LOLA REID ALLIN: Veins of cirrus advance across the overarching azure. Amber dunes criss-crossed by camel hoofs and human feet envelope me. Rugged, robust and tempestuous, I am astonished and aroused, as the lustrous palette of the esoteric orient beguiles me.

Our host, Hassan emerges from within his ephemeral abode - a blanket-walled tent. The shimmering folds of the royal blue kaftan dotted with moon and stars, undulate as dunes, yet mirror the shielding night sky. The vibrant sun-gold orange turban balances the intensity of the blazing sand. Partially shadowed, his copper complexion emphasizes the identical taupe and tan colours of the kaftan's collar.

Shrouded by harmonizing colours, not by accident, he embodies his environment. Born a Berber only twenty kilometres from this desert camp, he knows no other.

I imagine his life. My fantasy presents an athletic, sensual sultan. Encouraged by nostalgic images of early middle-eastern voyagers, enchanted by his charm, his culture, his foreign-ness, I conjure adventurous days on camel-back, amorous evenings within gauzy tents, sipping almond milk and nibbling plump dates, devoted handmaidens and servants waiting to be summoned.

Hassan's reality composes a different score. Minimal access to formal education limits future prospects. Yet, dependable and trustworthy, he manages this tent camp, preparing tajin and couscous for travelers, tidying the kitchen, and mending the tents.

Every two weeks, he returns to his baked-earth-and-pebble home, to visit his wife, who lives with his family. A devoted husband and son adding his wages and occasional tips to the family coffer.