October 26-31, 1980

NIAMEY, NIGER
After almost two weeks in Niamey, the days have fused together in my memory. By Monday (27th), there had been no word from home, so I sent a telegram to the folks, directing them to have $1,000 sent here, as I should have done in the first place, rather than have them send me the information I need so I can send for the money. Now I'll just have to wait a few more days.

After another night in Kipper's truck, I saw Jonathan, who brought me to his apartment. It's really quite a nice little place, with a yard, a fan and kitchen facilities. My first night there, I cooked a kilo of potatoes and some carrots. He's been sharing his breakfasts with me and I chip in on something now and then and eat my dinners out.

After sending the telegram, I realized that $1,000 is not much to last a month and get me home. After settling in Niamey, my eating habits have improved and in spite of no room costs, I've been spending more than $10/day. In other words, it's time to tighten the belt. I've decided to try to carry the alghaïta instead of mailing it and I'm cutting down to two meals per day.

On Monday, I went to the American Cultural Center library, found a good Malamud novel, but wasn't allowed to borrow it. Instead, borrowed The Agony and the Ecstasy, and have done nothing but read it for 3-1/2 days.

Today, Friday (Halloween), is the first day I hoped to receive money, but it didn't come. I've decided, unfortunately, not to spend the money for a trip to that PC worker. Ironically, Jon's going there this weekend, but has no room for me. It's been a real pleasure here with Jon—I sleep in a bed, have light to read with at night, eat a big breakfast, have had my laundry done and enjoy his conversation. Though he's pretty young, he's taught college English in the States and will be teaching at the University here. He's even let me stay at his place while he's away for the weekend.

Being stranded here is so different from being on the move; instead of being curious about my surroundings, I've spent much of my time thinking about getting home. I've become anxious to get the trip over quickly—a feeling I hope passes when I get moving, otherwise I won't enjoy much. Meanwhile, I've accepted the idea that bush huts are not the only Africa that's valid to see— I'm living in a medium-sized African city and getting to know fairly well how African city-dwellers live.

My only real worry is about the money: the mysterious lack of communication from home has given me a feeling of not getting the money at all. I'll undoubtedly be sweating this one out for a while.

PHOTO CREDIT

October 25, 1980

NIAMEY, NIGER
Started the day out by going to the post office to ask about sending my alghaïta (oboe) home. You've got to bring all your packaging materials there and wrap it up in front of them. Where to buy paper? At the bookstore. Since I've run out of the anti-malaria pills I bought in Algeria, I decided it was time to visit the Peace Corps doctor for a consultation. Neither of us could figure out exactly what it was I'd been taking, but I don't think it was the right stuff. He gave me a prescription for chloroquine and OK'd the pills I've been putting in my water.

Finished my shopping in time to make the pool at noon. The French guys have left for a weekend trip to a local village, leaving me, Jens, Marcel and Kipper, the German with the truck.

By now I've gotten comfortable with the idea of going west instead of east. I've checked out visa availability and transportation and found that I can take a taxi-brousse to Ougadougou, Upper Volta; a train down to Abidjan, Ivory Coast, where Jean-Luc lives; a bus up to Bamako, Mali; a train over to Dakar, Senegal; and a boat back up to Casablanca. It might get me home on just the $1,000 I'm waiting for and leave me with some spending money when I get home. Also, Senegal is reputably a good place to visit.

Out of boredom, I stayed at the rec center to watch the Friday night film. "Kingdom of the Spiders." Afterwards got talking to some Peace Corps workers—one of them, Jonathan, tentatively invited me to stay with him in a day or two. He's even got a houseboy who will do my laundry! He mentioned a PC volunteer in a village about 200km away that I might visit if I start feeling too civilized—seriously considering this.

Slept in Kipper's truck.

October 24, 1980

NIAMEY, NIGER
Got a ride to the bank with the French guys; en route we stopped at other banks, French and Nigerian consulates, the tourist office and finally my bank, to find out that the wire had not come yet. Lounged poolside during the hottest hours. Jens and I went to a travel agency to ask about prices. After many considerations, the only realistic route seems to be to fly west to Ivory Coast, get the necessary visas, fly back east to Nigeria and directly on to Cameroon, where I could stay a while. Everything I've read or heard about Cameroon is positive and I'd really like to see it. Then I'd fly directly to Kenya. All this would cost about $900. I'd never originally thought of doing this much flying, but the politics of visas has closed many land borders to me. If I bought these tickets, spent another $1,000 over the next four or five weeks, then bought a ticket for home, my whole trip would cost about $4,000, wiping me out. Moreover, it's a dangerous practice to figure to my last dollar.

