Thursday, November 10, 2005
Bilma, Niger
As one of the only aid workers in Bilma described it: "This place really is like the end of the earth." And I thought I came from Finland.
Perhaps it was the imagery of finality that first shaped my affinity to this place in the middle of the Sahara desert. In the end, it is at the extremities of the earth, the edges of civilization that you find pure being. Everywhere else, there is too much white noise. Gazing down to the oasis of Bilma from the Kawar escarpment at sunset is mystical. My senses had heightened from the intensity of the climb until I felt the grey colors of the sand dunes in the distance, the jade green haze of the oasis trees, and the orange and pink hues of the descending sun melting into me. A peace descended on me as I descended the mountain.
The miraculous waters of the oasis had over flown, creating a garden of eden among groves of date palms. A grazing white horse drank from a pool of water. Dozens of children jumped into the water to play, shrieking with happiness. They coaxed us in to play games and toss them about in the water. Instead of asking us for minties, they thanked us for the fun they had.
Caravans arrived from all over Niger to the salt mines outside the oasis. The smoke coiled from the traders' campfires at dusk, embers glowed in the darkness. The smell of roasted meat and livestock lingered in the quiet, still air. The camels rested in star-shaped formations, gathering their strength for the long road back through endless sand dunes. The moon exposed their massive silhouettes resting on the ground, their moans echoed through the valley.
Silence and emptiness create an uncanny ability to recognize life. The sound of the wind against the sand dunes is silent, until the wind caresses a rock and the rock sighs. The blackness of the night sky expands your vision. When you light a match, your eyes see each individual spark.
The desert is fiercely intense. You can see it in the people's eyes. Those eyes see life in the blankness of the desert, they find movement on the horizon, they can discern between mirage and truth. These eyes were never exposed to excess stimulation, they have the capacity to look straight at your soul. At times, I feel too empty, inexperienced, unaware to meet their eyes. I am perplexed and compelled to look away. Sometimes, when I can muster up the nerve, I return their gaze.
Welcome, these eyes say. Let us show you hospitality. Let us feed you. Let us look after you. The people of the desert are warm. Their welcome is chaleureuse. They will bring you three bowls of food and not feed themselves. They will put you on the back of their truck and ride you across 600 kilometers of desert and not expect anything in return. They will enjoy sitting quietly in your presence, until you break the silence. They will speak to you candidly. They will offer you what is theirs, even if they have less than you. They will fall in love with you, as you fall in love with them. And they will profess their love to you over and over.
As one of the only aid workers in Bilma described it: "This place really is like the end of the earth." And I thought I came from Finland.
Perhaps it was the imagery of finality that first shaped my affinity to this place in the middle of the Sahara desert. In the end, it is at the extremities of the earth, the edges of civilization that you find pure being. Everywhere else, there is too much white noise. Gazing down to the oasis of Bilma from the Kawar escarpment at sunset is mystical. My senses had heightened from the intensity of the climb until I felt the grey colors of the sand dunes in the distance, the jade green haze of the oasis trees, and the orange and pink hues of the descending sun melting into me. A peace descended on me as I descended the mountain.
The miraculous waters of the oasis had over flown, creating a garden of eden among groves of date palms. A grazing white horse drank from a pool of water. Dozens of children jumped into the water to play, shrieking with happiness. They coaxed us in to play games and toss them about in the water. Instead of asking us for minties, they thanked us for the fun they had.
Caravans arrived from all over Niger to the salt mines outside the oasis. The smoke coiled from the traders' campfires at dusk, embers glowed in the darkness. The smell of roasted meat and livestock lingered in the quiet, still air. The camels rested in star-shaped formations, gathering their strength for the long road back through endless sand dunes. The moon exposed their massive silhouettes resting on the ground, their moans echoed through the valley.
Silence and emptiness create an uncanny ability to recognize life. The sound of the wind against the sand dunes is silent, until the wind caresses a rock and the rock sighs. The blackness of the night sky expands your vision. When you light a match, your eyes see each individual spark.
The desert is fiercely intense. You can see it in the people's eyes. Those eyes see life in the blankness of the desert, they find movement on the horizon, they can discern between mirage and truth. These eyes were never exposed to excess stimulation, they have the capacity to look straight at your soul. At times, I feel too empty, inexperienced, unaware to meet their eyes. I am perplexed and compelled to look away. Sometimes, when I can muster up the nerve, I return their gaze.
Welcome, these eyes say. Let us show you hospitality. Let us feed you. Let us look after you. The people of the desert are warm. Their welcome is chaleureuse. They will bring you three bowls of food and not feed themselves. They will put you on the back of their truck and ride you across 600 kilometers of desert and not expect anything in return. They will enjoy sitting quietly in your presence, until you break the silence. They will speak to you candidly. They will offer you what is theirs, even if they have less than you. They will fall in love with you, as you fall in love with them. And they will profess their love to you over and over.
2 Comments:
Tuuli
Very powerful stories. Brought tears to my eyes and reminded me of our human connectedness - each in our own tiny corner of earth. We need this reminding everyday i think. Thank you for your writing.
Kristi N.
Very powerful stories. Brought tears to my eyes and reminded me of our human connectedness - each in our own tiny corner of earth. We need this reminding everyday i think. Thank you for your writing.
Kristi N.
heya buddy.
Strange I saw this but was researching volunteer progs d'other day and came across this blog. You really have a talent for writing y'know. It sounds so right the way this reads. Glad ya keeping well anyhows its great ya doing something so worthwile and interesting with life.
I'll mail ya over the next few days now that i'v got an email address for ya again.
Peace
Vince
Post a Comment
Strange I saw this but was researching volunteer progs d'other day and came across this blog. You really have a talent for writing y'know. It sounds so right the way this reads. Glad ya keeping well anyhows its great ya doing something so worthwile and interesting with life.
I'll mail ya over the next few days now that i'v got an email address for ya again.
Peace
Vince
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