Just a minor adjustment

Libya | Anno 2005

 

 

Incessantly the wind drives desert sand in ragged wisps over the bumpy asphalt road. It's broad daylight, but we usually don't see more than a few hundred metres through the cracked windshield. Sometimes we don't even see a hand in front of our eyes. Patches of broken car tires along the road leave no doubt. For vehicles, Wadi Al Hayaa is an unforgiving biotope. Here and there a dismantled car wreck can be seen. A lone bulldozer prepares to try again to clear the asphalt from sand.

 

Wadi Al Hayaa

With two jeeps we penetrate deeper and deeper in Fezzan, a desert area the size of France. We are on our way to the Tadrart Acacus, a mountain range in the southwestern corner of Libya. Right from the start, impetuous young driver Muhammad has taken the lead with his Mercedes Benz 230G. He is in his thirties and drives his jeep through the desert at a fast pace. Akra on the other hand, imperturbable and at ease, follows him in short distance with his worn-out Range Rover. Excitement is not what you should expect from this calm and dignified fifty-something.

In anticipation of a five-day trip through the Sahara, this is a revelation for which we were not really prepared

Neither with Muhammad nor with Akra you can say with certainty which of the two is the oldest – the vehicle or its driver. But it is clear that both jeeps are constantly losing coolant. In anticipation of a five-day trip through the Sahara, this is a revelation for which we were not really prepared.

With an area of 9 million square kilometres, the Sahara is slightly smaller than the United States. That makes it the largest sandy desert in the world. Only Antarctica and Arctic are bigger. But those are ice deserts.

Garama is our last contact with civilization. This is one of the most inhospitable places on earth, more than a thousand kilometres from the Mediterranean Sea, with summer temperatures reaching up to 55 °C. Some years there is no more than a few centimetres of rain, sometimes there is not a drop all year round. Yet for fourteen centuries – from 900 BC to 500 AD – an urban civilization managed to survive here. They had agriculture and irrigation, pyramidal tombs, a written language and of course an army, even with cavalry and chariots. At its height, this desert kingdom must have had more than a hundred thousand subjects. Even the Romans struggled to subdue the Garamantes. But today no more than a few barely recognizable ruins remain of their capital Garama.

At its height, this desert kingdom must have had more than a hundred thousand subjects

Garamantian pyramidal tombs

Egyptians may have a good laugh at what Libyans dare to call pyramidal tombs. They are simple, stubby structures with four sides, two to four metres high. The actual grave is about three metres underground. Virtually no grave has escaped the visit of robbers. That's something they have in common with their Egyptian big brothers.

The Garamantic Empire's ability to survive in this harsh environment for so long was largely due to the Al Hayaa, the invisible river that flows underground. To this day, this water supply is of vital importance to the local population. But the Garamantes were not satisfied with that. Through an ingenious system of underground channels, the famous foggaras, they managed to irrigate their fields with precious water. They grew wheat, barley, sorghum, date palms and olives. Today this seems completely unthinkable in this environment. The channels were in operation for centuries, until the underground water supply was exhausted, heralding the end of civilization. Yet archaeologists have managed to trace a thousand kilometres of these foggaras.

Until Hisham’s flowing shirt briefly reveals a gun in a holster

But Said, our guide, has other concerns. He starts foraging. Cardboard boxes of food and drink supplies pile up in the dust around the jeeps. Even two mattresses appear to be on the shopping list. That seems to be a mission impossible, as our jeep is packed full. But when Akra is around, there's nothing to worry about. He clamps the ends of the mattresses under the tailgate of the jeep, folds the mattresses over the roof rack and ties this colourful bubble tightly. Job done. Later on, Akra will turn out to be a universal problem solver. Exceptionally, Hisham also lends a hand. Why this enigmatic young man joins us is not clear. Until his flowing shirt briefly reveals a gun in a holster. Hisham is in charge of our safety. In the desert, you better be prepared for anything.

 

Muhammad fills the radiator of his Mercedes

Akra fills up with petrol for his Range Rover

Meanwhile, Muhammad pours water from a PET bottle into the radiator of his jeep. Akra also seems to be prepared for emergencies. Under the bonnet he has three filled PET bottles that lie loose on the engine. And what about the leaks from the radiators, we wonder. Nothing to worry about, says Akra, he has a miracle cure for that. More specifically, an orange powder that he adds to the water, which closes the holes by itself. The fact that this way holes are gradually being closed that actually should remain open is not an issue for the time being.

