Map studiers may well trace a finger down the coast of Morocco, stumble across the ambiguous, grey-shaded territory that is Western Sahara and, after a few minutes of googling, be surprised to discover that this is far from a barren no-man's-land: small desert towns dot the main highway all the way down to Mauritania. Hardly restricted to these pockets of civilisation, the Saharawi people have lived a nomadic life across the region for hundreds of years.
Aziza Brahim, a Saharawi actress, poet and singer born and raised in a refugee camp on the Western Saharan/Algerian border, reflects on her childhood roots on her latest acoustic album Soutak.
Translating as "your voice", Soutak can be interpreted in two ways. Foremost this is a personal expression, and so mixes Saharawi music with Brahim's teenage and adult life spent in Cuba and Barcelona.
More cuttingly, a united voice for the Saharawi, Brahim argues, would not be possible owing to the restrictions on Western Sahara by Morocco's suppressive control. Sleeve notes and lyrics in English, Spanish and Arabic offer a deep immersion in the surrounding politics.
At times Soutak is as beautifully sparse as the landscape it represents, with the tabal – a large hand drum – providing the only instrumental backing. More frequently, though, Soutak takes on a subtle lushness that brings together Spanish guitar licks with Malian-style desert blues.
Spain has an Arabic history, remember: there is a natural Islamic sound here that instals an exotic excitement from the heart upwards.
Anyone who, after a long flight and a big sleep, has woken up to the foreign sound of a call to prayer and thought: "Yes, I've arrived!" will be on the same wavelength.
Soutak is stunningly rich desert blues, and Brahim's lyrical content deserves this platform.