At The End Of The World - A Night In The Sahara

Our tour was set to commence at noon. Kevin and I enjoyed breakfast atop the grand marché and prepared for the excursion into the desert. A word to the wise: understandably, changing money is difficult in Timbuktu. If you ever go, bring plenty ahead of time.

We were driven to the meeting point. We were already being offered trinkets by random people. Was this foreboding? Nevertheless, our chariots awaited us: camels for Jan Il, Kevin, myself and our Taureg guide Alcoo. Jan Il was especially excited. We set off for the desert…

Riding camels in traditional wood and leather saddles is a bizarre and rather uncomfortable experience (especially with the horn of the saddle being a large vertical plank of wood between your legs). Having no stirrups or reins was also strange to me, because I’m used to riding horses and being in full control, rather than being tied together. I got used to it, eventually. My camel Aybaydh, who I nicknamed Tim, was very well-mannered and did not smell - contrary to popular belief. Alcoo was a very friendly and likeable guide. Being the only one in the group who could speak French, I tried to make small-talk and translate for the others as best I could.

Going out into the desert was quite surreal. There was a lot of shrubs and small trees dotting the landscape, with some sand dunes standing above the sparse vegetation. We were told that one would have to ride on their camel for six days before seeing pure desert. To put this into perspective, it also takes 15 days of riding to reach the salt mines at Tadoueni, at the northern tip of Mali.

There was also a strange assortment of animals. “Wild” goats, donkeys and cattle walked about freely, munching on what they could. Apparently at night, they instinctively know to go back to the encampments, so they are allowed to roam as they please.

After a while, I noticed that I could no longer see Timbuktu and we appeared to be surrounded by desert – clearly we really were at the end of the world!

Two hours later, we arrived at the “village” (i.e. his tents). My bag was covered in camel hair. To keep a camel from going far, you tie its front legs together, so to move around, it “hops” about. Another strange fact: there is one kind of tree in the desert covered in thorns (I got caught in one) and they love to eat its branches. Wow.

While drinking Taureg tea and biscuits, we met Alcoo’s children and mother as well as the children of his uncle, who was apparently off in a caravan somewhere at the time. They were very adorable and well-behaved. Lunch was rice and goat. (Hey, at least it wasn’t fish)

We spent a few hours roaming around the desert, climbing the dunes and watching the donkeys play. It was so different to be there. I felt almost as if I was walking on the moon. At sunset I went out very far in search of a nearby village, but when darkness set in, I decided to return. Perhaps the end of the world was enough for tonight.

We set up our beds near the clam-shaped tents and drank more tea. Alcoo offered Jan Il one of his hand-dyed indigo turban cloths and we spent the evening slowly haggling in between dinner (more rice and goat), friendly conversation and more tea. We talked about the Taureg people, a historically marginalized nation, their lifestyle, the caravans that go to Mauritania and the impact of tourism on their lives. We sat and drank tea by candlelight under the stars and a crescent moon. So this is the desert life!