The stereotypical image we Europeans have of a desert is closest to that of an idehan – an immense sea of sand dunes

Mesak Settafet

With about three hundred kilometres to go, we continue our journey. To our left rises Mesak Settafet, a rocky outcrop that wedges itself between Idehan Ubari and Idehan Murzuq. These are two huge sandy deserts, together about four times the size of Belgium. Libyans have no shortage of words to name the most diverse landscape forms in the Sahara. But the stereotypical image we Europeans have of a desert is closest to that of an idehan—an immense sea of sand dunes.

Suddenly, a white Toyota pick-up shows up in the dust along the road. It turns out to be our kitchen jeep, with Ali at the wheel and the cargo bed packed with tents, cooking utensils and supplies. Like Muhammad and Akra, Ali is from Zintan, Libya. They are not related to each other, they do not even belong to the same tribe. But the most important newcomer for us is our cook Sahebi from Djerba, Tunisia. He will soon reveal himself as a virtuoso who knows how to prepare the tastiest meals with a minimum of ingredients in the midst of the harshest desert winds.

The bubble on our jeep is unbuttoned, the two mattresses end up in the cargo bed of the Toyota next to the tents. Akra grumbles a bit about the heat and thinks it is quite warm for the month of April. Said shrugs and estimates the temperature at just 30 to 32 °C. There is no air conditioning in these jeeps. So we keep the windows wide open.

Above our heads a dazzlingly beautiful sky unfolds with Jupiter, Sirius and Orion in a starring role

Fifteen minutes later we stop once more, this time in Ubari. Satellite dishes adorn the roofs of the houses. Hisham wakes some officials on duty from their siesta to issue permits for our jeeps and their drivers. Otherwise we are not allowed to enter the desert around the Acacus Mountains.

Our small convoy of three vehicles is now complete. The logistical hassles seem to be over. Enjoying the unique decor should now become our main concern. In the distance, the horizon neatly cuts the yellow-red solar disk in half. So it is already quite late in the evening. Two wild camels stand beside the road wondering what we are up to. Then we leave the asphalt road behind us and drive south into the desert. Promptly the impetuous Muhammad gets stuck with his jeep in the first dune. Nothing to worry about, everyone gets out, air is released from the tires. In a cloud of petrol vapour, Muhammad drives his roaring jeep across the dune, slightly annoyed being disgraced this way. Akra remains stoic.

Said decides to camp on the edge of the Wadi Al Adad. It is pitch dark there, above our heads a dazzlingly beautiful sky unfolds with Jupiter, Sirius and Orion in a starring role. The vehicles are placed in a U-shape, Sahebi retreats to his makeshift kitchen and hangs the meat open and bare on the roof rack to marinate in the desert wind.

Libyan soup turns out to be a Libyan interpretation of minestrone, a legacy of Italian colonization

Preparing Libyan soup

Marinating meat in the desert wind

Five bags of igloo tents emerge from the pick-up. In the darkness we try to identify the components we have never seen by light. Our guide Said combines unbridled helpfulness and explosive action with a total inability to set up a tent. Setting the openings of the tents to the east is his motto, because that way you prevent the wind from blowing sand into the tents. Having said that, he sets up three tents with the opening to the west. It's only when he quits helping us things are going fast. Three quarters of an hour later all five tents are standing. Considering that we even have some components left, we can be proud of our job.

A little later we turn to the Libyan soup and the couscous. That soup turns out to be a Libyan interpretation of minestrone, a legacy of Italian colonization.

 

* * * * *

 

Wadi al Adad – Tent camp

Via a flat stone desert with the occasional sand dune we drive further southwest through Mesak Settafet.

 

Mesak Settafet

Gradually a landscape of unreal, almost otherworldly beauty unfolds before our eyes. Dark rock formations in the most bizarre shapes are scattered in the virgin desert sand.

 

Mesak Settafet

To get a better view, we start the ascent of a small dune. Barefoot is the best approach at this early hour, Said knows. But anyway it remains a procession of Echternach. You step thirty centimetres higher and slide back down twenty. Soon, when the sun approaches the zenith, it will no longer be feasible to climb a dune barefoot. The sand then becomes much too hot.

