Camel and sunset over the Sahara desert

The beast kneeling on the ground was certainly not docile: it was making some loud gurgling sounds in its throat and turning its long head quickly from side to side as we approached it. It was a big camel, and we were in Ghadames, a town just touching the Sahara Desert in southwestern Libya. My husband Alex and I, together with good friend Al, found a desert Tuareg (a nomadic tribe that roamed the Sahara in caravans) in white flowing robes with matching white turban offering camel rides as we got down from our 4X4 ride owned by Libyan guide Taher Shogum and his driver Haire. Early that afternoon, we had gone to a shop owned by a bicycle-riding Tuareg, whose store contained exotic-looking necklaces with silver pendants, earrings with strange inscriptions on them, Libyan T-shirts with the picture of the Great Leader Moammar Ghaddafi, his Green Book, camels carved in resin and molded in metals studded with rhinestones. When Al mentioned that his lifelong wish was to have an authentic Tuareg turban, the shop owner went to the back room and brought out a 5-meter long, dark blue cotton material — soft and warm to the touch. Very kindly the nomad (whom Taher said was now only a half-nomad because he owned the shop, but went back to the desert from time to time to look for Tuareg and Berber arts and crafts to sell) unfurled the cloth in its length and started to wind it around Al’s head. I stood by closely to take down notes and to sketch the process in my travel journal, as Alex happily clicked his camera to record the demonstration. The second turn was crucial, it seemed, as this was the panel that covered the nose and mouth for protection against the harsh sun and sand blowing especially during sand storms. Around and around the cloth went, until it reached the head where the Tuareg tightened his hold imperceptibly to keep the now-formed turban in place. As a last technique, he tucked about a hand’s length of the cloth behind and tied a colorful leather strap around Al’s head for décor. All of us clapped with glee as we saw our friend Al, with his newly-acquired dusky blue expertly wound turban, the folds falling softly and gracefully into his lapels, looking every inch like a very elegant “Asian Tuareg."

It was on this very same day that we happened upon the camel ride offer. Taher, with a challenging glint in his eyes ,asked me if I dared ride this camel to the desert. Before I could answer the animal started to make shrieking sounds that froze my heart. And when Al started to climb up the camel seat and the beast started to rise (I forgot that it was kneeling, so it looked small) I was aghast to see how tall and formidable it was. Al, with his turban and dark glasses, looked just right riding the camel with the beautiful carpets covering its back. It wouldn’t be too difficult, I thought. The camel owner, holding the reins went around the perimeter of the sandy area where we were, and from the distance we could see Al enjoying a peaceful ride, the camel happily trotting along. “Just remember to hold on to the camel seat “horns" tightly and you’ll be okay!" Al comforted me as I went up to take my turn. The Tuareg offered his folded leg to step on with my left leg, as I tried unsuccessfully to swing my right leg across the other side of the beast. The camel was making so much noise (Alex said it “spat" on him when he was astride it) the racket drew the attention of a group of Germans also trying to get their camel rides just beside us. Becoming more self-conscious as I saw some of our fellow travelers stop what they were doing to stare, I held my breath and finally on the third try I was able to straddle the camel seat comfortably, hands gripping the horns of the seat before me, both feet resting on the crook of the camel’s neck. But just as I was feeling triumphant and complacent, the camel suddenly stood up and as he extended his front paws I felt myself lurching back steeply, the seat below me swaying violently. I was about to be flung down to my death! Oh, the ignominy of it all! "It’s lurching! Just hold tight!" I heard Al’s voice amidst my paralyzing fear. I held my breath, and in panic looked around, and espied Alex shooting with his camera, and a bulb suddenly shone in my mind, “Photo op! Photo op!" so I gave him a wide smile, in spite of the numbness enveloping my whole body, my hands painful as I clung to dear life. When the camel’s hind legs righted themselves, the world seemed to have returned to normal, too, and Al asked for the reins from the Tuareg and we went around the area without mishap, accommodating ourselves to the rhythm of the ride. And when were we seeing our sunset from the dunes, we asked Taher. We shouldn’t be late, said our white-haired and good-natured Libyan guide, as he strode fast up a low sand dune. We were already barefoot from the camel ride, and we strode right behind him. We saw some small paw prints imprinted clearly on the sand, and Taher said they were made by desert foxes. It was one thing to walk when the sand was a thin layer on the hard ground, and another when we started to climb the dunes. Our feet easily sank into the soft sand till our ankles, and it was an effort to pull them up again for the next step. And because we were going up, the incline became steeper, and the cardio-vascular challenge became greater as we reached the top of the sand dune. My heart sank when I saw Taher already at the middle of a second sand dune next to the first one just conquered. To the west, the sun was starting to set. The second one was definitely higher, and as we plodded on, a brisk wind came up, bringing with it more sand that stung our faces and eyes. Talking did not seem to be a good option, as we got sand on our noses and mouths and teeth, the grit adding to the surreal landscape. As we progressed slowly I had to hold on to Alex’s hand, as Taher was in front of him, also holding him firmly. Al was behind me, and I tried holding on to him, too. At the middle of the second dune I told Alex the pace was too fast for me, perhaps I can just wait for them there, as I heard Al say, “My chest is bursting!" as he let go of my hand. Stopping, it seemed though, was not an option, so I had to summon up whatever energy there was, and slowly slogged on. The third sand dune was the tallest and steepest, and my eyes were already gritty from the sand, my vision blurry with sweat pouring down my face. On and on we went, as Alex kept chanting, “Almost there! Almost there!" I kept my head down, feeling the windy gusts, trying not to see how far we needed to go before the top. Step… sink… pull up… another step… sink… pull up… It seemed interminable, and at several points I wanted to simply stop, sit down on the dunes, and give up. Just when I thought my heart would give, I suddenly discovered that the ground had leveled off, and raising my head I realized there were no more sand dunes to climb: we were already at the top! Everyone whooped and laughed, and Alex flashed me a conspiratorial smile. We all sat all and looked towards the west. The sun it seemed, cooperated too —it waited for us to reach the tallest sand dune before deciding to set. The sky was filled with a golden yellow haze, and the bright orb sank slowly, ever so slowly in the sky. Around us, the silence of the desert. An intrepid young Korean boy ran up after us, two large cameras swinging from his neck, and started to take quick photos of the skies. From a distance, we saw Land Rovers driving over the dunes, “showing their muscles," Taher commented wryly. Because of the haze we could not see the sun sharply, but Alex suddenly had an idea — to use his Polaroid sunglasses as a filter, and lo and behold, the slowly setting sun was captured clearly! We had to sit for some time to catch our breath and stretch our legs, as we watched the sun disappear under the skyline. The wind quieted down, too, and as Taher predicted, it was easier to go down the dunes, slip-sliding our feet under the soft sand. It was our first encounter with the Sahara Desert, and we knew that it won’t be the last. - YA, GMANews.TV Alice M. Sun-Cua is a practicing obstetrician-gynecologist at the San Juan de Dios Hospital. She has published collections of travel narratives, poetry, and a book on perimenopause in Filipino women. She is a Tai Chi practitioner and is now learning how to play the ErHu.