Throughout the day, I've considered about fifty different alternatives. I guess my original plans were too grandiose: crossing the Sahara, crossing Africa west-to-east, seeing the Indian Ocean, doing a safari in Kenya, traveling the Nile, seeing the Egyptian antiquities—some things will have to be cut out. Still, it feels like such a failure to give it up. By the end of the day, I'd considered such diverse plans as just going home and traveling the northwest coast instead of the east. Well, the weekend is coming and maybe I'll settle my plans within the next few days.

October 23, 1980

NIAMEY, NIGER
After the $32 phone call and the upcoming $20 Telex for money (after I find out my account number), I had to cash more traveler's checks. Then at Citibank, I found that the folks hadn't sent the wire yet. Since I'll need my passport when I send for the money, I can't leave it at the Nigerian consulate to get a visa.

Instead, I spent the morning at the National Museum, a superb museum, by African standards. it has a good-sized zoo; exhibits on pre-historical Niger, with a dinosaur skeleton and early arrowheads and tools, well labeled; exhibits on local dress, differentiating among tribes; an exhibit of music instruments, mostly percussion, also two long trumpets and a few oboe-like instruments.

There's an open building housing 20-25 artisans, who make leather, silver, gold, wood and ivory items exclusively for the museum store, whose fixed prices are less than what I can bargain down to in the streets. I've been looking for a native flute for Dr. Smiley and found one of those oboes for only $8.25. Don't know what I'll do with it, but it's mine!

I had correctly predicted that Marcel would show up today. His four-day camel ride round Agadez had been a bad experience.

Spent the night in the woods again. It's humid here and except for one mildly breezy night, it's pretty uncomfortable, but you can't strip at night because of the mosquitoes-- this is malaria country. I keep meaning to visit the Peace Corps doctor to discuss medicine.

PHOTO CREDIT

October 22, 1980

NIAMEY, NIGER
This being the first business day since hitting Niamey, we were all at the bank by 8am. Afterwards, I took a cab to the American Embassy, to seek help in sending home for money. A representative told me to go to the Citibank office, then chatted a while, showed me pictures of him mountain-climbing. I asked him about my chances of getting a visa to Nigeria, since Sewell told me he'd had trouble. The consul told me it might depend on how much I look like a hippie. (Much more so than Sewell, who finally got the visa only because he'd had an earlier, expired one.) I was further bummed out to hear that Cameroon has no consulate here, so the nearest place I can get a Cameroonian visa is in the Ivory Coast-- far in the wrong direction!

At Citibank, I was told I needed my savings account number, which I don't know. I'd planned on calling home after a month or so, so this looked like a good time to do it. When the Post Office re-opened at 4pm. I asked about calling the USA: a collect call would take an indeterminate amount of time; direct would cost almost $20 for three minutes.

I decided to dial direct and the call came through in about 45 minutes. I heard a tiny, very distant squeaking, which I realized was my mom, yelling, "Steve? Steve? Is that you?" I gave instructions about the money, with great difficulty, involving yelling, repeating and asking for confirmation. Afterwards, there was little time for chatting and less atmosphere for it. Later, I felt a little sad to have heard my folks' voices, but not to have been able to communicate much. Because of the first two minutes, in which we couldn't understand each other at all, the call took five minutes and cost me $32.

To top it off, Elizabeth's boss says we have to leave her yard. Now it's complete: Benin won't let us in because we have backpacks, Nigeria is only giving out 48-hour visas, Cameroon has no visa office here, our resting place is taken from us, and my parents are barely able to talk to me.

If Cameroon is represented at Nigeria, I'm thinking of flying there (on a 48-hour visa), getting the Cameroon visa, and scooting to Cameroon. I hear that plane tickets are much cheaper if bought in Nigeria-- if so, I'll try to fly to Kenya from there, stopping at Cameroon. Originally, I wanted to travel only by land, but I'm getting tired of it and would be glad to be more of a "typical tourist" if I can afford it.

Jens and I spent an hour looking for a cheap hotel, but there is none; apparently this town hasn't degenerated long enough to have a slum section yet. The two guys with the car, Bernard and his friend, have found a little woods, so we drove there to spend the night-- under the stars, as usual.

October 21, 1980

NIAMEY, NIGER
Spent another day at the pool, what with most of the town still closed and too hot to see anyway. At night, Jean-Michel and I took a walk through the "European store" section of town. Tripped over two French guys we'd met at the Nigerien border whose car presently has a flat. It had been broken into and they've lost passports, money, registration papers, etc. They brought the car down to Elizabeth's and slept there with us.

I've seen so many travelers with car troubles, I'd never bring one here. One German had to send his engine to Berlin for repairs; another had to fly there himself to get parts; in the desert I met friends with non-working cars and saw a hundred auto skeletons. I've had a few problems, but luckily nothing like that.

