After leaving the narrow, winding roads of the Moroccan High Atlas behind us, we head south along the course of the Draa River (the longest in Morocco), beyond Ouarzazate. As the bus moves on, the students pursuing a master’s degree in biodiversity conservation review their notes, preparing for the discussions that await at each stop—conversations that will delve into land use, environmental impacts, and the future prospects of these remote landscapes. Each day we travel many kilometres to reach the pivotal sites that will be the focus of our exploration. This is no leisurely tourist excursion, where one can pause frequently to snap a photograph. So I sit next to one of the windows at the front of the bus, my camera poised and ready, to capture the fleeting moments that unfold outside as we make the way down the road. As we move towards Zagora through the Draa Valley and further south towards the edge of the Sahara Desert, the landscape becomes more desolate. Vast plains with high mountains as a backdrop, stony soils, and always scarce vegetation cover, offering little shade from the relentless sun.

I keep my eyes on the road because at every moment, despite the desolation, I see something of interest. Scattered across the landscape, ancient casbahs (neighbourhoods of adobe houses) often lie in ruins. Semi-abandoned oases dot the riverbanks, where palm trees, once symbols of wealth and prosperity, are now withered by drought. And people traversing these sun-scorched terrains along the way. Of course, we see some motor vehicles, but my focus is on the people walking or riding donkeys or carts, evoking the rich history of nomadic tribes and the ancient caravan routes that once plied these remote regions. These thriving trade routes facilitated exchanges between Berbers, Africans, Jews and Christians. To visit some of the forgotten villages nestled in the heart of these lands is to embark on a journey back in time.

At last, we reach the Sahara Desert. We find ourselves in the parched Draa riverbed, which here bends westward toward the Atlantic Ocean. The temperature soars above 45°C, and a strong wind whips through the area, stirring up a sandstorm. For hours, we traverse the endless dunes that stretch before us. Even so, a few small herbaceous plants cling to the unstable soil completing their life cycles during the fleeting periods when there is some moisture. Meanwhile, deep-rooted trees, adapted to drawing water from many meters below the surface, persist for years in the barren landscape.

On the sixth day of our journey, we pass through the territory of the Anti-Atlas, a mountain range extending over 500 kilometres southwest to the Atlantic Ocean. The landscape remains arid, with vast plains and imposing mountains in the distance. However, we begin to encounter more cultivated areas, more water, and more human activities. I can't help but wonder if the desert will eventually overtake these places in the coming years, as the effects of climate change grow more severe. And I wonder how the inhabitants here will adapt. After many kilometres, we pass the town of Taroudant and turn south, driving parallel to the Atlantic coast, once again heading into more desert areas near the ruins of Fort Bou-Jerif, a French Foreign Legion fort built in 1935. This marks the final leg of our journey. We are approaching Western Sahara, a former Spanish territory that has been locked in an unresolved conflict between Morocco and the Saharawi people for more than 45 years. It’s a story of injustice that, like so many others, reveals the United Nations as a mere observer, unable to enforce its resolutions. But that is a different story. If you’d like, I’ll share it with you another day.