 

Mesak Settafet

The atmosphere is elated, our six escorts are persuaded to have taken their group photo – Hisham and Akra in the front, Ali, Sahebi, Muhammad and Said in the back.

 

Ali, Sahebi, Muhammad, Said (in the back) Hisham, Akra (in the front)

 

 

Further on, a straight coniferous rock protrudes about twenty metres above the ground floor. Then the first petroglyphs appear, age-old drawings carved into the rock face. Here too, the unforgiving desert climate has taken its toll, the drawings being heavily weathered. But we effortlessly recognize two human figures and even an elephant.

Petroglyphs are the specialism of our guide Said. He even wrote a book about it. They are world famous, the rock paintings of Mesak Settafet and Tadrart Acacus. They even are part of the Unesco World Heritage. More than sixty thousand were identified in the 1950s by the now eighty-year-old Italian professor Fabrizio Mori. Not only in this mountain range, but also in the surrounding desert areas. All those petroglyphs span a period of at least ten thousand years. A very special period that is, marked by some of the most important transitions mankind has ever made – from nomadic hunting and gathering, through livestock raising, to sedentary farming.

They are world famous, the rock paintings of Mesak Settafet and Tadrart Acacus. They even are part of the Unesco World Heritage

Petroglyph – Human figure

Petroglyph – Elephant

This evolution is reflected in the themes and the style of the drawings. It all starts around 12 000 BC, when the first petroglyphs of the great wild fauna appear on the rock faces – elephants, giraffes, rhinoceroses, hippos. They are naturalistic representations, in which the animals are depicted as truthfully as possible. There even are images of bubalus antiquus, a species of bison that has long been extinct, Said says.

 

 

Gradually, the figures evolved into a magical-religious representation. Petroglyphs in white, ochre, brown-red and black now predominate. Some of those human figures undeniably worship a creature that must be residing well above their heads. This phase, starting from 9 500 BC, is called the period of the Round Heads.

 

Tadrart Acacus

About 7 200 BC came the Pastoral Phase, which featured both petroglyphs and rock drawings. With idyllic depictions of herds and daily life, this phase lives up to its name. Not only most of the drawings, but also the most beautiful ones date from this era.

 

Anyone thinking a desert landscape is boring and monotonous will come across one surprise after another here. We enjoy the views endlessly

Things seem less peaceful during the Horse Phase. For the images of horses and chariots that appear from 3 200 BC give the impression of a turbulent society.

 

Tadrart Acacus

Dramatic, on the other hand, is the appearance of images of dromedaries around 2 000 BC. Dramatic, because this evolution indicates that the desert has definitively taken over the area. They call this the Camel Phase for good reason, Said concludes.

In the distance, the rock formations of Tadrart Acacus now emerge. Landscapes change again and again. Anyone thinking a desert landscape is boring and monotonous will come across one surprise after another here. We enjoy the views endlessly.

Until we realize it's the same impressive rock formation that keeps popping up over and over again. Akra drives in circles in the wadi, it turns out. Not knowing his way through the desert, he has lost track of Muhammad and Ali. But there's no trace of anxiety in him, let alone panic. Calmly, Akra continues going around in circles until he somehow manages to catch up with the others. Nothing to worry about, but you can hardly call it a cordial reunion between Akra and Muhammad.

 

 

Clumps of desert grass suggest that Wadi Awiss can hold some water after all. Even a curious little tree, with beautiful flowers and leaves like those of a succulent plant, manages to survive here.

 

Rock drawings in reddish brown (bottom right)

But that's not why we came here. It is the overhanging rock with beautiful rock paintings in reddish brown, white and ochre that Said wants to show us. Depictions of camels abound, so we are looking at fairly recent work, no more than a few millennia old. From the Camel Phase, Said adds. But women and children are also depicted, an ox and even a hunter with a bow and arrow.

 

Rock drawings (Camel Phase)

 

Gradually we end up in a succession of endless plains of black boulders, called serir by the Berbers. Such gravelly deserts make up about ten percent of the Sahara.

 

 

Muhammad in particular now is at a brisk pace, enthusiastically chased by Ali. Akra, on the other hand, remains his imperturbable self and soon loses sight of the other two jeeps – a great achievement, considering how vast these plains sometimes are. Hopefully he still knows the way.

