constanttrek

Alive and kicking

November 21st, 2006

I agonised over how to start this post. Do I attempt humour? Go for dead serious? Truth or a bit of glossing over reality? But the best thing about having had a couple of day's rest, is that I have gained a little perspective and some of my usual smile, so it will probably sound pretty normal. Which is good, because this stretch has been anything but. This is coming to you from the cosmopolitan, exotic, happening town of Atar.  Yep, that was irony in case you were wondering.  I have actualy walked nearly 600km to get here - interesting since it whould have been about 100 less than that.  But I skip ahead.  Let me give you the full disastrous saga so you can giggle at my expense.

This is Harraba.  Harraba was hired by Habib and I to walk with me to Atar.  I kind of knew he was pretty thick, but brains aren't always a requirement for this kind of thing - as long as he knew camels and basically the route, I was ok, since I was set up to navigate and was really more interested in someone helping me with the camels than actually guiding me.

Problem was, he just wasn't that great with camels.  Or the desert  Or anything, really.

The first day or so I was hesitant to make a judgement.  They pack camels differently here; they don't use the Shawary, the camel baskets I am used to.  Instead it is customary to use a series of cords and knots to tie everything on.  I already had the baskets, brought from Morocco.  I had also planed my equipment around using them, and wasn't set up to tie stuff on.  Unfortunately the baskets Habib brought down were smaller than the ones I used last time, and we couldn't buy what I wanted in Nouadhibou, so there was already a bit of a prob.  But on the first day we loaded up, and tied stuff on, and wandered off, alongside the train line that runs all along the Northern border of mauritania and the Western Sahara.

But stuff kept falling off.  Which spooked the camels, unsettled me, and pissed Harraba off.  He kept blaming the Shawary. I kept saying that the water tanks needed to be in the baskets, not underneath them, that there was no way things could possibly balance the way he had them set up.  But there was no arguing; I would do it my way, he would undo it amidst much muttering and cursing of stupid tourists, we would walk, stuff would fall off, and on we would go.  I am cutting this down to sheer bare basics here, but after three days of this, I was getting seriously annoyed.  I was also getting rather suspicious about his desert experience; on two occasions when he went to get the camels oin dusk from where they were feeding, he lost his way back, and I had to guide him in with the flashlight.  And then there was the early morning thing.  I am an early riser, as you need to be here.  But this guy was a bit beyond the pale - lurching out in the pitch black, hawking and spitting with such ferocity that one had little option but to arise with alacrity, and then sitting half asleep drinkiung tea for an hour before the first light even glimmered.  I thought maybe it was for my benefit, to daunt me or some such, and so was determined not to moan until I had it worked out.  Ah, but then we got to the full moon.

The first night that the moon rose full, we were on a plateau that lit up like daylight, as it does here when the moon is big. 

At an utterly ungodly hour I heard the unmistakable sounds of Harraba's early morning ablutions.  I cast an eyue to the sky and saw where the moon was; I raised my head and looked about.  No dount about it.  It was the middle of the night.  I figured he was having a little trouble sleeping and rolled back over to go to sleep.  And then I heard the tea being made, and Harraba called out, and we had a little conversation which went something like this (bear in ming my woeful Arabic):

H: Hurry, come here, drink tea, it is dawn.  Let's go.

P:  It is not dawn.  It is the full moon.  Go back to sleep.

H: (amidst much grumbling and Arabic cursing of idiotic tourists who don't know anything) It is not the moon, look there, it is the dawn, come on, hurry, drink tea, lets go.

P: It is NOT.  It is the night.

H: Lets go.

At this point I realised an impasse when I saw it, and was sodding well awake anyway, so with much bitter cursing in English I made my way over to where he was an sat to drink bloody tea.  And we sat.  And we sat.  And of course no sun appeared because it was the middle of the night.  And finally he said in a suprised tone:

"It is still the night! Go back to sleep."  I think you can possibly imgagine my thoughts at that point.  I didn't sleep.  I decided that if it was light enough for that drongo to wake me up, then it was damn well light enough to walk, so I sent him to get the camels and we packed up in nasty silence and we walked and walked, about three hours, before the dawn came, and yet again the baggage fell off.

