The Nomad Called Addi

It's the shooting stars who watch over us. We crane our necks back for a better view, curiosity and envy fighting for their wish.

The cold bite of the desert brings us back down to Earth, reminding us we are only here for the night.

So we ask the Berber Nomad to tell us stories of his family, his land, his home as he picks the guitar. We listen closely, only seeing the faint shimmer of glossy, dark eyes.

Permanent dusk devours the night, where the stars freckle its darkest corners, the camels sleep with both eyes open, and the scorpions' and snakes' spirit lingers like the gentle Berber way of life.

But then it's the Nomad who listens as we all talk. He spreads out the fire's last ember as we huddle closer to its edge for warmth.

The shooting stars look down at us with a knowing smile.

It was the Nomad called Addi who was there the whole time. Traveling through each bluff and sand storm, sparkling eyes joining each point of the stars, leading travelers through the night... even after we've all left.