 

 

Then the stone desert makes way for a sandy desert interspersed with barren, black mountains. This looks like a mini version of Wadi Rum in Jordan. At the northern end of Wadi Wan Millal, the government has installed a water tank and water pump. Birr Imenineh is the name of the vital place, no doubt many human lives have been saved by this infrastructure.

 

 

Gradually we penetrate into an area that can withstand the comparison with Monument Valley in the USA. As soon as the gigantic natural arch of Afizigar makes its appearance, our mouths drop open in amazement. We were aware that a natural miracle was coming. But now that we look up at this arch, more than a hundred and fifty metres high, the monumental character of this setting really dawns on us.

This fabulous place alone makes our trip to Fezzan worthwhile

Natural arch of Afizigar

Razor-sharp dune ridges cascade down in graceful S-shapes. Whistling, the wind drives bright white sand over the pristine dune flanks. The low rays of the sun cast a mysterious white glow on that gossamer curtain of sand.

 

 

A dried-up lake harbours a greater wealth of plants and shrubs than anything we've seen so far in this desolate desert. This fabulous place alone makes our trip to Fezzan worthwhile.

 

 

Birr Imenineh is the place where we will spend the night. We set up the tents by the light of the setting sun. At least, that's what we try. But the wind has increased in intensity and is sandblasting our skin. The tents flutter violently in the wind. We can hardly prevent them from flying into the sky. Meanwhile, sand is penetrating all over our stuff. The fact that a thousand stubborn flies like to lend us a hand does not contribute to our enthusiasm either.

 

Birr Imenineh

While the white sun disk sinks into a mist of sand behind the mountains, we hammer pegs into the rocky ground and look for boulders to anchor the tent. And we have to be careful, because before you know it you will encounter a snake or a scorpion under a boulder.

The heavy boulders cannot prevent one tent after another from collapsing like a pancake. Moving to another place is the only option. In complete darkness, the most endangered tents are lifted one by one from the sand and put up again in the shelter of the rock face and the jeeps. After two hours of hard work, we manage to keep the tents upright in the howling wind. Placed close together, neatly lined up in each other's shelter, each weighted with a dozen boulders of at least five kilograms, they seem to be able to withstand the night.

 

Before you know it, you'll bump into a snake or a scorpion under a boulder

We don't know how he manages it, but in the meantime Sahebi is working imperturbably in his makeshift kitchen. A little later we can sit down for the Libyan soup and the couscous. Sahebi is forgiven for the soup cracking between our teeth. But drinking cups tasting like petrol are more difficult to tolerate. So Muhammad's reserve tank indeed turns out to be leaking fuel into our stocks.

In the darkness, a fennec fox, a small white desert fox with large pointed ears, sneaks cautiously around the camp. After midnight, the wind will hardly blow, Said reassures us.

 

* * * * *

 

No wind after midnight? Forget it. All through the night everything that can flap on the tents flutters. Yet the tents appear to hold up firmly.

 

Wadi Tashwinnat

Around a quarter past nine our jeeps climb out of the wadi via a cobblestone track, ending up in an undulating black sea full of boulders. A little later we find ourselves in a wide sandy wadi between high rock formations.

Soon the impressive Wadi Tashwinnat begins to amaze us. Not only with its blistering landscapes, but also with its rock paintings. Once again, under an overhanging rock, well shielded from the merciless sun, we find the familiar figures in brown-red, ochre and white. We easily identify dromedaries, horses, cows, a giraffe with a foal.

Those horses are of relatively recent date, Said knows, perhaps from the 5th century BC. But he considers some other drawings to be seven to eight thousand years old. Less easily recognizable is the chariot he points out, complete with horses and charioteer.

 

We easily identify dromedaries, horses, cows, a giraffe with a foal

 

While observing the drawings, we in turn are observed by a rock lizard from a rock behind us. His tail is almost twice as long as his body, its grey-blue head and multicoloured body tell us it's a male. Our presence doesn't seem to bother him, he barely recoils when we approach. Or, to put it another way, in this heat he is only willing to waste energy on a hasty flight if the situation becomes really life-threatening. Elsewhere, a pale lizard, perhaps a female, does not appear to be shy either. On the contrary, she consciously seeks the shadow of our bodies because it is slightly cooler there.