October 20, 1980

NIAMEY, NIGER
Checked in at the police station for the usual passport rigmarole. Today's the fist day of the Islamic celebration of the sacrifice of Abraham; I watched the people next door wash their sheep up good, tie them up and cut their throats. Walking through the city later, every corner had someone skinning sheep, emptying its bowels or setting carcasses on racks around a fire. Tonight they ate the tripe and tomorrow they'll eat the dried met. Except for a brief communal dance and some drumming at night, there weren't many festivities.

Parts of the big marketplace were open today—I browsed through and was glad to buy some little bananas—the first fresh fruit I've seen in three weeks. This one-hour walk really wiped me out, so I went back to the pool, where I'd already spent most of the day. After my final daily cup of hot milk, I crashed early and slept long.

PHOTO CREDIT

October 19, 2008

NIAMEY, NIGER
When we dragged ourselves up, we met three English guys and a German, who were all crashing here. Two of the British left this morning—fed up with African transportation and flying home. The German, "Kipper," has his own truck and started out with thirty people, but had mechanical troubles and everyone left him. Because everything will be closed for three days, we went to the American Embassy's recreation center. It's an amazing little oasis of American culture: in the middle of a poor country where you can only buy bread, coffee and canned fish, is this colony with a swimming pool, ping-pong table, tennis court and bar, serving hot dogs, hamburgers, grilled cheese and salads and playing country/western music.

For five dollars, I became a one-month member and Jens, jean-Michel, Didi and Fatar are my guests; this enables us to use all the facilities—showers even!

At this latitude, it's uncomfortably hot from 8 to 5 or later and I have no compunctions about spending the day in the pool. There I met a Peace Corps worker who turned out to be Elizabeth Stein, whose yard we slept in. She was assigned here as a physical education teacher and given a crash course in French (which the kids don't speak much of anyway). but they stuck her with coaching the national women's basketball team. Another Peach Corps worker in phys. ed. used to teach at Mahopac, NY! He's also disappointed in his placement and waiting for a transfer.

At night, we watched a B-movie with popcorn and went back to Elizabeth's yard.

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October 18, 1980

TAHOUA, NIGER
Got to the bus-yard at 9am for the 9am taxi-brousse and I was surprised to see an actual bus waiting there—not too modern, but more comfortable than the taxi-brousses. The driver said we'd be leaving at 1pm sharp, so don't wander too far. Hung out in a café, drinking nothing—after paying for the bus, I had only $18 in cash and tomorrow begins a 3-day weekend for the banks. For lunch we bought a two-dollar plate of peas. At 12:30 or so, we mounted—and, amazingly, pulled out at 1:15; reassuringly went only 20 feet; left for real at 3pm.

The trip was a frustrating series of false starts and frequent stops. Stops for police checks, meals and, most frequently, whenever the driver had a whim to take a walk for twenty minutes. Then he'd get in, roll ten feet, and stop again.

Near me sat a primitive—almost savage-looking family of a man, his pregnant wife and five children, aged from about one to five. In front were four or five silly teenaged girls who eventually talked to us a little. Shortly into the trip, a massive argument broke out between the driver and some passengers who didn't want him to stop for a new passenger. Amidst all this screaming, someone was loading a pair of live goats onto the roof—things were chaotic for a while.

Got in Niamey, capital of Niger, at 3am, not knowing where to sleep. The five of us stopped at the gate of a house and poked around the backyard to see if we might crash there. Amazingly, we were greeted by a young Englishman who was already crashing there, with permission of the tenant, a Peace Corps volunteer, and he invited us to stay.

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October 17, 1980

TAHOUA, NIGER
Got in Tahoua about 6am and met some other foreigners camping out at the truck station, who directed us to the police station for the usual formalities. The bus to Niamey supposedly left at 9am (HAH!) and we'd hardly slept, so we decided to stay here a day. We followed directions to the camping spot, which turned out to be the lawn of the hotel/bar. Slept there with difficulty in the semi-shade, till we were invited to sleep in a hallway off the courtyard. Stayed there all day except for a walk into town for dinner and again for a hot milk.

October 16, 1980

AGADEZ, NIGER
Happy Birthday to me! My first and best present was what I gave to myself after ten days of constipation. it couldn't have been better if it had come with a ribbon and bow. My second was when Jens, Jean-Michel, Fatar and Didi met me on the street and sang Happy Birthday with terrible accents.

