By Norma Hopcraft
My life changed radically during a long day on the bus crossing Morocco's dry southeast region.
We passed a man walking. The most recent hamlet was three miles behind us and we didn't pass another hamlet for five more miles.
And the tumblers in my mind spun like crazy.
I finally saw with utmost clarity that I was very rich.
This man couldn't even afford a bicycle. Meanwhile I spun by on a bus, having been able to afford a plane ticket from America and this tour.
And one of our guides had told me that poor Moroccan girls go to Saudi Arabia and other oil-rich Arab countries to become second and third wives. In spite of the resentment of the other wives that they have to live with, they consider this a big improvement in life--at last, enough food.
I live now thanking God for the level at which I live. No matter that it's not as extravagant as some other people's. I have a bicycle in the garage and enough food on the table.
After a long dusty journey, and our camel ride and 4x4 drive across the desert dunes, we arrived at our desert camp for the night.
At the edge of the desert camp was a rest area of sofas, cushions, and rugs. Here's my sister reclining after hours of sitting on the bus.
The rest area led to the desert.
Our group walked out to watch the sun set over the dunes.
When the sun goes down over the Sahara, it's a big relief.
A caravan heading to their night camp.
An animal leaving his mysterious signs in the desert.
A Tuareg man, un homme bleu, passing us as he heads to his camp.
We stayed in tents (with running water). My bed had what I believe to be a camel hair blanket.
The dining tent. Tuareg men served dinner. We were within walking distance of the border with Algeria. There's a lot of tension between Morocco and this country. We were told not to go near.
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