This continued night after night.  He just couldn't wrap his head around the full moon thing. Who the hell ever heard of a nomad whio didn't understand the moon?  Even worse, he didn't believe me that the camels walk miles at night in the full moon, and so need to be tied down until just before the dawn.  He insisted on hobbling them, whicvh of course meant they wandered forever, which in turn meant long hours tracking them and bringing them back.  You might ask why I didn't insist; but by this time we were arguing about everything, and I was getting tired.

I was also getting sick.  It has never happened to me on the walk before.  I have had the odd cold or bug, but never realy been crook.  But this time I knew it was neasty, and after a bit, knewx I had a kidney infection.  I was taking antibiotics but nothing seemed to work, and I couldn't get my temperature down.  We were doing twenty five to thirty a day, and I was struggling to do that and cook, especially given the late night disturbances and baggage problems.

Those old baggage issues came to a bit oif a head about ten dayss into the walk.

After the customary arguments and grumbling from Harraba, we came to the usual unsatisfactory arrangements.  Unfortunately that day saw us come unexpectedly upon a group of camels grazing; two bulls immediatemy headed over agressively to check out the interlopers.  Harraba was walking behind me with one of the camels, which of course was the one carrying my pack.  I yelled at him to get out of the way and that we needed to move to the left, fast, but he gave his usual scathing look and carried on.  The camel, predictably, got spooked; when it leapt three foot sideways into the air, squealing and grumbling in response to the challenge from the others, Harraba hauled on the rope connected to the nose ring.  The rope slipped out (this should NEVER happen) and the camel duly went nuts.  It's terror only increased when the baggage began to fall off, and it took off toward a rocky outcrop.  You can guess the next scenario.  The backpack fell, with an almighty thump, straight onto the rocks, from a ten foot height.  I looked at it with a sinking heart, barely daring to imagine what had happened to the contents, and then applied myself to catching one exceedingly pissed off camel.

That night I opened up the laptop, which had been fully charged the day before, and hit the power button.  You guessed it.  No go.

I just kind of hung my head, and thought - oh, Christ.

But that night I got angry.  With myself, for letting this happen, with Harraba, who was plainly an idiot, and just - well, just in general.  Had I really worked this hard to make one stuff up after another?  Through the night I got angrier and angrier, and being sick wasn't helping.  I pulled the map out and looked carefully; I saw there was a well about two days from where we were.  Where there are wells there are tents.  Right, I thought: that is where Harraba gets off.

But I factored this without remembering the family thing.

The next day Harraba was in an awful hurry.  I stumbled along, crook as a dog, and amused myself thinking about how I would tell him it was all over.  Then I realised he was definitely heading somewhere, rather than our normal route; when I asked, he told me that his family were close by. 

I nearly had a fit.  I have had enough experience of families in this part of the world to know that they mean long stops, at least one night, and gifts, incessant tea, and an exhausting round of questions for me.  I am used to it, and most of the time I enjoy it.  But sick and fed up as I was, I could not imagine anything worse at that particular time.  I also know that there is no way out of it - there would be no excuse whatsoever for passing straight by the home.

So I grit my teeth and we walked ten kilometres out of our way and we got there, and it was the usual long saga of women wanting to henna my feet, me paying for meat and sugar, smiling and telling everyone what a great bloke Harraba was (also obligatory) and handing out melekhvas as gifts for the women.  In the middle of this my temperature was raging but I know better than to mention that I am sick - to do so would mean every woman for a ten mile radius fussing about me, and all I needed was sleep, and water.

I didn't really get either.  In the morning I insisted, nicely, that we leave.  The women - having heard Harraba complain about how much baggage I had, and how it wasn't packed properly, had, in the meantime, decided to repack my entire kit so that it was entirely unmanageable.  I wondered where they had got to the night before.  I just loaded stuff on and got the hell out of there, determined I would fix it all the following day when we got to the well.

So we got to the well.  We sat down to have tea, and I was summoning up my courage - and seriously doubting my ability to handle things on my own, being sick and with one very angry camel, when I opened the tea glasses box.

Now, I left Nouadhibou with six lovely glasses.  I chose them; I was proud of them; and I had them packed carefully in the same way I always do, that ensures they never break.  But despite all of that, every few days, another one had smashed.  There is little one can do to prevent it when the entire contents hits the ground with force.

