Aliki Nassoufis tries out a trek in the Sahara
Journeying on a camel through the Sahara Desert shows tourists in Morocco the vastness of the sand dunes, which stretch to every horizon. The lush Draa Valley is an extensive oasis with sky-high palms and dense cornfields. But the greenness gives away to an arid landscape as the surrounding Sahara desert is approached.
For kilometres the road in southern Morocco travels through sparsely populated areas until it ends in M’Hamid. Here a few buildings defy the desert and provide a starting point for tours.
In M’Hamid a turban-wearing trader spots the tourists and shouts with a grin, “Welcome to the end of the world!”
The world doesn’t end at the desert fringe of course, but as the camel trek will show over the next few days, the familiar, modern world does.
The vast Sahara desert has been back in the news recently with the French troops arriving in Bamako, 2,000km south of here, and with terrorist raids at an Algerian gas site 1,500km to the east.
Starting a tour out of the Draa Valley begins with hard work. Firstly the camels must be loaded with all the things the tour will require: food, gas stoves, tents, sleeping bags, and of course water bottles, dozens of them.
The load doesn’t seem to disturb the camels. They lie peacefully while the baskets are attached to their backs.
Then it’s time to set off on foot on the road that passes over the shimmering, reddish sand. Slowly the houses disappear from view and there’s nothing to be seen except desert.
The camels are linked together and move forward evenly. It’s quiet, all that can be heard are the movement of the camels, the voices of the tourists and the gurgle of the water bottles.
The first big adventure is announced a short time later as Abidin, one of the two guides accompanying the tour, looks at the horizon.
“There’s a sand-storm coming,” the young Berber says.
That is not simply a wind that blows some sand about. The sky becomes grey and the blazing sun is almost blotted out. Tonnes of sand swirl through the air, pounding against man and beast and making speech impossible. It’s difficult to see or even to breathe.
The tourists and their guides wrap their Berber dress around their heads and across their faces.
Eventually the wind is so strong that the eyes are better almost completely closed. Everyone concentrates on his or her own progress and keeping in touch with the small caravan.
The group comes at last to a dune. Straight, high and wide, it blocks the wind and is large enough to pitch camp for the night. Everyone can breathe again. A little later a tent is up, the group are inside and Abidin begins to prepare dinner, a simple meal of rice and vegetables.
The tourists and the guides talk. The other guide is Fouad. The shyer of the two, he usually gives an embarrassed smile when addressed. Nevertheless, he joins in the conversation with a mixture of English and French.
Fouad is 22, Abidin 25. They both grew up in the desert and have been working for a while as tour guides.
They express amazement that the Europeans have so few siblings or even none. Abidin has six brothers, Fouad four sisters — “a small family,” he says, laughing.
The next morning the storm has passed even though the travellers find the wind-blown sand has got everywhere, even into their mouths and ears. The tour sets off again through endless sandy landscapes, Abidin in front and Fouad behind, leading the camels on a rope.
One of the highest points is the area around the Sahar dunes. The highest is 300m high. The wind always whistles around here, Abidin says. The climb up the dunes requires some effort because your foot or half your lower leg sinks into the sand with every step.
Shoes in hand, the group trudges on in their socks while the wind blows a fine layer of sand over the summit of the dunes. But the view from the top is breathtaking and makes the climb worthwhile.
It’s moments like these that are burned into the memory and make all the difficulties bearable — such as an eternally blazing sun, blistered feet, and only rare opportunities to attend to the simplest tasks of hygiene.
The trip offers plenty of unforgettable moments: Fouad at breakfast spooning huge amounts of sugar into mint tea to create what is called Berber whiskey, a non-alcoholic drink served in small glasses.
Or how Abidin greets his favourite camel, Seram, with a kiss on the cheek.
Then there was the way the wind gently swept through the few trees of a small oasis where the caravan had stopped for a midday break.
And the evening sun disappearing behind the dunes and bathing everything in a deep red light.
For days no other people are seen but boredom isn’t a problem because the desert is ever-changing. Sometimes it’s sandy and raises dunes, other times it feels like rubber and almost bounces with every step.
Every now and then, traces of human life appear: the ruins of an old building, pottery or even human bones. After all caravans have been passing through the Sahara for centuries.
It is time to build another camp for the night. Shortly before sunset Fouad has found some wood for a fire. The group sits down to warm themselves as now that the sun has gone down it has grown quite cold.
Abidin prepares a large loaf of flatbread. He takes embers from the fire, spreads them out with a stick, lays the round dough on top and then covers that with embers too.
After a few minutes the young Berber strikes the flatbread with a stick. It gives a hollow sound. The bread is ready, he says, and removes it from the ashes. The flatbread is distributed among the group. On the outside it’s crisp, and soft and warm on the inside.
Later the fire is out and the camp is pitch black. Thousands of stars twinkle in the night sky, seeming closer and more tangible than they do anywhere else. It’s a beautiful sight. It seems a shame to have to return tomorrow to the normal world. — DPA