After that, it wasn't so good: we set out to find a taxi-brousse to Tahaou (halfway to the capital, Niamey), which supposedly left when it had gathered six to eight people. Instead, we were told that an old bus was leaving at 9am for the same price, so we got on (8am). After a while, someone came to collect our money and told us we'd be leaving at 10am. Around 10:30, someone claimed they couldn't find the driver and by 11 it was apparent that we'd be leaving when we were full and not before. At noon, we took off. We stopped to get some luggage across town, then came back to exactly the same spot. Towards 1pm, our luggage was moved to a little taxi-brousse and the 17 other people in our bus got in it. We were also expected to get in this sardine can that couldn't hold five more flies, let alone five more people, for 12 hours. We got our money back and sulked for a while.

Eventually we made contact with a truck driver who promised to be leaving by 6pm. I hadn't wanted to go back to trucks so soon, but didn't want to repeat this performance every day and the more reliable national bus company didn't have a departure for three days, so we took the truck.

Hurried on at 6pm, waited until 7. It was empty except for people and luggage, so we had more room than in our first truck, but the driver was a maniac on the pot-holed dirt road, so it was my most violent ride yet. Rested off and on all night, but didn't really sleep.

I enjoyed Agadez—street vendors selling coffee and tea, canned saltines and herring, soap, shoes—the same dozen products in every booth; Mama's restaurant, where you can get a delicious, big salad for a dollar—with meat for $1.25—the fancy Hotel Tetwa, with its funky night-club terrace, beautiful black children whose word of greeting was as often "cadeau?" ("gift?") as "bonjour." Once, a little girl held my hands for two blocks, jabbering in who-knows-what language. I didn't enjoy the eleven-hour wait, though, and I expect all future birthdays to seem comparatively bright.

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October 15, 1980

AGADEZ, NIGER
After sleeping for 10 hours, it was still early when I woke. Everyone else got up with the sun, around 6am. Like the Moslems, the camels knelt toward rising sun—with the rose-colored band of sky silhouetting them, it was the one photo I'd like to have taken. Our cooking pot was returned along with a new bowl of camel milk.

Unfortunately, I'm often too anxious about something or other to completely give way to enjoying myself. This time, because of the absence of any recognizable landmarks for me, it seemed to me like we were just wandering around and although Ahmed had given me no reason to distrust him, I was getting anxious to get back to Agadez,

We were not retracing yesterday's path, but continuing on in a circle back to town. By 7:30am, it was already hot enough to burn fair skin; since my nose had recently burned and peeled, I had to keep it in my cheche all day. I must have looked almost like a native.

Ahmed was turning out to be a perfect traveling partner—he didn't talk a lot, but liked to trade little jokes with me, particularly on the metaphor of camel = Tuareg truck (getting it started, putting on the brakes, filling up, etc.) he also pointed out small gazelles in the distance, other signs of animals, what was good for camels to eat, which tribes people were from where, etc.) This was hardly even a journey for him, since he frequently travels for as much as a month, guiding as many as 25 people. If he goes for less than a couple of weeks, he doesn't have to bring food, because people will feed him.

After a couple of hours, he pointed out Agadez as three or four tiny structures on the horizon and I was relieved to see hat we'd been heading straight for it all along. Obviously, Ahmed knows his stuff. Unfortunately, we lost sight of it due to hills and ridges close to us and I became disoriented again. When we stopped at a hut for Ahmed to buy some chewing tobacco, I was given another big bowl of milk.

We pushed on in the heat for 4-1/2 hours, until Ahmed suggested we let the camels eat. I was dying to get off for a while, not so much because of my sore butt as because my legs were stiff and my knees cracking. We napped for more than an hour as the camels wandered around and although Ahmed wanted to wait until it got cooler, I said I wanted to get moving. As far as I was concerned, it stayed just as hot until 4 or 5 and I had no idea when we'd get back to town. It wasn't uncomfortably hot, because of a steady breeze, and after an hour, we sighted the big mosque and the big water tank of Agadez, not far away. Now that they stayed in view, I perked up and kept my camel beside Ahmed's, instead of following. Mine tended to be a slow-poke and I had to lightly whip him to keep up. It had excellent peripheral vision and could see me lifting the rope, so it sped up before I could use it.

As we got close to town, there were large Tuareg encampments. When we finally dismounted, it was only 3pm, but I'd had 6-1/2 hours of actual riding today, and it was enough. On my way to the hotel, Jens hollered to me from a coffee stand. jean-Michel, Farar, he and a new Frenchman had slept outdoors last night and were all hanging out at this shack. They were planning to get a taxi-brousse to Niamey—it costs $20 less than the bus and takes a more direct route, so I decided to go along with them.

Checked back into the hotel, sharing Marcel's room. Washed the camel off me, wrote for quite a while, went out for a salad with Marcel, slept like a log.

