Where the gaze is lost in the tyranny of the desert, on the stony plains that precede the Sahara, A Berber tribe clings to their caves dug into the ground with the nostalgia of someone who knows that their traditions will end up being swept away by the desert sand.. With the same forcefulness with which progress has slipped into their lives through those groups of tourists who leave them a few coins in exchange for meddling in their lives for a few minutes., until not too long ago sheltered from strange glances.
on the way from carthage to the south of Tunisia towards the first foothills of the Sahara, Matmata It is an unavoidable stop to get a glimpse of this way of life that resonates in our well-to-do Western consciences like a stone that rumbles at the bottom of a well. For a long time, almost every time I came to a similar place, the home of ancient tribes of inexcusable gratuity, my skepticism prevented me from facing the experience without the veil of successive reproaches. I knew I was walking on the coals of a tourist attraction and it was hard for me to open my eyes wide first and leave the conclusions for later. I even remember an occasion in which we rejected the possibility of approaching a village of pygmies in the south of Uganda because we sensed, in view of the high toll that they requested, that the pamema would be órdago. Over time I have regretted that decision.
The desolate landscape captivated with the attraction of the barren horizons
Arriving at the Matmata troglodyte caves, a desolate landscape that captivated with the attraction of barren horizons, I had that same feeling as we descended towards the homes of these Berbers determined to resist the onslaught of the desert.. To prevent the Sahara from engulfing them, they defend themselves with what is closest to hand: palm groves that act as a parapet against the voracity of the excessive sand giant. But the desert has no mercy, and every year devours five hectares of land, advancing their positions like an army that knows no white flags. In these same lands, images of "Star Wars" and "Raiders of the Lost Ark" were recorded., and galaxy and lost are two words that, in fact, fit perfectly in Matmata's crossword puzzle.
This struggle, as tenacious as it is unequal, has been diminishing the matmata and their 300 houses dug into the bowels of the earth (unbeatable protection against high daytime temperatures and cold desert nights) there are only thirty left. some hotels, yes, They build replicas of troglodyte dwellings for guests as a tourist attraction. Matmata tries to capitalize on the attractiveness that the way of life of their ancestors arouses in the Western gaze. But this Berber tribe is not only losing the fight with the desert. Progress has also crossed their path and young people have long preferred to flee the desolation of a tradition that confines them to caves and seek their fortune in tourist Eldorado on the island of Djerba or the beaches of Hammamet.
The matriarch of one of the troglodyte dwellings receives us in the courtyard with resigned hospitality.
The houses that remain standing do so thanks to the generosity of tourists, a recurring comment in these situations that forces me to reflect on whether it was the chicken or the egg first. The matriarch of one of them receives us with resigned hospitality in the patio overlooking the stone wall where her house is excavated.. The hand of Fatima and a fish are drawn on the door, invoking Allah's protection for her and her family.
The woman is almost eighty-year-old and allows herself to be photographed in exchange for the will. lives with his son, the one we ran into in one of the rooms. She has just gotten divorced and has returned home to ruminate on her new life and lick the wounds of a separation and the distance from her two daughters., who have stayed in the city. He has returned to his mother, ultimately. The behavior of the human race, in the aridity of the desert or in the big city, It is not as disparate as we sometimes think. we look too much alike.
It is moving that they let you contemplate their prehistoric way of life in exchange for an uncertain tip
I walk around the cave wondering if they really live here. This is indicated by a small refrigerator, some stoves, the seedlings stretched out to dry in the sun next to some dates and the handful of chickens that roam among the cacti. Also the containers in which they grind the grain or the pantry in which they collect provisions. In another room there is a teenager, I imagine that granddaughter of our hostess, that also seems resigned to the umpteenth visit of the tourists. Yet, It is moving that they let you contemplate their prehistoric way of life in exchange for an uncertain tip.
The essence of this town hides in the bowels of the voracious desert
In this lunar landscape of prickly pears and "wadis" (dry riverbeds), of palm trees that are shields facing the desert, of hills painted in charcoal, the matmata have defied time knowing that the game is lost beforehand, that the future slips through their hands and distances the young generations from the essence of their people, the one that crouches in the bowels of the voracious desert.
