The sun had barely risen when I left Dar Ahlam, accompanied by Hanan, Dar Ahlam’s storyteller. It is also possible to explore the Skoura palm grove by bike or tricycle, but that morning I chose to walk, to feel, to listen, to breathe.
The air was cool, the light still golden. Hanan walked just ahead of me, a calm presence, a gentle voice.
The palm grove unfolded slowly, like a scene revealed layer by layer: whispering seguias, swaying palm trees, pisé walls warming in the sun. A goat passes by. A child laughs. Everything seems perfectly in place.
Hanan told me about the plants, the elders, the fragile memory of the oasis.
We took a small shaded path leading to the house of Momo, Dar Ahlam’s former gardener. He welcomed us warmly, a glimmer in his eyes. His granddaughter joined us, shy at first, then smiling. We shared mint tea beneath the trees.
There was a rare kind of peace in the air. Something timeless, something precious.
I left with a light heart, nourished by the gentleness of the place and the kindness of these encounters.