Archive for April, 2006
April 29th, 2006
Just a quick one.
I met with Danielle from the sandblast-arts project, and felt wildly excited about what she is doing; it seems that we are very much coming from the same angle in regard to the Saharawi issues, and I feel very passionate about the way in which she is working with Saharawi artists toward self empowerment and recognition through the art and music of the desert. We are meeting again this week to talk about how we can tie our two projects together, and work toward mutual publicity and recognition. For me it was also a wonderful experience to meet with another European who understands the culture and has actually spent time in the desert; it has helped a lot with the inevitable feelings of loneliness and alienation I have experienced after moving so abruptly from one environment into another. I am feeling very positive about working with her, and also relieved that through her project I can remain focussed on my own. I remind myself every day that I must simply find a way to carry on walking in September, no matter how great the financial obstacles seem at times.
I realise that the readership for this blog is not massive, but as I move more into a relationship with the sandblast project and begin to form plans as to how to move forward, I would be hugely appreciative of any ideas, comments, or suggestions from readers. Somehow I feel that for me the way forward in this thing is through communication and being part of a wider community – a high priority for me, as for Danielle, is to raise international awareness of the issues in the Western Sahara – a corner of the world which few people recognise or understand. Over the coming weeks I hope to post a lot on this site in connection with the arts and creativity which comes out of the desert, in the hope that I can communicate the beauty and depth of the culture I have been travelling in – and that it can be through this that Saharawi life can be showcased, rather than simply as a political issue. The politics can never be my fight – but helping to bring the culture to a wider community, can be.
Anyway. As I said – a quick one – but I want to stay in contact and online, and keep any interested people aware of what I am doing to keep the walk on track. I hope to get some photos up soon to give you a visual picture of what is happening with sandstorm – in the meantime the link is www.sandblast-arts.org, if you want to see what Danielle is working on.
More soon
Paula
April 25th, 2006
Well, I might be back, but the photographs continue!
My last day in the Boujdor house, making tea and feeling mixed emotions about leaving. Thanks to Jamila and family for the fresh henna.
This was a traditional wedding in MHamid just before I left; Saharawi wedding ceremonies are long and
involved, the celebrations continuing for three days, and pre-marital rituals such as the bringing of gifts to the bride’s home, much longer than that. Contrary to Christian practice there is no one person who officiates over the ceremony. Rather the bride and groom gather with their families and agree to the marriage; it is the parents who say words of blessing from the Qu’aran, and join the two. There is no rigid formula to how this is done.
Afterwards, the marriage is consummated, and a key part of the ceremony remains the display of the blood stained sheet, evidence of the bride’s virginity. Friends of the groom will wait outside the room until the sheet is displayed.
So it was from amidst the feasts and festivities, I left MHamid, the desert, and Morocco, and took a flight back to the grey and cold (seriously cold) environs of England. But I would be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying it.
After the craziness of the last few weeks in Morocco, sorting out the camels, travelling from one end of the country to the other (between Boujdour and MHamid alone is something like 2000 km), organising my baggage and leaving everything in a state which I can come back to, I was pretty fed up and tired. After such a long time away, also, I was hanging out to see friends, talk in my own language, be around men and women of my own culture. Particularly men.
And I couldn’t have come back to a more divine environment; I am staying with Dan and Stefania, very good friends of long standing, who worship at the altar of good food and wine, and also work independently (ie: also desperately trying to convince various organisations to fund their creative projects), and so I sank into the indescribable bliss of endless conversation, constant gourmandisation, and general congeniality. The only time I have drawn breath from talking is in order to pause and stuff more divine Italian cheese in my mouth. (Cheese! HAM! AAAAhhhhh, as Homer Simpson would say.)
And in the meantime, I have been trying frantically to work out what to do next. And here is where I am at.
The Radio Program "Excess Baggage" on radio Four have expressed an interest in me coming on the show (on Saturday Mornings); they have said they will call back this week, conditional of producer’s approval, with a date. I have my fingers crossed and will be straight on this blog if it happens. I phoned the Royal Geographical Society; but the unofficial response from them is that my chances don’t look good, since my expedition is more adventure based than research. I have never relied on the RGS, and always seen it as a long shot, though one I would have been very grateful for; they are now saying that rather than the original date of May, it is now more likely that interviews will be held in June (the first date given was JANUARY…), so the way I figure it, whether I make it to interview or not, I need to be here for a while. I have come across a fabulous woman by the name of Danielle Smith, a filmmaker who has worked with the Saharawi, and spent long periods of time in the refugee camps of Tindouf. She is currently in London after being awarded an Arts Council grant to showcase the culture and music of the Saharawi, and she is working hard to raise international awareness of the plight of people in the Western Sahara,a cause that is obviously very close to my heart. I am meeting with her later this week, which I am really looking forward to. You can look at her website at www.sandblast-arts.org. I am hoping to work closely with her, and feel excited about the projects the sandblast organisation are working on.
