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.
PHOTO CREDIT 1
PHOTO CREDIT 2
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