Friday, November 04, 2005
Bilma?
Agadez is a staging point. It has a prominent mud mosque, jutted by an even grid of rough sticks. It has three different markets, one of which operates primarily at night beneath meter long florescent lights that obviate the need to squint or feel mysterious. Agadez is a place to prepare for a crossing of the Sahara or it is a place from which to take tiny camelback expeditions through the Air mountains or into the sand dunes. It is best to come here and see what tempts you. Sean and I are tempted by Bilma. It is one of the most isolated towns on earth, a fortified oasis more than six hundred kilometers from the nearest large town—Agadez, which is not really a large town at all. Bilma is nestled against a towering escarpment on the far side of the Air mountains and the Tenere desert, the most scenic offerings of the Sahara.
In order to get there we will have to pay a commercial truck drivers roughly twenty-five dollars each to ride on top of his truck. We will then spend three to four days driving through the desert with whoever else happens to be hitching a ride, which is likely to be quite a few people. These trucks are on their way to Libya. Many aspiring illegal aliens make this arduous trek with the hopes of jumping the Mediterranean Sea to land in Europe. They will have begun their voyage as far away as Abidjan, Accra or Lagos. It should be good company. We'll bring along some gin.
A Tuareg man is asking around on our behalf. Tomorrow morning at 11am he will meet us at this hotel to let us know whether or not anyone has agreed to transport us. In preparation for good news we will be getting special permission from the police to make this particular journey, purchasing additional water storage containers and buying food for ninety-six hot sandy hours.
In preparation I am also getting fat. Burkina Faso forced me to punch two new holes into a belt I'd worn for years. I've never exactly burst out of my clothes, so this transformation concerned me, especially since reserve weight is a buffer against all sorts of feverish African maladies. While in Ghana I gorged on fufu, rat, ice cream and stout in order to inch back out to the regular hole of my waist delineating pants suspender. Now, I am sporting a test paunch. This does not concern me at all. If this sunstroke journey doesn't knock me back a few kilos some awful poo virus in Cameroon will.
Anyways, I am praying that Bilma is untouched by internet technology and I suspect that I am likely to be off the map for about two weeks. I don't know if my other team members share the motivation for West African travel that I have so far kept to myself. I continue to expect one of several ruinous things: perhaps our car and all related possessions will be taken from us by armed bastards, perhaps we will finally reach a point on a terrible road that destroys something essential and expensive in our car, or perhaps our car will simply become mired in a dreadful mudpit or sandtrap, irredeemable and lost. Fearing these things, and projecting that fear into Central Africa, has made me quite comfortable with delaying our descent and with exploring this region and its circumstances to the fullest. Here, at least, we should be able to travel in relative safety. Here, also, issues related to HIV/AIDS are less frequently discussed.
Agadez is a staging point. It has a prominent mud mosque, jutted by an even grid of rough sticks. It has three different markets, one of which operates primarily at night beneath meter long florescent lights that obviate the need to squint or feel mysterious. Agadez is a place to prepare for a crossing of the Sahara or it is a place from which to take tiny camelback expeditions through the Air mountains or into the sand dunes. It is best to come here and see what tempts you. Sean and I are tempted by Bilma. It is one of the most isolated towns on earth, a fortified oasis more than six hundred kilometers from the nearest large town—Agadez, which is not really a large town at all. Bilma is nestled against a towering escarpment on the far side of the Air mountains and the Tenere desert, the most scenic offerings of the Sahara.
In order to get there we will have to pay a commercial truck drivers roughly twenty-five dollars each to ride on top of his truck. We will then spend three to four days driving through the desert with whoever else happens to be hitching a ride, which is likely to be quite a few people. These trucks are on their way to Libya. Many aspiring illegal aliens make this arduous trek with the hopes of jumping the Mediterranean Sea to land in Europe. They will have begun their voyage as far away as Abidjan, Accra or Lagos. It should be good company. We'll bring along some gin.
A Tuareg man is asking around on our behalf. Tomorrow morning at 11am he will meet us at this hotel to let us know whether or not anyone has agreed to transport us. In preparation for good news we will be getting special permission from the police to make this particular journey, purchasing additional water storage containers and buying food for ninety-six hot sandy hours.
In preparation I am also getting fat. Burkina Faso forced me to punch two new holes into a belt I'd worn for years. I've never exactly burst out of my clothes, so this transformation concerned me, especially since reserve weight is a buffer against all sorts of feverish African maladies. While in Ghana I gorged on fufu, rat, ice cream and stout in order to inch back out to the regular hole of my waist delineating pants suspender. Now, I am sporting a test paunch. This does not concern me at all. If this sunstroke journey doesn't knock me back a few kilos some awful poo virus in Cameroon will.
Anyways, I am praying that Bilma is untouched by internet technology and I suspect that I am likely to be off the map for about two weeks. I don't know if my other team members share the motivation for West African travel that I have so far kept to myself. I continue to expect one of several ruinous things: perhaps our car and all related possessions will be taken from us by armed bastards, perhaps we will finally reach a point on a terrible road that destroys something essential and expensive in our car, or perhaps our car will simply become mired in a dreadful mudpit or sandtrap, irredeemable and lost. Fearing these things, and projecting that fear into Central Africa, has made me quite comfortable with delaying our descent and with exploring this region and its circumstances to the fullest. Here, at least, we should be able to travel in relative safety. Here, also, issues related to HIV/AIDS are less frequently discussed.
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