In the meantime I am still writing and sending off articles in the hope that someone will buy them, and working on my next book; and trying to get publicity in order to shift the first one! I have a lot of ideas about how I can raise money for the next leg of the walk (through my own efforts I mean – I am not going after sponsorship, as this has always been about me working to support myself through the walk, not relying on someone else to pay for my "holiday"). Although it is a bit tough at the moment, since there is no money and no immediate prospect of any, I feel that if I just continue focussing on what I am doing, and remain determined to walk again in September, that I will find a way to do so. And despite the fact that it is a wonderful luxury to be back in the UK, and feasting on food and friends, I miss the desert and my walk and I know I must continue.
I have been in constant contact with friends back in Morocco – it is pretty funny when I get a phone call on my mobile and pick it up on the bus, only to hear someone on the other end shout, "LABAS!" (how’s it going) at great volume. Most of my phone calls just consist of the endless Saharawi greetings before the credit runs out, but I enjoy them just the same. It makes Morocco and the desert seem not so far away.
But, just as before, when we were planning our walk, I think that London is the best place for me to be based until I can start walking again. Everything is here, it is easy to work, and to be in contact with people. It is hideously expensive to live, and the weather really is bloody awful, but conversely, it truly is the centre of the world. I just need to find a cheap room to doss in for a month or two!
I hope to be posting a bit more regularly now that I am back and somewhat readjusted. I say somewhat; I still have an utter tea addiction and am very grateful I brought back all the necessary ingredients to make it properly. I miss my melekhva a lot; it is very strange to have to think about clothes again, and I don’t feel as elegant and somehow comfortable in my Western stuff as I do now in melekhva. Odd, when I remember how difficult it was to manage at the beginning.
One thing I DO NOT miss, particularly after passing some time in Marrakech before coming back, is being constantly approached by men on the street. The first day I was back here I walked from the tube station to Dan and Stefania’s flat, and passed several men. I put my head down and hunched my shoulders, mentally bracing myself for the barrage of crap I am so accustomed to. Sure enough, one bloke called out, "hello! Hello!" just like in Morocco. I gritted my teeth and wanted to kill him; how dare you, I thought – do I have something on my head that says I have just come back from Morocco and quite LIKE being approached? Seething inside, I ignored him and stalked on, carrying my pack and my anger. Suddenly another man did the same thing, and this time I was nearly in tears. I ignored him too. Then a girl ran up to me and tapped me on the arm: "excuse me," she said, "but you dropped this."
It was my bag of maps, and it had fallen off my pack. I turned around and the blokes were looking at me curiously, wondering why I had ignored them; they had been trying to let me know I had lost something. I felt so ashamed, and sorry and sad, and teary again; I wanted to explain that for months and months, every time I walked down a town street in Morocco I had endless men saying "Hello, hello. How are you? fine? American? Australian? Ah, very beautiful…" or, if I was less fortunate, simply "we go together? Now? I f@&k you?" And that this does something to your head, 
after a while, makes you defensive and sullen and stubbornly blind to all around you. (At this point I feel guilty and so place here a picture of some of the many "good guys" – nomads are always models of courtesy and kindness).
For this I loved wearing melekhva; but in the North, rather than the Western Sahara, it simply wasn’t possible to wear it. There are barely any Saharawi women in Marrakech, let alone a Westerner adopting the dress. Only one night I wrapped up – it was late and I was hungry, and I just couldn’t bear the hassle. I made full melekhva and walked right past them all, without one comment. It was bliss. The problem, of course, came when I opened my mouth – at which point my cover was completely blown.
Of course, if a man, like Madani or MBarak, was beside me, the comments stopped, if not the looks. But I was – am – tired of the constant hassle and harassment, the being seen as a walking visa opportunity and one desperate for sex into the bargain (and believe me, Western women are certainly considered in such a way, much of the time). It is the difference between Saharawi culture and the rest of Morocco; in the desert I was simply another nomad, part of the culture and respected for it. But the second I entered a town that changed, and suddenly I would have to deal with the other Morocco, one I don’t like being alone in. It was exhausting and alienating; when I got back to England, I even hesitated before hugging my male mate hello, and that made me sad too. I have become so accustomed to treading around men with massive caution and trepidation that it is taking me a bit of time to readjust to them being friends and non-threatening. It is cultural differences like these that made my time out there so exhausting, and challenging; I think of the walk itself and that wasn’t the hard part, although it had its moments. It was in the constant socialisation, and never ending immersion in another culture – without any kind of respite, and so totally different to my own – that the challenges lay.