Finally, there it is, one of Fezzan's most famous petroglyphs – a true-to-life representation of an elephant, about a metre high

Elephant

Ostrich

Finally, there it is, one of Fezzan's most famous petroglyphs – a true-to-life representation of an elephant, about a metre high. Ten thousand years may separate us from the moment when an unknown artist gave shape to his imagination. And yet that artwork is still in excellent condition. Sun, sand or wind barely got a hold of it. Their relative inaccessibility has also contributed to the fact that all these works of art – freely accessible to everyone – have withstood the millennia almost undamaged.

A few thousand years before our era, the Sahara was covered with a lush, moist flora

What we haven't considered yet is where these desert people got the inspiration to sketch elephants, rhinoceroses, giraffes, and even hippos—animals that don't exist here at all. The answer to that question is as surprising as it is simple. At the time, those animals were part of the local fauna, Said says. For a few thousand years before our era, the Sahara was covered with a lush, moist flora. What's more, over the past millions of years, the Sahara has been wet several times and has been dry several times. Scientists even have a name for that mechanism – the Sahara pump.

 

Scientists even have a name for that mechanism – the Sahara pump

In the Sahara, the misery only started when the Arabian Peninsula appeared off the east coast of Africa eleven million years ago. This was the result of plate tectonics, which pushed parts of the ancient supercontinent Gondwana northward. Seven million years ago, the matter was settled. All the seawater east of the Sahara had been replaced by land, the winds no longer carried any water with them, the desertification of North Africa could begin.

 

Sometimes the ridge of the dune is so sharp that the jeep literally tilts over the ridge on its chassis before the front wheels find their grip in the sand on the other side

But that didn't last. The Earth's axis is oblique to the ecliptic – anyone who has a globe on his desk knows that. At present, that angle is about 23° 27', but in fact it fluctuates between 22° and 24° 30' over a period of 41 000 years. At first glance, this may seem like an astronomical detail, but there's more to it. Because when that angle is at its widest, the moist winds get just enough room to slip alongside the south side of the Arabian Peninsula into the Sahara and thus provide the necessary water.

 

Scientists expect that the Sahara will gradually enter a new humid period in about fifteen thousand years

As a result, the Sahara alternates between wet and dry phases, spanning a period of 41 000 years. Scientists expect that the Sahara will gradually enter a new humid period in about fifteen thousand years. As long as global warming doesn't put a stop to it, of course.

 

Human figures in their daily activities

A chariot with a charioteer eagerly wielding his whip

We also regularly get our wet and our dry. Our ever-devoted cook Sahebi takes care of that. Under an overhanging rock we enjoy not only our morning tea, but also ancient drawings of camels, giraffes, lizards – in addition to fairly recent Tuareg inscriptions. Dozens of human figures are depicted in their daily activities. Clearly recognizable is an image of a chariot with a charioteer eagerly wielding his whip. And there even is an ostrich on the rock wall, all in white.

Said orders the jeeps to drive up a steep sandy slope between two dark rock massifs. We're not looking for petroglyphs or rock paintings now, but for the hut of Mgar, an old acquaintance of Said. Mgar is Tuareg, he knows this desert like the back of his hand. When Fabrizio Mori began inventorying Fezzan's petroglyphs and rock paintings in the 1950s, Mgar was the right person to assist him in that quest. Said also liked the collaboration with Mgar when he was doing research for his booklet.

 

Mgar is Tuareg, he knows this desert like the back of his hand

Mgar is in his 90s now. But leaving the desert still doesn't cross his mind. His hut is made of palm leaves, inside it is remarkably cool. Like some kind of amulet, he has a copper holder with a Qur'anic text hanging around his neck. In his hand he holds a spear. He has wrapped around his head a tagelmust, the traditional Tuareg headgear that not only covers the head, but also prevents sand from getting into your mouth and lungs.

Among the Tuaregs it is the men who have to cover their faces, not the women

Mgar

Mgar has no objection to being photographed. Not if you pay 10 dinars in advance – double what they charge in the archaeological sites on the Libyan coast. And preferably without flash, because his eyes can't stand the intense light anymore. Without murmuring we hand him the money, while Said quickly hands him a few packets of cookies. It is not immediately clear to us what Mgar should do with money and cookies in the middle of the desert. But Said knows better. Mgar's children have left this area many years ago to seek more comfortable places in the north. Every now and then they come to visit with the grandchildren. And then grandpa likes to have some presents on hand.

