I was born and raised in the Sahara. Before I learned maps, I learned winds; before clocks, I learned the slow rhythm of fire and stars. I’m a nomad—my home is a circle of tents, a kettle of mint tea, and the long line of dunes that teach patience and presence. I cook simple food, I drum softly at night, and I guide guests to places where silence is not empty but full.
Let me speak plainly: it hurts when people say we are “dangerous,” or when some visitors look at us like “savages.” We are not. We are people of hospitality and dignity. We carry stories, craft, and a joy for simple things done well—bread baked in sand, tea poured high, kindness offered without noise. When you come here, you are not a client—you are my guest, under my care.
My work is to build a safe, human space in the desert—calm pace, known routes, clear communication. I cook for you, I make camp comfortable, and I hold the time so you can slow down: to watch sunrise move across a ridge, to hear your own breath while you walk, to sit by embers without a phone or a plan. The desert is not an amusement; it’s a teacher. I won’t stage a show. I will open a door.
I also ask for respect—of people, of place, of culture. Ask before you take photos of anyone. Keep the camp clean. Take only memories and sand in your shoes. If you have dietary needs or worries, tell me; if you are tired, we rest; if you are afraid, we go gently. This is how trust is made.
What I promise
Genuine care: you’ll be looked after like family—warm, calm, present.
Food from my hands: tagines cooked slow, salads fresh, bread warm; meat and vegetarian options.
Safety & clarity: small groups, known routes, first-aid on site, steady communication.
Real experience: no “show,” no pressure—quiet moments, honest stories, true desert life.
Time to arrive in yourself: sunrise walks, stargazing, tea by the fire, space to breathe.
If you want to meet the real Sahara—not rushed, not curated, but cared for—I will welcome you as a friend and guide you home to yourself.