But I have learned so much through this walk, and will do many things differently when I re-commence; I feel so passionately about continuing, and feel, also, that I have only begun to learn what I want to. There is so much more still to master and experience.
Well. One downside of having all this time and internet access is that I can’t refrain from inflicting my mental cartwheels on everybody else, so after that long rumination I will stop. I will write again if (oh, what the hell, let’s be positive – WHEN) I get a date for the radio program, and with any other thoughts or ideas that come my way. If you have any – feel free to share them! I am grateful for any and all suggestions.
Once again I really want to say an immense thankyou to all the kind people who emailed me in support, giving me encouragement, after my last post. I say it a lot on this blog but I truly remain grateful every day for the kindness of strangers and friends who take the time to write. It means the world to get them, and the messages on the site.
So I am going to go and make some more tea and indulge in something fatty, sweet, and NOT tajine or camp stew. May as well enjoy the sins of the West, eh?
The horses are from the king’s visit; they were part of the parade I spoke about in an earlier post.
April 8th, 2006
Another update without photographs…I do apologise, but now my excuse is that I am in Marrakech and the camera is in MHamid, where there is a wedding this weekend. Madani wants to take some pictures, so for some time now, I have not downloaded any pics, hence the visual desert on this page.
Actually, I haven’t done much of anything. And, let me tell you, my friends: it has been BLISS.
I had no idea how tired I was – well, maybe I did, and that was why I left Boujdor and came up here; but I was really, truly exhausted. There is a hotel here where the guys are incredibly kind and know me well; they gave me an excellent price on a room, and I entered, shut the door – and slept. It is difficult to describe how bombed I was; I actually found it an effort to go out the door and buy food! I think it was not just the walk, but the endless company I had been in – I knew I was crotchety and, unusually for me, snarly with everyone; what I didn’t realise was that I was just utterly exhausted.
So, a week or so later, about three long, lovely scrubby hammams, many English editions of the newspaper, and more midday naps than Ronnie Reagan in his last days, I have gained some perspective and sense of humour once more. For which we are all eternally grateful!
Madani and I organised everything with the camels over the phone, with massive assistance from Habib, and after a back breaking three day journey they arrived in MHamid two days ago, somewhat bewildered to have covered in three days what it has taken them six months on foot. Madani is actually much happier now that we have chatted a lot and I have explained what I am doing to try to keep the walk going – not try, that is the wrong word – what I am doing to KEEP the walk going. I think it was very tough for him feeling that after all this time, and glimpsing a future beyond leading tourists into the desert for a few days, he would just have to swallow his dreams and go back to the family home and old work.
But I have been thinking a lot these last couple of weeks, and come up with a few things.
First of all – even if the grant comes through, as I said earlier, I will not be walking again until September. This gives me some four months to work on my next book and on raising money. I plan to spend some of that time coming back to Morocco and studying Arabic at the Language Institute in Fes, if it is at all possible financially, so that at least my Arabic is fluent by the time I start hiring the next guide etc.
More importantly, I think that the gut instinct when things get panicky with money is to jump into a routine job “just to make ends meet” for a bit. The problem with this theory, in my experience, is that once one takes this road, the road creeps up to become your life; the dreams get shoved to one side, then eventually left behind. I set out on this walk in order to pursue my desired career of writing. I have finished my first book, and am half way through my second; I have had several articles published and am waiting in hope for news on others. Everything in me says to just put my head down and keep plugging on with those things, no matter how broke I might be – and just keep thinking about the next stage of my walk, planning it, and keep in my head that come September, I will be walking once more.
The strange thing is, I don’t really doubt it; right now it is just a question of exactly how I am going to achieve it.
I have learned a few things this week. The first is that when it is time to take a break – you MUST take it. Two weeks ago I was despondent, feeling that I had failed, and that if I shipped the camels back to MHamid, that would be then end of the walk and my dreams; after just a bit of a rest I can see all sorts of different options, and feel a renewed passion for what I am doing, a passion that is hard to truly feel when you are exhausted, run down, and six months out there.
