On a Friday there are no official guides at the entrance gate of the old city of Ghardaia, nevertheless it is compulsory, and I have to ask the help of the military and police officials. But luckily some diplomats from Algiers showed up, and I was able to join them, not only for Ghardaia, but also the sister village of Beni Isguen; we walk up to the local mosque, always the highest point of a Mozabite town. The paths are very narrow, good for donkeys, but nothing else. In summer time when the temperatures rise to above 50 degrees, the locals relocate to the palm oasis below. We also visit the cemetery where ‘another one bites the dust’ does not have to be further explained, there are no graves, no flowers, just stones and sand from the Sahara. Beni Isguen is home to the Mozabite women, clad entirely in white, and revealing only one eye to the outside world.