We live in a world that constantly reminds us how connected we are. A ping from WhatsApp, a quick scroll through Instagram, a message from someone across the globe. It feels like there is no corner untouched.
And then, sometimes, you stumble into a place that proves the opposite.
Wandering Off the Path
Halfway between Marrakech and the Sahara Desert, my friend and I were dropped at a small hotel in the Dadès Valley. The sun was beginning to set and we had two hours of daylight left. From the balcony, we could see a quiet village across the river, its clay houses stacked against the hills.
We had no plan. Just curiosity.
So we crossed the bridge and started walking. At first we stayed on the main street, lined with hotels and riads. It felt familiar, shaped for visitors. But then we turned into gravel paths that wound deeper into the village, past walls made of clay and wood. The streets were uneven and unpaved, narrowing into footpaths that looked more like private alleys.
I hesitated. Were we trespassing? Would the locals welcome us? But curiosity pulled us forward. We wanted to see what life looked like beyond the tourist track.
The Children of the Village
At first we saw kids playing football in the distance. They waved but kept away. We waved back and continued up a narrow path that climbed higher into the village. Suddenly, at the top, we were surrounded. A group of children, ten or more, came running toward us from every direction.
The younger ones giggled and poked at my nail polish, as if they had never seen it before. The older ones shouted “bonjour” and pointed at my friend’s camera. Their excitement was overwhelming, and in return, so was ours. This was the moment we had been hoping for without knowing it.
That is when I met Fatima. She was 13, the second oldest of the group, and she spoke enough Arabic for me to translate for my friend. Through her we learned that she had never left her village. She had never been to Marrakech, never visited the Sahara, never even spoken to a foreigner until that day.
A Life Within a Bubble
Think about that. Hours away from one of the most visited cities in the world, across the river from hotels filled with tourists, there were kids who had lived their entire lives without ever meeting someone from outside.
When I asked Fatima if she liked her simple life: school, home, repeat. Her answer was immediate. Yes. She was happy.
That answer has stayed with me. While I am constantly pulled in every direction, juggling the noise of notifications, news, and expectations, here was someone whose entire world existed in the size of a village, smaller than an American parking lot, and still she felt content.
The irony is that Fatima also knew about Instagram and even ChatGPT. The internet had reached them, but it had not reshaped their lives the way it has reshaped ours. Their sense of enough seemed to come not from chasing more, but from embracing what was right in front of them.
Two Worlds, Side by Side
That night, the village lights went out all at once. From our hotel terrace, we watched as the homes across the river disappeared into darkness, leaving only the stars above. On our side, the Wi-Fi stayed on and the electricity kept running. Two worlds facing each other, separated by so little and yet so much.
And it left me wondering: what do we really mean when we say we are connected?
And maybe more importantly, what do we lose when we never allow ourselves to be disconnected?