You’re standing at the edge of the Hlabji River as the sun begins its slow descent towards the horizon. It’s 5 PM, but the heat still radiates off the sandy ground, creating a shimmering mirage in the distance. The river, a thin, shimmering thread cutting through the heart of the village, is the only respite from the oppressive dryness that surrounds you.

You glance around at the small Moroccan village, its houses clustered close together, their walls painted in muted tones that reflect the sunlight in a soft, golden hue. The sand dunes loom like silent sentinels, their contours softened by the relentless sun. Cacti and palm trees are scattered throughout, their green stark against the arid landscape.

As you move closer to the river, you can hear the gentle splash of children playing in the water, their laughter mingling with the distant murmur of the townspeople. They’re all careful with the precious resource, using it with the utmost respect. The adults move with deliberate ease, their movements slow and measured in the heat.

A light breeze stirs the air, carrying the faint scent of the river and the earthy aroma of the sand. You can’t help but appreciate the contrast of the cool, flowing water against the backdrop of the harsh, sun-baked environment. It’s a moment of quiet beauty in a town that thrives despite the extremes.