him luck. Today, Hadela is about to join his father's troop. And he will then be considered a man. The Tiborida represents the man, his virility, his power. The Barida horseman, the bardi, is recognized and highly respected by people. In the north of Morocco, the riders fire into the air. But in Tidharine, the final gunshot is aimed into the ground. This is because during the tribal wars in the Sahara, the enemy hid in the sand of the dunes. Shelgoum is proud of his son. Hadela has proved himself. He will soon accompany the troop to the forthcoming Mussem, the village festival during which the agility and prowess of the Tiborida horsemen are honored.