Under the Stars of Merzouga: A Journey into the Moroccan Sahara
When I first heard about Merzouga, it sounded like a dream — a tiny village on the edge of the Sahara Desert, famous for its golden sand dunes and soul-stirring sunsets. I had seen the photos: camels casting long shadows on the dunes, Berber tents nestled under a sea of stars. But nothing could have prepared me for the raw, humbling beauty of the desert.
I arrived in Merzouga just before sunset. The village itself was quiet, almost sleepy, with low earthen buildings and children playing in the dust. But in the distance, I saw them — the Erg Chebbi dunes, rising like waves of gold frozen in time. They shimmered in the light, almost surreal, calling me to explore.
A local guide named Youssef greeted me with a warm smile and a blue turban wrapped around his head. He led me to a camel named Baraka, whose calm eyes made me feel strangely safe. We began our sunset trek into the dunes. With each sway of the camel, I felt myself leaving behind the noise of the world.
As we climbed the dunes, the wind whispered secrets in Arabic and Amazigh. The sky turned a fiery orange, then soft pink, before melting into a deep indigo. When we reached our desert camp, it felt like a hidden world — a circle of tents lit by lanterns, with rugs spread out like an open-air living room.
That night, I sat by the fire with Youssef and other travelers. The air was crisp, and the stars above looked close enough to touch. The Berber musicians began to play — rhythmic drumming and chants that echoed across the sand. We clapped, danced, laughed. I wasn’t just witnessing the desert. I was becoming part of it.
Later, I wandered a bit away from the camp and lay down on a dune, alone under the vast sky. There was no light pollution, no city sounds, just the quiet hum of the desert and the occasional gust of wind. It was the purest silence I’ve ever known — not empty, but full. Full of mystery, of ancient stories, of forgotten time.
In the morning, I watched the sun rise over the dunes with a cup of sweet mint tea in my hands. It was gentle and golden, as if the desert itself was waking slowly. And as I rode Baraka back to the village, I knew a part of me would never leave Merzouga.
Because Merzouga isn’t just a place. It’s an experience — a reminder of how small we are in the universe, and how deeply connected we can feel to something as vast and wild as the desert.
