09/06/2026
We planned a hike. The village planned a welcome.
Before we’d even reached the town, the drums started. Then the singing. Then a wave of little girls in embroidered dresses and tinsel hair, dancing in the dirt as if we were the best thing to arrive all year.
Breakfast was Berber style and generous: Moroccan crepes, warm bread, fresh fruit, honey donuts, mint tea, and juice. We ate well. We danced, sang, and celebrated together.
We’d brought French books and shoes for the children.
Then we climbed the mountain together and planted prickly pear on the slope, a small thing that will still be growing there long after we’ve gone home.
A village that gave us everything, and a chance to leave a little behind. That’s what travel is for.