 

 

We continue on a black gravel plain. Then straight through a vast sea of sand. Apparently we are a bit lost, because the jeeps are spinning in circles. That's no problem, near a solitary tree Said asks advice from a Tuareg shepherd girl. She's the second human being we meet today, it's surprisingly busy in this part of the desert. The girl has a dozen goats under her care.

She does not wear a veil. Strangely enough, among the Tuaregs it is the men who have to cover their faces, not the women. After all, the tagelmust not only serves to keep out the sand, but also forms an important symbol within the rigid social hierarchy. As a man you are not expected to show your nose or your mouth to someone higher on the social ladder.

 

 

Wadi Tashwinnat continues to treat us to a never-ending alternation of sand and boulders. It's no longer a surprise to us that Akra does not know the way and doesn't succeed in keeping visual contact with Muhammad and Ali's jeeps. But he doesn't get discouraged. By crossing some sturdy dunes, he secretly hopes to reduce his backlog. But he is grossly mistaken. The dune turns out to be a size too big for his worn-out Rover. Four times we go up with a lot of noise, four times we get stranded at a distance of one and a half metres from the ridge, four times we let ourselves sink back down.

 

Wadi Tashwinnat – Waiting for Muhammad

There is no other option than to return to the open plain, position our jeep clearly visible and then wait for Muhammad, who meanwhile crosses an adjacent wadi, looking in vain for Akra's jeep. Finally, fresh jeep tracks in the desert sand set him on the right track. Once again you can't call it a cordial reunion between Muhammad and Akra.

 

 

Just as our eyes can't resist the fabulous landscapes, our ears are fascinated by the exotic sounds of the Rover. More and more this sounds like the rattling of old iron. Only when little clouds of water vapour appear above the bonnet, Akra considers it necessary to investigate. The culprit is found quickly – a radiator supply pipe is cracked. Nothing to worry about, Akra still has a third-hand tube that he installs in the blink of an eye as a replacement. Just a minor adjustment, he reassures us. The original tube, barely fifteen centimetres long with a one centimetre hole, is carefully tucked away in a corner under the bonnet – you never know where it might come in handy.

 

Lifting ones paws in the hot desert sand

Just a minor adjustment

The fan that is supposed to cool the radiator is nothing more than a blunt shaft. All the fan blades have broken off

But there's more to it. A look under the bonnet of the Rover has taught us that the fan that is supposed to cool the radiator is nothing more than a blunt shaft – all the fan blades have broken off. In a flash, we now realize the true nature of the piece of metal that Muhammad treasures all this time like a trophy on his dashboard. It is one of the fan blades of Akra's Rover.

Things can't be changed, we have to move on. To quench the thirsty radiator, we sacrifice both our sanitary water and our mineral water. Half an hour later we are on the road again. For a moment the engine still sputters like a two-stroke engine, but soon we hear the familiar rumble of the past few days. For safety's sake, Muhammad takes the second position in our little column, neatly behind Akra's crippled jeep.

 

 

Muhammad's repentance turns out to be short-lived. Pretty soon the silhouette of his jeep is reduced to a point on the horizon. Half an hour later he has to top up water in his radiator. Akra now can keep up with him for a while.

We're driving through some kind of a moonscape, with the dunes of Idehan Murzuq in the distance on the right. Muhammad smoothly races over the gravel at the edge of the plain. Akra, on the other hand, opts for the centre, constantly being confronted with large boulders, bushes and other obstacles.

 

 

A crescent-shaped dune in the beautiful sandy desert of Ramlet Win Kaza provides the suitable backdrop for our tented camp. Erecting the tents should go without a hitch. But in the gossamer sand, the tent's pegs don't get the slightest grip. Big boulders are nowhere to be seen. So we just bury the edges of the tent canvas with kilos of sand.

While Sahebi stirs his pots, Akra gets to work under the Rover's bonnet. Apparently he's not completely comfortable with the situation, although he doesn't show it. Cooling a radiator with a fan without blades seems an unsolvable problem to us. But Akra has some way around. After all, in the passenger compartment we do have some air cooling fans that are functioning as they should. We do not need them, as the windows are always open. Using those fans as cooling for the radiator is just a minor adjustment, he reassures us. What's more, he will be able now to raise and lower the cooling of the radiator with a switch. Just imagine what a luxury. A little later we sit down for the Libyan soup and the couscous.