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October 14, 1980

AGADEZ, NIGER
Woke up several times during the night, which is usual for me when I’m anxious about an upcoming adventure. Finally got up at six, prepared my bag and wrote for a while. At 7:15, Sewell and I took off. He had a ride to Niamey and we both had to go to the police to pick up our passports. My guide came on time to tell me that he’d be a half-hour late, because he had to find a taxi to get to the camels. More than an hour later, we walked to the auto-gare and got in a taxi-brousse ( a little truck with two benches inside) with nine other people and rode for 7km or so. Then we walked through semi-desert for more than an hour. On the way, we stopped at a Tuareg hut for a while, to see if they had camels to rent, but they only had one. I was offered a bowl of dark brown water, which I politely refused. Also, Ahmed the guide had to ask how to find the people he usually rents camels from, because they’re nomads and they’ve moved since the last time he’d seen them.

When we finally reached them, it was noon. We were given a bowl of patés of course meal in milk. I was glad to have milk for the first time in three weeks. Then, as usual when you visit someone for more than a minute, we had several rounds of tea. Because it was the hottest part of the day, we took a siesta until 2:30. The camels arrived, were saddled and loaded. I walked mine around a little, then someone took my shoes, tied them to my saddle, knelt the camel down, and I got on. When it stood up, it threw me forward, then backward, then the saddle slid down onto his neck and neither the camel nor I knew what to do and I was like a bronco buster trying to stay on. I finally got down unharmed, the saddle was adjusted, I remounted and we were off!

The saddle was fairly comfortable, with my poncho and jacket for a cushion and lacking stirrups, I kept my socked feet crossed on the animal’s neck. It really wasn’t awkward and I did fine right from the start. We walked them very slowly, about the speed a man walks.

We were in the open semi-desert now: frequent little thorn trees and shrubs, in tufts or patches of dry, gold weeds, spotted throughout a terrain of packed sand, or rock, or gravel, or dry, cracked earth, etc. Occasionally, we would pass a hut, never two together, always surrounded by goats and sometimes camels. If we stopped to talk, there was usually a short ritual: the man would put out his hand to shake, but only stroke your palm. He’d do this three times with Ahmed, then do the same with me. Then he and Ahmed would exchange a series of one-syllable words, in an uninterested tone, not even necessarily looking at each other. Suddenly, the formalities would be over and the conversation would begin, in livelier tones.

After a couple of hours, my legs got stiff, but whenever I changed the position of my feet, the camel, otherwise gentle, would get pissed off. At 5:30, we stopped at a hut and Ahmed bargained with a young woman for a little oil for my cooking. She invited us to stay, so we dismounted and set our things out, just outside their camp. She brought us a bowl of curdled milk and some flat squares of goat’s cheese with a “squeaky” texture—like nothing I’ve ever had. We started a little fire for my macaroni. It was amazingly easy, because the wood was super-dry. The girl came back with a bowl of cow milk that was so fresh it was still foamy—really delicious, sweeter than milk at home. We told her that they could have some of my macaroni when it was ready, though Ahmed thought they might not like the fish I had in it—it was a taste they “didn’t know,” understandably, in a landlocked, desert country.

Ahmed didn’t want any macaroni—he said he eats almost nothing other than milk and cheese. When he was younger, he spent four months in the desert, tending a herd of camels, with no other people, no food, no water—only camel’s milk to live on. While I was eating, the girl came over with a bowl to get some macaroni. I gave her plenty, because there was way too much for me. When I’d had enough, there was still some left, so I brought the pot over to the man and we had a great confusion between shaking hands and handing over the pot. The men and boys had returned a little while earlier with a large herd of goats and longhorn cattle. It grew dark and after we got ready for sleep (7pm), the man brought a big bowl of camel’s milk for us. Camel’s milk isn’t as sweet as cow’s milk and I was pretty full by now. We slept, off and on, amid a cacophony of goat, cow, camel and dog noises.

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October 13, 1980

AGADEZ, NIGER
Didn’t expect to spend more than a day in this hotel, but the comfort got to me and I convinced Jens to share the room for another day. We all went to the bank, bright & early; my guide book warns that it’s the worst bank in Niger, possibly the world, and they may be right—the single teller served two windows, but had no regular pattern for which one she served next. She served two or three people per half-hour, in spite of the growing mob, but when I finally got out, it was nice to have money in my pocket again.

During the day, I occasionally bumped into others from the truck and most of them were arranging rides to Niamey for tomorrow. I don’t understand this—if you don’t stay in a place for a couple of days, it’s almost not worth the trouble to go there.

