An old man, blue bag in hand, is walking down the road.
We stop and offer him a ride.
He sits silently next to me staring straight ahead.
I start chatting with him thanks to Momo’s help.
He was going to walk to the next town, twenty kilometers away.
He is a shepherd,
On a forty kilometer journey going to buy food for his sheep.
Father of eight, some very young, he explains, smiling proudly.
I guess he isn’t as old as he appears.
I tell him I only have one child, he looks at me puzzled;
I do his portrait.
He stands as noble and humble as a Berber man can be.
We shared an instant from some forgotten time,
When values were above all human.
I am a shepherd, camera in hand, father of one,
On the same humble journey
As the noble man from Tinghir.