Mediation lessons from a Saharan oasis in Morocco

The sweat trickled down my side and onto my lower back. It was warm and tickled me awake as I rolled over to reach my iPhone and check the time. I grabbed it, hoping for good news. The screen flashed 2:36 a.m. Ugh! Too early to wake up. I scrolled to the weather icon: Lamhamid--108 degrees. I sat up, pivoted my legs onto the floor, and rested my head in my hand. Time for another shower.

I made my way to the bathroom and twisted the shower knob to the coldest setting. The water ran warm, but I stood there for a few minutes, enjoying the massaging flow over my head. I quickly dried off, walked to the nightstand, and grabbed a bottle of water--chugging it down like a college student shot gunning a beer. I climbed back into bed and stared at the air conditioning unit, which pushed out only room-temperature air. The dampness of my skin offered a faint cooling effect, just enough to let me drift off again--until the cry of a rooster and laser-sharp sunlight sliced through a narrow gap in the drapes, jolting me awake.

I grabbed my iPhone for another time check: 5:39 a.m. Finally, morning had come. Another shower and change of clothes followed, then a walk past the hotel lobby where breakfast was being prepared outdoors. One of the doctoral students was already deep in work on his computer. "Sbah l-khir" (good morning). "Sbah nour" (morning of radiance), I responded. Time for some qahwa (coffee). He motioned to one of the garçons. "Jib juj qhawi" (bring two coffees). Minutes later, two piping-hot espressos served in extra-hot glasses arrived. I sipped in silence until they were gone. The nectar of life flowed in my veins, allowing me to engage in conversation.

I was in Lamhamid--a village in southeastern Morocco at the foot of the Bani Mountains. To get there, you must first drive to Ouarzazate. The trip from Marrakech to Ouarzazate is an arduous, four-hour, car-sick-inducing journey over treacherous, winding roads. Though an oasis few have heard of, Ouarzazate is a place many have seen: it was the filming location for Star Wars, Lawrence of Arabia, Gladiator, The Mummy and Game of Thrones.

I was invited to Lamhamid by my good friend Aomar Boum, a member of the Royal Academy of Rabat and a UCLA Professor of Anthropology. Aomar was born in Lamhamid and had organized a weeklong study of his hometown with renowned professors from Morocco and France, along with a select group of doctoral students. The topics of study ranged from anthropology to sociology, exploring the cultural and historical impacts of colonialism on this region of Morocco. Many of the studies involved interviewing locals.

I arrived in the late afternoon after being picked up in Ouarzazate by Aomar's sister and nephews. They drove me straight to Aomar's family home, where his 96-year-old mother received me in the traditional Moroccan salon, festooned with cookies, cakes, mint tea and coffee. There is nothing comparable to traditional Moroccan hospitality. Aomar and several professors arrived shortly thereafter. One professor sat next to his mother and conversed with her in a mixture of Amazigh and Darija (Amazigh, formerly called Berber, and Darija, the Moroccan Arabic dialect). She kept him mesmerized with long-forgotten stories and poetic fables. Aomar sat on the other side of his mother, holding her hand and kissing her on the head with great love and respect.

Later that day, 20 of us sat at a dinner table at the hotel, enjoying a traditional Moroccan feast of tajines. During the four-hour meal, two topics stood out: temporality and silence.

Temporality in the oasis villages of southern Morocco, such as Lamhamid, is a key subject of study. Time in Lamhamid moves slowly. It stands still, interrupted only by calls to prayer throughout the day. These notions of temporality were compared to places like Paris and Los Angeles, where social media and television obsession push large cities forward at lightning speed. By contrast, time moves slowly in Lamhamid, where people primarily focus on family, farming and non-digital life.

Another topic of discussion was how asking specific questions in interviews shapes responses and may influence how interviewees perceive themselves, potentially altering their environment. For example, one doctoral student studying the female role in southern Moroccan villages was tempted to ask an older man about the noticeable absence of women in cafes and fields. A professor observed that the women's visual absence actually demonstrates their importance. Asking such a question of a mother in Lamhamid might confuse her and change the way she sees herself in the village, subtly shifting the village's social ecosystem. Instead, the proper approach is to engage in conversation and, importantly, to remain silent and allow the interviewee to speak freely. Specifically, the professor remained silent for 15 seconds after sparking the conversation. Fifteen seconds is a long time in conversation. It allows the space necessary for the other person to speak freely, letting the conversation take shape organically.

As lawyers, we are trained never to ask open-ended questions--we expect to know the answer before asking. This is the opposite. Don't ask the question. Remain silent and allow the response to take you wherever it naturally travels.

Two important mediator lessons emerged: temporality and silence.

Temporality. Allow time to flow at the necessary speed. Don't rush the process, but don't slow it down either. Participant A: "Time is money. Let's get this over with. Stop wasting my time." Participant B: "Let me tell you my story. It all started 40 years ago. Allow me to explain how we got here." Participant A runs on Manhattan time; Participant B on Lamhamid time. Reconciling those time frames in the same room is difficult. Understand the notions of temporality at play and allow appropriate time to flow for each party.

Silence. Allow the parties to speak freely and take the conversation where it needs to go naturally. As mediators, we tend to ask questions with preconceived notions about solutions. If I ask A and she responds B, C, or D, then I try to steer the discussion toward solution paths X, Y, or Z. But if I remain silent and let the conversation flow, it may lead participants to solutions never contemplated--Q, R, or S. When parties reach solutions organically, the outcome is more meaningful and party-driven, rather than shaped by the mediator.

Mediator silence and open-ended, less directed questioning are key lessons. Steve Rottman, a master mediator and respected leader in the field, recently explained at an International Academy of Mediators conference that he opens his mediations with five words: "How can I help you?" That's it. No lengthy introductions, no process explanations. Simply hello, and "How can I help you?"--followed by silence. This lesson struck me as I sat at the table with academics in Lamhamid. That's what Rottman really meant. Now I get it.

Mediation is a process framed in time and conversation marked by mediator silence. While we don't have the luxury of Lamhamid's temporality--our sessions have limited time--we can make that time meaningful and significant. Coupling that with lessons of silence allows us to reach places within the conversation that might otherwise remain closed.

Salaam aleikum. Peace be upon you. Peace is what we search for in life and in mediation. With patience and silence, and lessons from Lamhamid, we can find that elusive peace.