When I was twenty years old, I went to Morocco. One afternoon I walked into a carpet shop with my bulky guidebook in tow, telling the shopkeeper that I wanted to visit the Sahara Desert. Before I’d finished my cup of mint tea, I was in the back seat of the shopkeeper’s Honda Accord, tearing through the windy roads of the Atlas mountains for fifteen hours until we reached the desert where his cousin, Ali, was the chief of a caravan tribe.
After five nights traveling on camel back, subsisting on bread our guide baked in the sand, and sleeping under the stars tucked in wool blankets, I returned to the caravan camp, just as the sun went down to mark the first night of Passover. Atop a sand dune, my new friends and I drew the Seder plate in the sand and together sang “Let my people go.”
Gazing up at the brilliant stars, Ali says to me, “The only real difference between us is that my tribe reads one more book than yours.”
The modest amount of money I spent had given Ali and his cousin enough to live on for a month. And my newly gained understanding of the world, and of myself, instigated a decade of exploration that has aimed to positively impact the world, not least of which, was founding Vayable.