For two days now, I’ve been negotiating with a guy about a camel-riding expedition. His first pitch was $50 per day, then I whittled it down to $45 for two days. Marcel was interested in going, but had a relapse of intestinal pains, so I mad arrangements for myself. The price finally ended up at $60 for two days—a little expensive, but the experience will be worth it, I think.

For dinner, I went to a hole-in-the-wall and had a big tossed salad (enough for a meal) and a plate of macaroni for $2. This is the first time I’ve found the famously cheap African living. Hope to find more.

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October 12, 1980

AGADEZ, NIGER
Finished to ride to Agadez in less than an hour this morning. No one but Sewell had any local currency and since today’s Sunday, we’re penniless for another day. Most people went to a camping spot 7km outside of town, but I went to the expensive hotel and got credit for a room and meals. The rate for a double was not bad, so I found Jens, who agreed to bunk up and Sewell & Marcel took the room next door. After more than a week of desert—beds, hot showers, sinks for washing clothes and a big meal with an ice-cold coke rendered us delirious.

Cleaned from head to toe, full of ham omelet and home fries, it was too hot to go outside, so we took a siesta until six. Afterwards, strolled around and found a little restaurant/hangout where Sewell bought us delicious tossed salads and macaroni dishes and we played a local board game for a while. Back at the hotel, we hung out at the funky disco lounge—what a life!

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October 11, 1980

IN-GALL, NIGER
Woke up to a rooster crowing, three feet from me—no chance of falling asleep after that. The town sounded like a madhouse of screaming, because of what must have been a thousand roosters crowing. Women and children began walking through the courtyard, going about their business, not paying too much attention to the dozen or so crazy foreigners in strange sleeping bags, with all kinds of apparatus.

Spent the entire day, penniless, inside the café, while Sidi’s departure time changed from 9am to noon to afternoon to evening. Highlights were when the beer shipment arrived; when a local big-wheel bought us each a beer (still warm); when we shared our canned loot with the bread & sardines of a newly-arrived French couple; and mostly, when the radio played a dozen measures of Stravinsky’s Petroushka.

We’re all getting to know each other pretty well by now—there’s Christoph, who arranged the truck ride—French, but speaks English very well, having worked for six months in a busy London pub; Jens, my Danish friend who, I’m amazed to find out, is a 36-year old businessman; Sewell, the American, who’s been to 45 of the 50 states and all of Latin America, has been in Africa for five months, plans to see much more of it, plus Australia, before arriving at California after about a year; Jean-Christoph, who comes from Limoges, France; Michel, who is touring northwest Africa by motorcycle; Marcel, who is temporarily traveling with Sewell; a Swiss man, who doesn’t talk much; Fatar, an Algerian citizen from France, who has kept our spirits up by brewing tea; and Terri, a French guy I don’t know too well.

We finally left at dusk, had to change a tire after two hours, and at midnight, camped out just outside of our five-day goal, Agadez, Niger.

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October 10, 1980

IN-GALL, NIGER
Before our very eyes, the desert was giving way to savanna. Small fields of golden grass appeared, little spiny trees became common, then little herds of goats and camels, then larger ones with people, including women (I’d seen ten in Algeria) and naked black children.

We stopped at a village, the first real community since Tam, (I-n Guezzam is really only a military post.) We’re in Black Africa now and it really looks different. The people didn’t treat us as anything unusual—just went on with their business: making mud-bricks and building a house with them. One teenager had a semi-working motorcycle. There were a couple little shops, but they sold mainly canned food, very little produce.

Shortly after leaving the village, Sidi stopped to raid a burnt-out car. (There were many such carcasses in the desert.) We found some unopened canned food, which we kept for later.

Arrived at In-Gall, Sidi’s town, at 2pm. It was apparent that he wanted to stay a while, so after more passport formalities, he extended his credit at the Café-Restaurant and we nearly went to the moon from the taste of COLD orange juice. We sat around savoring the taste for 1-1/2 hours. Sidi hadn’t found the customs official yet, so he said he’d bring us to Agadez at 9am. He lent us money for dinner and the patron of the café shipped up a dozen plates of dumplings with meat & gravy, then invited us to sleep in his courtyard.

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October 9, 1980

I-N-GUEZZAM, ALGERIA
At I-n-Guezzam, there is an irrigated garden; the water is pumped out a pipe and falls into a cube-shaped tank, about 7' x 7' x 7', open at the top, and slowly drains into the canals. We were allowed the glory of bathing in it and showering under the pipe-- we were happy as pigs in shit. After six hours of paperwork, we were allowed to cross the border. In an hour, we reached the Niger border station, which had just closed for lunch. Among the people waiting in the shade were my friends Jean-Luc, Eric and Raymond, who'd left 2-1/2 days before we did. They had three small cars, one of which was in tow.

