We met him during our stay on the edge of the Moroccan desert. We had arrived late in the evening by coach, and our host had picked us up with his four-wheel drive. After a night in a comfortable little clay house, we departed with our dromedary camels into the desert.
Our guide was not very communicative, but it was our fault, for not being able to speak Darija, the local Arabic dialect. His eyes agreed with us, though, that the camels made funny noises and smelled like hell when they burped and farted. The ride into the desert was of such beauty and tranquility, that we soon forgot about this small noisy disturbance from our four-legged friends.
After two hours being moved back and forth on the camels’ backs, we arrived at our camp for the night, and this is where we met him!
We were never quite sure whether he knew which language he was speaking, as words seemed to come out of his mouth naturally and effortlessly in a very personal version of Esperanto. He held his head high and smiled humbly, his hands constantly moving, when he talked with pride about his country and culture.