This day, I opened the box up, and there was one glass left not broken.

One.

I looked at that glass and if ever the world was trying to give me a message, I figured now was most definitely it.  I looked at the glass and I looked at Harraba and I thought: do I seriously want to share a glass with this plonker?

And I thought of how he was always going on about how his wife was too old, and that he really wanted a new one (that looked exactly like me) and how he never listened, and insisted on eatring dates every night with his dinner; I thought of how he had already asked what his tip would be, when I was already paying the sod more than I earn in a month; and how he had happily given away half my food supplies to his family.  I thought of all of those things and I thought: I don't give a stuff how hard it is for the next three hundred km.  This guy has GOT to go.

Just at that very moment he came back from the well leading the most prized of my camels.  Yet again, despite my arguing, he had tied the drums on in a way I don't like; as I watched, they began to slip.  I yelled out but it was too late - they fell to the ground, tangling about the leg of the camel - which predictably went nuts - and as I was already on my feet and sprinting I saw him pull out his knife to cut the cord.

I have never screamed so hard or run so fast, and I think he got such a fright, and the camel too, that they just kind of froze.  I grabbed the lead and got the camel down.  I got it roped so it couldn't move and I got down and carefully unwound the cord, Harraba waving the knife around and wanting to clice it. 

"Do not touch my camel," I said, and I swear I looked at him so hard it could have shattered ice.  I was so angry I could barely see straight.  He backed off woundedly, clutching his little finger, which had broken because (predictably) the cord was wound about his hand when the camel went nuts.  I led the camel back to the others and he followed, begging for me to attend to his hand.  I completely ignored him.  I went and got my other camels and got them down, roped them, and started packing them - my way.

He wanted to know what I was doing - we were supposed to be stopping for tea.

I said, very calmly, "I am walking on my own from here."

He got in my face, and he began arguing, but I had already seen a group of blokes coming over, and I wasn't worried.  I kept on packing.  His arguments changed to demands for money - what about his money????  I kept on packing, and told him it was coming.

He ran off, and I knew he was going to find someone to speak french, and sense, to me; and to make sure he got his money.  I kept packing.

The blokes gathered around and watched, and when one tried to help I smile sweetly and told him not to touch my camels please, as I packed them a certain way.  He backed off, and they all stood around and looked on concernedly, offering the odd comment.  I got Harraba's little bag out and put his money into it; I asked on of the men to count it with me, which he did.  Then I got out some paper and I wrote a letter in French, which I read out to the assembled group, stating that I absolved harraba of any responsibility for my welfare and that it was entirely my choice to walk alone from here.  By this stage, the assembly began to get the picture, especially when I indicated the broken glasses and rolled my eyes a bit; they began to get into it, and to get the giggles.

I sat down and waited for him to return.

He did so shortly after, complete with a truck full of his mates, who all work on the railway line we had been walking beside; I was immediately surrounded by jostling men firing questions at me.  I picked the smartest looking one and told him calmly that I would speak to him and Harraba and nobody else; he gave the order and they all backed off to a five metre distance.

He asked me why I was walking alone; I kept a fixed smile on my face and said I was very happy with Harraba, but that it was habit for me to walk alone, and that I wanted to go on that way.  He asked what would happen if the police questioned Harraba in the event (which they all expected) that I ran into trouble; I produced the paper.  At this point he started to laugh, and as Harraba got more irate, the others started to see the light and laugh too, especially as I maintained a big smile and kept insisting that harraba was wonderful; they knew, alright, and when I repeated the comment that he had made regarding the fact that when he slept with his wife after walking with me that he had been unable to make love to her, and commented that I hoped he wouldn't have any more problems like that, they absolutely broke up, and I knew I would be ok.  Harraba got in my face, and demanded his money and a tip - where's my money?  huh? my money?  I gave him a look, counted it out in front of everybody, and added a "cadeau" -  a bit extra.  I looked him straight in the eye and said "thankyou so very much for your kindness, care, and generosity" - and everyone there got it, and nobody said a word.

And I turned around and picked up the leads for my camels and I walked off.

Shitting myself, I might add.