Waiting is the #1 pastime in Africa and westerners only adapt to it gradually. There was talk that they'd keep our passports until morning, but we finally got them around 8pm and left in an hour. Drove off and on until 1 or 2am-- Sidi obviously knew this route by heart, since it was difficult to see a trace of it even in daylight. It was pretty cold-- 40-50° or so-- and we huddled together on the truck for the night.

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October 8, 1980

TAMANRASSET — I-N-GUEZZAM, ALGERIA
Sidi woke us at 5am and we were rolling by 6. I had bought a cheche (turban/scarf) for the trip, but it, along with my food and extra water, was in the bag that was lost somewhere in the truck, so I kept my hat pulled down in front and my collar up in back. By now, I had figured out how to sit with some comfort, on a sack of flour, with my feet hanging outside.

The "road" from Tamanrasset to Agadez varies between wide open spaces (90%) and some barely recognizable tracks from other trucks (10%). Today, fortunately, was not as bumpy as last night. We stopped for 5-10 minutes every hour to refill the radiator. The terrain was fairly varied: some sizable rocky hills, occasional dunes; sometimes parched, cracked earth, infrequent shrubs and small trees. We took a mid-afternoon siesta in the shade of a giant rock formation-- there were a half-dozen of these, all strangely carved by the wind, often narrower in the middle than on top, with caves and holes, most about 300-600 feet high, one with a big, flat rock resting on its peak. I climbed one of the smaller ones, but didn't stay long because I was a little faint from hunger. I'd purposely not eaten after being sick and now I couldn't find my food.

While we were stopped here, the mechanics decided to change a tire and when they unloaded the spares, I found my lost bag-- the buttered bread was all over the bag, the cheche was stained, but the melons were intact and the water, a godsend. After breaking camp, we continued our stop-and-go tactic until we reached the border station, I-n-Guezzam, at 7pm. The office was closed, so we had to spend the night-- someone had a gas stove and heated some canned food, the aroma of which nearly drove me crazy.

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October 7, 1980

TAMANRASSET, ALGERIA
Got kicked off the roof by someone I didn't know, but morning had come, so I didn't argue. Spent the morning getting rid of money, since we were leaving today and dinars are not reconvertable: melons, sandwiches and a water jug for the trip.

The noontime departure was changed to 3pm; at 4, the truck pulled up to customs-- 23 years old, bad tires, loaded to the hilt and already carrying a half-dozen Nigeriens, in addition to the eleven of us. The customs official told out driver, Sidi, that it was forbidden to carry passengers in a truck and he would have to leave us here. He had some grudge against Sidi, possibly racist, but he finally let us go at 7:30. A few miles out of town, we loaded up with more goods, custom-tax-free. The ride was terrible-- all around me were metal edges and corners and the road was violently bumpy, sometimes throwing me a foot in the air. Fortunately, we stopped for the night at 11, camping around the truck.

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October 6, 1980

TAMANRASSET, ALGERIA
This morning my five-day constipation turned into an unimaginable case of diarrhea. The two-mile walk into town wiped me out and after a half-dozen more shits, sometimes only a minute apart, and one very thorough puking, I lay down on the sidewalk with the others and didn't get up for six hours. Eventually we got kicked out for vagrancy, but the rest and the starvation were doing some good.

I'd spent about 20 of the past 24 hours lying down, when Jens, Frederico and I went to the bakery and slept on the roof.

October 5, 1980

TAMANRASSET, ALGERIA
Woke about 5:30 and we thought we heard something like running water, but it was still dark and I figured it must be a truck idling. Then the road ahead seemed to be glistening, but I called it a mirage. Eventually we realized that it had rained in the mountains and a river had formed, crossing a big field and cutting off the road to town.

We passed the day, Jens and I, at the customs station, where we'd been told we could catch a lift, but saw only one truck to Agadez all day and it had no vacancies. Back in town, someone had found a driver leaving in two days and though most people had some half-baked scheme in the works, this one sounded plausible.

Frederico, the Italian, had spent the previous night in a local's house and invited Jens and me back with him. It was a long way out of town and we had to wade across the newly-formed river. After staring at an Algerian TV show for a half-hour, we threw our sleeping bags on the floor and dozed off.

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October 4, 1980

TAMANRASSET, ALGERIA
All the lowlife tourists, like myself, are preoccupied with getting a ride out of here. The three French-speaking guys have a possible connection tomorrow with some tourists they found at the hotel, but most people do the trip by truck. The guys that have been here as much as four days are parked at the main intersection, scanning every truck that comes in. There's an Italian here who seems to have been here quite a while. My Danish friend Jens says he saw people like that in a kibbutz, who'd been traveling, got a little comfortable I none place, and lost their nerve to continue on. ...Scary.

