Walking with the Berbers
Alaaaaaaaaaaah akubar” — The drone of the PA system echoes up and down the valley high above Imlil waking restless souls. The muezzin’s call to prayer sounds like a Honda 50 with only vaguely a human dimension attached to it. It creeps over the sleepy Berber houses and reverberates off every wall in the village.
It is 5am. Nearly time to get up. For tourists. For the Berbers living in this part of Morocco some 2,000 metres above sea level, it is not that early. Some doors will already have been opening as people busy themselves with morning chores — feeding the chickens, dusting down the satellite dishes.
