Tuesday, November 15, 2005
The Sahara, Niger
The Journey Home
Once in the desert oasis of Bilma, we quickly found ourselves the guests of the regional Prefect. The current President's cousin, he held a very powerful position in an often unstable area. The Prefect was also a Fula, coming from the same tribe that I lived with for two years in the Gambia.
After a few greetings in his local language, the Prefect declared that we were family and invited us all over to his house for dinner. He informed us that he had to be in Agadez a couple of days later for a meeting and we were welcome to join him. After having enjoyed a few pleasant days at the oasis, we all had to be back on the road and the uncomplicated ride back to Agadez sounded like a godsend.
The following morning, we loaded our bags into the back of his open bed, military truck. Numerous other dignitaries traveling to the meeting joined us, along with a couple of soldiers with mean looking guns. Hanging onto the back, we took off at a ridiculous speed on the rarely traveled southern route through Fachi. We quickly crossed hundreds of miles of what is frequently described as the most beautiful region in the whole Sahara desert. Our car flew across pure unblemished desert, occasionally taking air. We arrived in Fachi in the early afternoon and had lunch with the traditional chief.
Before leaving, Tuuli and I played hide-and-go-seek with a horde of pestering children in the narrow mazes of the old town. Once inside, it was nearly impossible to find our way out. Constricted passageways opened up onto bridges, tunnels led to courtyards and almost every road eventually ended up a dead end.
After leaving Fachi behind, our car started going through tires at an alarming rate. We stopped briefly at a camp of incredibly well armed mercenaries working for a Chinese oil company who, while fixing our spare, gave us tea and cookies. When we left, they accompanied us a short distance into the desert, hooting and hollering while waving their guns in the air.
The flats didn't cease. After countless patch jobs, we finally found ourselves left in the open desert as the sun set with only three working tires. The driver, finished for the day, rolled out his mat and went to sleep. We did the same. The next morning, it seemed like they had found an ingenious solution to the problem. The driver and his crew tightly packed in an assortment of blankets into the tubing of the tire. This solution lasted less than a mile before one of the blankets had melted under the heat and the tire was again unserviceable.
We sat and waited in the desert while the Prefect called for help on his satellite phone; I was flabbergasted as to what solution could possibly present itself. Nate and I wandered a short distance away from the group. Suddenly, there was commotion back at the truck. Off in the distance we made out two distinct dust trails of approaching vehicles. The soldiers grabbed their guns and were now fanning out in a line a short distance away. Nate and I sprinted back to rejoin them.
As I got closer, one of the soldiers smiled at me and shouted 'tourists'. I thought for sure we were going to commandeer one of the vehicles at gun point. I just hadn't expected to be on this side of the gun. I wondered what a car load of frightened tourists would think of several white people amongst this formidable posse.
I will never know what plans the soldiers had for the two approaching cars. As they drew nearer, the incoming vehicles were quickly identified. They carried prominent government officials and traditional leaders from Dirkou and Djado, two of the other major desert oases in the region. These men were going to the same conference as the Prefect. After a rapid round of greetings, the soldiers fixed our tire with one of their spares.
We were not back on the road long before our new convoy was dealt another setback. The car from Dirkou broke down and had to be left behind. The occupants piled into the back of our already impossibly full truck. Hand holds suddenly became a precious commodity. Nate tied himself to a strap using an old sock. We were still driving at break neck speeds. The front left shock on the car from Djado failed. They quickly fell behind. A few scattered settlements appeared. Then suddenly, with little warning, the city of Agedez was upon us and we were effectively home.
The Journey Home
Once in the desert oasis of Bilma, we quickly found ourselves the guests of the regional Prefect. The current President's cousin, he held a very powerful position in an often unstable area. The Prefect was also a Fula, coming from the same tribe that I lived with for two years in the Gambia.
After a few greetings in his local language, the Prefect declared that we were family and invited us all over to his house for dinner. He informed us that he had to be in Agadez a couple of days later for a meeting and we were welcome to join him. After having enjoyed a few pleasant days at the oasis, we all had to be back on the road and the uncomplicated ride back to Agadez sounded like a godsend.
The following morning, we loaded our bags into the back of his open bed, military truck. Numerous other dignitaries traveling to the meeting joined us, along with a couple of soldiers with mean looking guns. Hanging onto the back, we took off at a ridiculous speed on the rarely traveled southern route through Fachi. We quickly crossed hundreds of miles of what is frequently described as the most beautiful region in the whole Sahara desert. Our car flew across pure unblemished desert, occasionally taking air. We arrived in Fachi in the early afternoon and had lunch with the traditional chief.
Before leaving, Tuuli and I played hide-and-go-seek with a horde of pestering children in the narrow mazes of the old town. Once inside, it was nearly impossible to find our way out. Constricted passageways opened up onto bridges, tunnels led to courtyards and almost every road eventually ended up a dead end.
After leaving Fachi behind, our car started going through tires at an alarming rate. We stopped briefly at a camp of incredibly well armed mercenaries working for a Chinese oil company who, while fixing our spare, gave us tea and cookies. When we left, they accompanied us a short distance into the desert, hooting and hollering while waving their guns in the air.
The flats didn't cease. After countless patch jobs, we finally found ourselves left in the open desert as the sun set with only three working tires. The driver, finished for the day, rolled out his mat and went to sleep. We did the same. The next morning, it seemed like they had found an ingenious solution to the problem. The driver and his crew tightly packed in an assortment of blankets into the tubing of the tire. This solution lasted less than a mile before one of the blankets had melted under the heat and the tire was again unserviceable.
We sat and waited in the desert while the Prefect called for help on his satellite phone; I was flabbergasted as to what solution could possibly present itself. Nate and I wandered a short distance away from the group. Suddenly, there was commotion back at the truck. Off in the distance we made out two distinct dust trails of approaching vehicles. The soldiers grabbed their guns and were now fanning out in a line a short distance away. Nate and I sprinted back to rejoin them.
As I got closer, one of the soldiers smiled at me and shouted 'tourists'. I thought for sure we were going to commandeer one of the vehicles at gun point. I just hadn't expected to be on this side of the gun. I wondered what a car load of frightened tourists would think of several white people amongst this formidable posse.
I will never know what plans the soldiers had for the two approaching cars. As they drew nearer, the incoming vehicles were quickly identified. They carried prominent government officials and traditional leaders from Dirkou and Djado, two of the other major desert oases in the region. These men were going to the same conference as the Prefect. After a rapid round of greetings, the soldiers fixed our tire with one of their spares.
We were not back on the road long before our new convoy was dealt another setback. The car from Dirkou broke down and had to be left behind. The occupants piled into the back of our already impossibly full truck. Hand holds suddenly became a precious commodity. Nate tied himself to a strap using an old sock. We were still driving at break neck speeds. The front left shock on the car from Djado failed. They quickly fell behind. A few scattered settlements appeared. Then suddenly, with little warning, the city of Agedez was upon us and we were effectively home.
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