About ten km later I finally had the guts to turn around; there was nobody behind me. 

Trembling with relief, I headed up into the dunes and to where there was good feed, and unpacked the camels.  It was absolutely beautiful; totally peaceful, with glorious rock formations and dunes all about.  I hobbled the camels and stripped off and had a fabulous wash and danced about naked on the dune for a bit, and then I sat down and made cous cous and tuna for dinner and marked my spot with the GPS and thought: oh, thank god, I'm alone.

The next day I walked hard and fast to get the hell out of there.  But that night, would you believe it, the sodding police turned up - with Harraba - who whined that he was worried I would have a problem on my own.  Rubbish.  He just wanted to cover his butt.  The police were okay, though, and they left after an hour or so.  A young guy, Ahmadi, had helped them track me.  He sat with me after they had gone and we had tea.  He was a nice boke, and said he lived nearby, and if I needed anything, to let him know.

The next day I had a real struggle; the drums of water were so hard to get on the camel on my own, just way too big, and by this time, I was really sick.  I got set up, and walked, but it wasn't fun at all, and by the time I stopped, I was feeling really worried about how I was going to manage.  I had found a satellite phone some days before to call Dad and let him know about the computer, but I didn't know how I was going to get to Atar fast on my own and sick, and packing the camels alone.  I walked again the next day and felt the same way, but figured the only thing I could do was keep going.

That night, just as I brought the camels in from feeding, the bolshy one jerked back and the nose ring tore straight through his nostril.  And he was off, and running.

I watched him go into the darkness and just felt as down as I ever have.  I put the other two camels down and roped them and got the GPS and compass, and started to track him.  It was a waning moon, rising late, and it was bloody dark. 

I walked through that night and I think I will never really know how.  I was tired and sick and I couldn't see well; I think the only reason I ever caught him was that the idiot animal headed for the dunes rather than the plateau where there was lush feed (remember, this is the seriously mentally challenged brown camel.  Not smart.), so at least the trace was clear in the sand.  I walked and walked and I thought of anything to keep my mind off the disaster I had created; I thought of my mates, and my family, and sometimes I laughed out loud at the memory of things they had said or done, and I walked on through the night and when I finally got to the camel I was relaxed and almost enjoying the walk.

I couldn't catch him the first go, and I was so tired, I kind of knew it would be stupid to try, so I just herded him back toward the others.  Early in the morning sometime I figured I had to get a rope about his neck, though, since he was getting antsy and I was only getting more tired.  It took me longer than I want to write about to do that; I got hauled off my feet, swung in the air, I swore, I yelled, I kicked and I stamped my feet in a temper tantrum.  But I did finally get him neck and mouth roped - I wasn't going to tackle the nostril just then - and, a round trip of nearly fifty km later, we got back to the others.

I came over the final dune and the most fabulous sight I have ever seen was there - Ahmadi, the young man who had helped me a couple of days before, sitting patiently with my camels.  He came and took the bolshy one, and I sat down, and he made me tea, and we didn't talk much for a bit.

It turned out he got worried, and jumped the train up a few kilometres to where my tracks left, and he had followed them in.  WHen he saw the two camels he figured he would stay with them til dawn to give me time to get back.  I could have howled with relief. 

He said he knew a bloke nearby who was a good nomad, who could walk with me; I was so exhausted and fed up I jumped at it.  We went to the home of Mohammed - one of life's truly wonderful old smiling men - and, after the usual delays, meals, tea, and present exchanging, he agreed to come with me.  I stretched my swag out beside his shack, Ahmadi led my camels off to feed, and I fell into the deepest sleep you can imagine.  Even the train rumbling past ten feet away all night didn't wake me.

So Mohammed and I set off the next day, and he was just a darling.  From the second I saw him tie a knot I felt the tension unravel, and not one bag fell off between there and here.  We understood each other - he packed things exactly as I would, only better, and was patient with my questions and generous with his knowledge.

The second day we walked we sat down in a lovely camp and he turned to me over tea and said: "tell me about Harraba."