I was reading about Karl Bushby again this week. Those of you who have followed this blog may remember me raving about Karl – he has spent seven years walking from the tip of South America to the top of North America, and has just crossed the Bering Strait into Russia – all of this in his planned attempt to walk around the world. He is currently having a hell of a time of it, having walked through Arctic blizzards only to be arrested by the Russians on arrival. But this ins not what got me – it was something else that he wrote earlier in his blog. He said when he went back to his family for a six month break that he was at one of the lowest points in his life, seriously questioning why he was doing this walk, if he wanted to continue at all; but that after only two weeks rest, he found himself almost subconsciously thinking about and planning the next stage – and he realised that like it or not, this was his path, and he would see it through.
I guess I feel a bit the same; I think about stopping sometimes, but I know that for me, this walk is not finished. This six months has only been a taste of what I want to learn and experience in the desert; it has just been the beginning. It is an entirely different walk to that which Gary and I did last year, with packs; it has been physically much easier – but mentally far, far tougher. I feel that after this time I have really developed the skills, both mentally and practically, that I need to keep walking. And I want to use them! I want to put together a shit-hot camp, exactly the way I want it; I want to master the language, and be able to participate fully in my surroundings, rather than relying on someone else for translation. I want to cross this desert as I have dreamed of doing my whole life, and I want to do it well.
So now I am returning to London with an absolute commitment to two things: my writing career, which I have to believe will take off, even if I am not “famous enough” for publishers to take the book on just yet; and my walk, which I want more than anything to see through.
I have a lot of ideas and am trying to put a lot of them in place; but I really believe that if I have got this far, that there is nothing I cannot do.
I know one thing.
In a year’s time, I do not want to be stuck in traffic on the North Circular, on the way to another teaching job, wondering what the hell happened to my dreams. I am prepared to eat an awful lot of beans on toast, or whatever it is that starving artists and dreamers in garrets eat these days, before I let that happen.
So. Enough of the noble sounding rhetoric; I had better get off my ass and actually do some work in an attempt to NOT have to eat beans on toast, rather than raving on about my good intentions…
Cheers. And I am loving Marrakech, by the way. Again.
April 1st, 2006
It has been an eventful few weeks.
MBarak got offered some work with tourists back in Zagora; he agonised over what to do, but I felt it was stupid for him to stay with me when it was possible to earn money elsewhere – and goodness knows, there was little in the way of funds to pay him or indeed keep him, with me in Boujdor. So, with one last visit to the camels, one final night of wine and song, tears all round and many promises to stay in touch, he swept out with his little bag and went his lonely way. It was a tough, very tough, goodbye.
Meanwhile, the king was visiting Boujdor. I have hordes of photographs of this, but I really, really struggle to upload pictures here, so I am not going to delay a post for want of photos but will hopfully post them up another time. The King’s visit in this part of the country is a bit of a mixed blessing; since the population is predominantly Saharawi, and there is still a good deal of conflict over the independence of the Western Sahara, the King is hardly regarded as an honoured personage by many. But it is not overly wise, in the Western Sahara, to expound on the issue at great length – as the illegal detainment and human rights abuses of Saharawi activists are sad evidence. And so, the many Saharawi tribes dutifully set up their traditional tents on the flag lined road leading into town, donned their best gondoras and melekhvas, hoisted up the big photos of Mohammed 6, and made ready to proclaim their enthusiasm as the royal party drove into town. In reality, the whole three day festival was really just a great excuse for everyone to dress up, hear some excellent Saharawi music – and ride their camels through town at high speed, women lining the streets ululating and clapping, and a host of four wheel drives following slowly, honking and flashing their lights. The camels rode through town at regular intervals for nearly a week, the Saharawi men sitting up on the high saddles, robes flying in the wind, howling excitedly as they hurtled through the main street.
Behind them came the more traditionally Moroccan rows of men on horseback, holding their long rifles proudly beside their sabres, and trotting in stately, military splendour. Down on the plains near the seafront they gathered to perform the traditional ritual of racing across the ground and firing a fusillade as they neared the other side, to the excited accompaniment of warlike shrieks from the crowd. All very testosterone packed and wild, and a great show.
It was a bit tough for me to enjoy; despite wrapping up in complete melekhva, I was hauled into the local police station twice when I was spotted by the thousands of security present as being a tourist, and questioned endlessly as to my reasons for being there, regardless of the fact that I had already given all my details to the local gendarmerie. The problem is that this mob weren’t from Boujdor but visiting from Agadir, and they were determined to ferret out any dangerous looking insurgents. I guess tourists qualify as that.
After a couple of days I gave up and just hid in the house until the carnival left town.
