Dune Roamin'
Harpers Abroad, Philip Fiske
You don't have to be a Nomad to work here...but it helps. Philip Fiske joins a modern day desert caravan and journeys through the stunning, other worldly Saharan landscape of northern Niger, taking in stone-age rock paintings, abandoned cities and free-spirited camels.
You are in the desert. All is completely dark - and so completely quiet that you cannot detect the merest whisper of a wind, even when you hold your breath. Above you, visible through the tent's circular window, stretches the largest, clearest sky you have ever seen. Framing this glorious vista are the just-detectable voluptuous silhouettes of surrounding sand-dunes. You are 40 miles from the nearest human settlement, and 200 miles from the nearest television or working mobile phone. But your belly is full p a delicious roast supper and a 1998 Bordeaux - and your mind calm. And it feels good.
The setting is the Tenerer desert in northern Niger. A huge, landlocked former French colony, wedged between Algeria, Libya, Mali, Chad, Nigeria, Burkina Faso and Benin, Niger is so off the beaten track you probably haven't even heard of it. Neither have many other people. The country receives so few Western visitors that you would be hard pressed to find them, even if you wanted to.
What is now northern Niger has been a strong hold of the Tourag People for 500 years or more. There may be up to a million of htem in the country, many with a way of life tht has barely changed in generations - in some cases since their forebears controlled the crucial trans-Saharan trade routes in the 17th and 18th centuries. Meeting these veiled warriors in the flishes is certainly exciting and, although it is virtually impossible to find any common language with which to exchange pleasantries (the local language is called Tanashek and hardly anyone speaks the official French), it is, of course , only natural to want to make contact. Let me say simply this:beware the Tourag handshake. Unlike the Western version of the greeting, which is all about superficial confidence and firmness, shaking hands with a Toureg is like a duel. The protagonists approach each other cautiously and, with eyes locked, shake hands again and again (usually by the fingertips) until one decides to stop. The tricky bit is knowing when the moment has come to pull away.
Day One
Departing from Agadez, an ancient trading town in the centre of the country, we head east into the Air Mountain Range. Weaving between monstrous rocks and squeezing through narrow passes, we see an almost impossible array of scenery: boulders as big as houses crowning neat stacks of granite; lush green meadows shimmering in the wind; shrouds of sand suffocating ancient hill locks. After a couple of hours, we encounter our first Tuareg. Alone in the bush, he has lit a bonfire and is burning a tyre. Although he is mute we are able to establish that he hopes to extract the cords from the rubber to use as a string - rather extreme economy in rather an extreme environment. Later, we visit an ancient rock art site that is home to a sixteen foot long carving of a giraffe - evidence that even these barren lands were once full of people and wild animals. Our destination for the night is Iferounanie, a remote Toureg settlement to the north. After a cool beer ad a hot supper, we rest our grateful , weary heads at the local guest house.
Day two
Leaving jolly folk of Iferouane, we head off in search of the desert. Continueing encounters with Toureg riders give way to occasional brushes with local wildlife - mostly gazelles, plus the occasional jackal or mountain goat. In remote valleys we see apperantly abandones camels (technically one-humped dromedaries), but our guide, Akly, assures us that each one is spoken for; he explains that a camel can be left in the bush for several months until its owner sees fit to come and find it. The landscape becomes distinctly and irresistibly Martian. Finally we reach the desert itself, gorgeously pink and undulating. Pulling into the extending shade of a large dune, we stop to make camp. After food and wine, we settle down around the fire and tell ghost stories. At bedtime, stargazing ensues.
Day Three
We rise early and resurrect last night's fire for the sake of hot coffee. Like Napoleonic era army officers, we stand over maps and plot the day's action. Leaving no trace of our night's stay - we even carry off the embers from our fire - we roar away over the dunes. Every time we crest a peak, each of us lets out an involuntary coo of pleasure. The desert is impossibly lovely. As we traverse the sand, Akly makes a point of showing us evidence of prehistoric human civilisation: stone age fireplaces, complete with rolling pins and arrowheads, and huge circular tombs marking the sides of hills. Another impromptu desert campsite; another magical night under the heavens.
Day Four
Turning away from the Tenere and back towards the mountains, we find ourselves in Tuareg country once more. Pressing on, we eventually reach the paradise of Timia, a vast oasis. Here, Tuareg gardeners have created a stunning network of wildly bountiful gardens. Under the shade of some very elderly palm trees, farmers use sand filtered water to grow a rainbow selection of fruit and vegetables. Their success is such that Timia boasts a population of more than 6,000. We camp at the feet of the fruit trees.
Day Five
Returning to Agadez, we pass the ruined city of Assode. Nestling among a quartet of hills, Assode is a spectacular reminder that it is probably best not to anger the gods: dozens and dozens of roofless houses lie empty and open to the elements, like boiled eggs with the tops sliced off. The city is said to have flourished in the seventeenth century, but there is no-one here now. A straight faced Akly tells us that there are two theories explaining the devastation. The first says the city was abandoned upon the order of the gods, following an unwarranted human sacrifice. The second says the exodus followed the deflowering of 99 virgins by a particularly libidinous courtier. It is difficult to know which story to believe.
As the sun sets and we finally pull back into Agadez we get our first glimpse of modern life for almost a week. We are back in a place where phone calls can be made, emails sent, television watched. It is a curious thing, but I think we all experience a craving to return to the desert. Despite the heat and the emptiness (and, yes, the camping), it seems a shame to embrace the minutiae of contemporary living once again.
Now that we are back, Akly, too, has a story. He recalls the time he installed his mother in a house in Agadez so that she could be close to his family. Returning to visit her one day, he found her camping in the garden. Within a few weeks she had given up and headed back out to the wilderness. After a week in the desert, incommunicado and away from modern life, it is easy to understand why.
Philip Fiske travelled with Tim Best Travel to Niger