I've traveled pretty hard, for me, the last few days and I've just felt like relaxing today. A waiter in the café knows someone who might be able to bring me just to the border, but I don't put too much faith in it; tomorrow I'll start looking seriously.

There's a guy here who lives in D.C., but grew up in White Plains, NY. The group I arrived with has pretty much stayed together, so there are two camps of foreigners, in addition to a few strays. I've passed most of the day at the café, sometimes guarding luggage for the others; made a couple brief tours of the town.

Early this evening, Jean-Luc introduced me to someone who works at the bakery and Jens and I were offered a place to spend the night, inside. This was a blessing because although the weather was beautiful during the day, the night promised to be chilly. We got a guided tour of the works, with a demonstration of how the bread is made, then he invited us to his house for tea.

Tea at a café is one thing, but in someone's home it's quite another: it's an elaborate affair where the water is boiled on a portable burner, poured back and forth from pot to glass, all the time adding tea, mint leaves or sugar; the host tastes it, decides what it needs next, pretending he's the only person in the world who knows how to make it exactly right. This is how it's done all over North Africa. After we returned to the bakery and talked to the night crew about American Indians, Mohammed Ali and, inevitably, changing money and selling jackets, we went to sleep.

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October 3, 1980

IN SALAH — TAMANRASSET, ALGERIA
My alarm buzzed at 4:15 (I never expected to use it on this trip, but then my canteen was an afterthought, too.) Many people were sleeping around the bus, which is more like a cube-shaped truck with windows-- this is what's always used for this stretch of desert-- apparently tougher than regular buses.

Around Ghardaia, the surrounding area was solid rock. Around In Salah, it was all sand, with a few beautiful, giant, reddish dunes. I thought deserts were monotonous, but the terrain changed frequently throughout the ride. Sometimes it was flat and sandy with a few shrubs; sometimes littered with boulders, sometimes outcrops of rock. At one place, there were small outcrops-- 10 feet cubed or so-- with holes, caves, and fascinating shapes carved out by the sand and wind. One rock was almost lollipop-shaped. Sometimes there were hills of sand or dirt or rocks or a combination of these, carved with dried-up stream beds, the result of flash floods. A few trees with pine-type needles grew at their feet.

Though there was a cool breeze from the bus windows, the seats grew hot and uncomfortable and the bus was way overcrowded. Made a few stops at tremendously isolated cafés and gas stations. At one stop, there was no café, but a man appeared with a tray of tea, which he offered to us, free.

During the 11-hour trip, the foreigners sought each other out. Besides Jean-Luc, there was a Frenchman Eric; a Swiss, Raymond; a Dane, Jens; and a Ghanaian, who speaks English. Reached Tamanrasset at 4pm and found several more who'd been there for 4 days. Seems there's no public transportation going South-- the only way is to hitch, which generally means finding a truck driver who's going in a day or two, arranging payment, etc.

Got my first hot meal in a few days, then joined the others, who'd grouped together on the sidewalk for security, till we were kicked off and slept on a nearby field.

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October 2, 1980

IN SALAH, ALGERIA
Did a tour of In Salah-- very small. As the morning passed, the soldiers that arrived with me seemed to be replaced by tourists-- seems they outnumber the natives. Got conflicting reports about when the bus leaves for Tamanrasset, but the most credible was 5pm. While waiting, I met another traveler, Jean-Luc, who is a French citizen, but has lived much of his life in Africa, presently in the Ivory Coast. He's on his way home from France, but couldn't hitch past In Salah, so we waited for the bus together. He told me of his plans to sail around the world, build a sail-car to speed across the desert, etc.-- helped me pass the long hours. Eventually we found that the bus leaves at 5am, so we tried hitching until nightfall, then came back to our sidewalk to sleep.

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October 1, 1980

GHARDAIA, ALGERIA
Took full advantage of having a room until noon: showered, napped, wrote a letter on the terrace, generally relaxed. Moved out at exactly noon, with six hours to kill before my bus left. Bought some bread and cheese for the ride and, because of the heat and having to lug my pack around, did substantially nothing all day. I met some French folks who'd just come up from In Salah, where I'm heading. They didn't seem too thrilled with it, calling it the hottest place in the world. I think the only reason Ghardaia seems better to them is that there's a breeze today. My face hurts, from sunburn or sandblasting, I don't know which.

The bus left at 6am-- unfortunately scheduled to arrive at In Salah at 2am. I didn't know what I would do for a place to sleep at that hour, but when we got there, I took my cue from half the busload, who unrolled their blankets on the sidewalk and slept there.