Despite my best intentions of buckling down to work, I found it almost totally impossible. At every minute of every day family either phoned to invite me to eat, or just arrived for tea or a meal, often staying for hours. Closing one’s door is not possible in Morocco, and I was starting to get pretty stressed out, to be honest, since I had a number of tasks that desperately needed attention. On top of this Madani was making the most of his month off, which meant several friends on a nightly basis listening to Moroccan music in the salon until the early hours; not conducive to peaceful sleep or early mornings. Normally none of this would have bothered me, but when you are under pressure work wise, it is difficult to maintain composure.
I spent a few lovely days with various families, learning to make cous cous from the beginning, talking, making henna. But it was difficult to relax and enjoy it; I was terrible aware that I had just one month to try to organise continuing into Mauritania, and was desperate to try to source funds and organise a new guide, etc.
Finally one day I sat and took a long look at myself in the mirror. I wasn’t eating. I was exhausted, wrung out, and getting very frustrated with Madani and all the others around me. My skin looked terrible, and I felt ill; I thought about trying to head off into the increasing heat, uncertain of funding, tension running high between Madani and I, and I thought – enough. It is time to take a real break.
I won’t know the results of the Royal Gographic Society’s decision until May. I have been over six months in Morocco, most of which have been spent entirely in Saharawi company; I need a little bit of time in my own culture, a peaceful environnment, to work out how to go about the next leg and get some work done. I don’t want to try to maintain the camels, Madani, run a proper Saharawi home, and write articles at the same time; it is just too much. If I have learned one thing over this walk, it is that you must know when it is time to stop and take stock.
So I have organised a truck to ship the camels back to Habib in MHamid, along with all my baggage, tent and equipment. I will not renew the house for another month, but instead fly back to the UK at the end of April for a short rest. I remain determined to continue my walk – but I need to work out how to go about that. Of course, I hold out hopes that the grant will come through; but if it doesn’t, I will need to work hard to come up with other sources of income. I know that to do this I am better off in England, no matter how much the though tof going back may rankle.
I still get dogged by thoughts of failure, that I somehow haven’t done enough, or what I set out to; I had always hoped that I would get through to Timbuktou before taking a break. But I also accept that fighting ahead blindly when the weather is turning hot, money is scarce, and I haven’t had time to properly organise my camp and equipment for the next leg, would be stupid and lead to problems. I feel that it is much better to return until I know the results of the grant decision, and then come back to Morocco and organise the next leg over the hot months of the summer, so I am ready to set off as soon as the cooler weather hits. No one in their right mind would head into the Sahara for the four hottest months of the year; it is close to a suicide wish.
And I need a rest. Not from the walk, so much, which I still love, deeply; but from the emotional strain of being totally immersed in a new language and culture, without any recourse at all to my own. I stayed in a hotel for a night – it was the first period of time I had spent completely alone for over six months.
My fascination and interest in Saharawi culture and the desert remains undiminished. I have learned so much, many things I never expected to, and I know that the experience has enabled me to put together a much more efficient operation for the next leg. But I also feel that if I take a little break now, I can come back renewed and healthy, with the energy and strength so important in organising things here. At the moment I am just tired, and worn down by the effort of trying to work on a Western schedule whilst living on a Saharawi one – I need to seperate the two for a bit.
Madani and I are okay with it all. It has been a bit hard for him to suddeny realise, after all this time, that he will be without a source of income or a purpose; he was pretty angry with me at first, since he had thought I would find a way to get money to continue directly into Mauritania. But I explained that I do still want to continue, and that I would very much like him to carry on if I find the money – but that there simply aren’t funds at the moment. I think that came as something of a shock – although he had no issue with me not paying him after this month, he had assumed that there was still money to buy food, and cigarettes, and cards for the telephone. I had to explain the facts of life a bit, after he spent his entire month’s wages on date whiskey and women, and came sheepishly asking for a bit more to see him through. It had never occurred to him that he might need to use his money to contribute to food and other things associated with the house. It has been a good learning experience for us both – I will certainly be well equipped when it comes to handling teenage children, if ever I have any!
But all is peaceful now. We are packing up the house and camp and camels, and I will be getting organised to fly back to the UK. I know it is the right decision; but it also hurts to be leaving. I just hope and pray that I can find a way to come back.
So, I guess the next update will be from the gray UK, unless I get excited in Marrakech and post from there. I really want to thank all those who have read my little blog through this part of the walk, and sent me messages of support. I plan to keep on going, and hope you will stay with me, insh’allah, all the way across the desert.
I’ll get there somehow.