 

And so I did.  The whole thing, from his first stupid knot tying to the whole moon saga, and by the time I got to the one glass story, Mohamed was rolling on the ground, skinny legs kicking in the air with hysterical laughter, and he gasped for breath and said "wahid cas! wahid cas!" (one glass) over and over again, killing himself with laughter at the tale.  I began to laugh too and before I knew it we were both rolling in the sand and that laughter was the best, the most rejuvenating, wonderful thing that had happened to me since I left Noudhibou, and when we were done I felt chiled and had just let it go.

SO three days later we were in Atar.  Mohammed propped with the camels, and I headed into the wicked city to get my life sorted.

Hey, and guess what? I have!

Unbeknownst to me, on the back of one brief satellite phone call from a tiny tent in the middle of the desert, the utterly formidable team of my family, Utopia travel insurance ( more on them in a moment) and various acquaintances - but most pârticularly, my Dad, Mum, sister Lisa and mate Graeme - had swung into the kind of action that makes Germany look inefficient, and I discovered that a laptop was on it's way, antibiotics were being couriered, and that the diagnostics of the Rbgan were already being sorted. I cannot tell you how amazing this was. Used to being totally alone out here, to discover this kind of backup, is just amazing; I am humbled, unbelievably grateful, and feel as if I have been picked up and wrapped in a blanket. It is amazing. Utopia is a travel insurance company. Before I left I had planned on putting a big post on here about them; but the details got sorted very late into the piece, and I just ran out of time. So here it is. If any of you have ever tried to get travel insurance for camels and laptops in the desert, you will know how basically impossible it is. I had given up; figuring that if it went pear shaped, I would just have to wear it. But then Utopia came through with the kind of support that left me stargazingly pinching myself, floored, and awed. Utopia haver sponsored me for full, comprehensive travel insurance. Equipment, me, health, the lot. But - and this is just the funkiest thing I have ever heard of - these guys really go the extra mile. They have also got an outfit called Red 24. Now, this is a phone number, that connects to some seriously dangerous guys, based out here in Africa; if I find myself in a life threatening situation; I have a number I can call, and within 24 hours, these guys are there, helicopter and all (one envisages guns blazing) to get me out. The thought of hunky mercenaries running over and picking me up was enough to make me WANT to find a life threatening situation. A girl has been isolated too long… But seriously, Utopia actually really, really get it when it comes to expeditions, out of the way places, and African inefficiency - and yu would never believe it but they even cover equipment that has fallen off bolshy camels. Bloody amazing. I will be putting up their details on the front page as soon as I can get proper internet time (when the laptop arrives) since the local conection here has taken me a full week to try to write this. I need to cut it short, so I am just going to say that I found myself in a great camp - the Bab Sahara - with a Dutch German couple who know the place backwards, and everyone in it. I have spoken to every noamd clear for about 100km, and after a full week (waiting for the laptop to arrive) have finally reached to guys who realy know what they are doing; as a result, after being told I would have to pay squillions, I now have one of the most respected men in the area walking with me for nothing - and guys lined up through to the border with offers of help. True, Saharawi, god to honest help, not pay-me-and-I'll-be-your-friend crap, but the real deal that I know from before, and it feels amazing to be back in it. But - and you are going to love this - the one glass story has done the rounds and is now apparantly known across Mauritania, so the price I pay for this help is to sit down with tea and a group of robed men squatting begging me to tell the one glass story, at which they all roll about in hysterics and slap my hands. It is closely followed by the full moon story. They love it. I think Mohammed must have seriously talked it all up, because they know about the escaped camel, and the dramas, and they are just suddenly so kind and funny and plain noble that I feel as if my world has made a complete three sixty; my walk, and my dream, is back on agin, just when I felt at my lowest. How brilliant. SO I leave tomorrow, providing the laptop gets here, and there will be more photos since there is a tourist walking with us for some of it, and the next entry will be more interesting and less moaning. I am healthy again, I am selling a camel in a week or so and buying another, and in two weeks I will be in Tjajikjia, and on my way to Tomboctou. More later - nothing here about the actual place, I know, and there is so much to say. I just ran out of time and am being eyed with hostility by the kid who wants to go for siesta. Cheers all.

PS the photos won't load from here so all being well alptop and rbgan wise, I will upload from the desert.  Sorry about that - hey, but it's jsut more camels and me in melekhva, and you've seen it all before…

Entry Filed under: trekking