Blue Man

1975                                      

In 1975 there was drought in the Sahel, the southern Sahara. In Niger it was as bad as anywhere. Traditional tribesmen known as Blue Men fanned across the region to trade family jewels for help. Blue Men travelling on camels made the news.

Margie and I left on holiday to Morocco from JFK  a few days before Christmas. I had been to Morocco during the Christmas holiday in 1972 and wanted to show her the sights. 

We landed in Casablanca. In one of the great achievements of my life I drove the rental car from the airport to our downtown hotel without one wrong turn. 

Five days later we were drifting thru an outdoor souk in the small town of Tiznit in the south. We're were on our way to Goulimine, the town at the western oasis of the Sahara desert, a 21 day camel ride from Timbuktu. 

In Tiznit we were befriended by Ali, a precocious 12 year old, who knew some English. He asked for a ride to his home near Goulimine. A third world friend. How exciting.

On the way south he told us his uncle from Niger was staying with his family. A Blue Man. 

Ali's home, as Arlo Guthrie would say, was by the side of a side path in the desert some five dusty miles from Goulimine. When we got to the house we were escorted to a courtyard. We sat there for about 20 minutes before Ali's brother and uncle Blue appeared. Unc was dressed in his full Blue Man regalia. He had a happy smile to go with his weathered face. Hadn't he just traversed the Sahara by camel?

We stayed about an hour and had some delicious tea with something sweet and crusty. 

I can't recall how the conversation turned but it dawned on everyone that the contents of our overstuffed suitcases were more valuable than the Blue Man’s family jewels. We had extra jeans and some other things he wanted. In return we got a wealth of jewels; things like agate necklaces and silvery trinkets. The Manhattan Indians would have been overjoyed with this deal. 

Ali pointed us to the dusty road back to Goulimine. When we got there we parked and took our treasures to a merchant in the ancient market near that western oasis.

He had a good laugh. He offered us a few dirhams for our treasures. He let us know we were taken. The Blue Man was probably another brother made up to impress the bumpkins from Canada. Our treasures were junk. 

I think of this incident as relationship glue. We were embarrassed. We didn’t tell anyone about it for 35 years.

I can think of lots of other glue; golf, kids, grandkids, the house, work we do together, other holidays we’ve shared, friends we share, deaths in the family, fights we resolved and didn’t. Lots of glue.

The Blue Man was the first of many sticky situations.