 

* * * * *

 

A crescent-shaped dune in the beautiful sandy desert of Ramlet Win Kaza provides the suitable backdrop for our tented camp

We now drive northeast along the edge of Idehan Ubari. So perfectly unruffled is the pristine desert sand, that it lacks any texture. Neither our eyes nor our cameras can focus on the terrain, imperfections are almost impossible to recognize. But the track is not as flat as it seems. The bouncing of the jeep constantly reminds us of that.

 

Sunset over Ramlet Win Kaza

The dreaded fech-fech also plays tricks on us. This ultra-fine desert sand is one of the worst nightmares of Dakar rally drivers. Countless years of erosion have stripped this sand of its grain-like structure and reduced it to a powdery substance that can best be compared to talcum powder. When fech-fech forms a thin layer on a rock, it is very slippery. When it accumulates in a deep pit, it’s basically quicksand without water – your jeep simply sinks into it.

When the dreaded fech-fech accumulates in a deep pit, it is essentially quicksand without water – your jeep simply sinks into it

 

For the time being, we will not suffer such a fate, although a clattering sound at the rear of the jeep suggests new doom. The right rear tire has picked up a sharp rock. Akra shrugs. Nothing wrong, he judges, because we still can drive. As soon as we join the others, he parks his Rover next to Ali's kitchen jeep. Akra unscrews a spark plug from Ali's jeep, connects one end of a thin tube with a pressure gauge to the spark plug and the other end to the air valve on his tire. With the engine running, the kitchen jeep slowly but surely inflates Akra's tire. Forty-five minutes later we drive on, with an explosive mixture of air and petrol gas in our right rear tire.

 

Just a minor adjustment

This is how we reach Al Awaynat. For the first time in four days we get asphalt under our wheels. At a brisk pace we drive northeast towards Garama and Ubari. We won't have any orientation problems now, because this is literally the only asphalt road in this part of Fezzan. Yet to our surprise, Akra suddenly brings out a compass, just when we certainly don't need it.

Like wild melons, the yellow fruits of colocynths are scattered over the grounds

Colocynths

Desert locust

We have lunch amid the salty remains of a dried-up wadi. A strong wind is howling across the plain, but we are used to worse. Like wild melons, the yellow fruits of colocynths are scattered over the grounds. These plants do not care about extreme heat or severe drought. Their fleshy roots manage to find water deep underground. They are not tasty, these bitter fruits, but Said does have praise for their strong laxative effect. But you have to be careful, he adds, because the pulp is poisonous. We still prefer the delicious tuna salad from Sahebi.

 

 

In one go we now drive to Ubari, where we arrive just after four. Said is doing some shopping, looks like we'll be getting eggs for breakfast in the morning. We leave the asphalt road and continue north. An impressive dune landscape separates us from our overnight campsite. Air is let out of the tires, Akra pours an extra splash of water into his radiator and hey presto, the rollercoaster through the desert sand starts. Sometimes they are pretty tough, those steep dunes. The jeeps often have to take a long run-up before tackling one. Sometimes the ridge of the dune is so sharp that the jeep literally tilts over the ridge on its chassis before the front wheels find their grip in the sand on the other side.

 

 

To say that our worn-out Rover is having a hard time with some dunes is like kicking in an open door. One of the dunes really seems too ambitious. Three attempts in a row fail. Each time, the jeep comes to a stop a short distance from the top. Nothing to worry about, says Akra. He lets some air out of the tires and then, to everyone's surprise, manages to reach the top at an enormous speed. From the back seat of the jeep Said proudly informs us that not one egg is broken – for safety's sake he cherished them in his lap.

 

A subtle pattern of light and shadow, whimsical and graceful at the same time

All this does not prevent us from fully enjoying the fascinating landscape. Deserts come in all sizes, shapes and colours. That's the most important lesson we've learned until now. Even without sand dunes, we were carried away by enchanting desert landscapes. Undoubtedly, dunes are the archetypal image we Europeans have of a desert – endless rows of sand dunes. That is exactly the landscape we're entering now. They stretch out in all directions, the untouched dunes. The low sun casts its warm rays over their razor-sharp ridges, painting a subtle pattern of light and shadow, whimsical and graceful at the same time.

We quietly set up the tents, while Akra as usual is working under the bonnet of his jeep. In the midst of all the fuss in the dunes, the switch with which he controls the cooling of his radiator has been lost. Through a hole in the dashboard – presumably the ignition key was once there – he pulls two copper wires within reach. Switching on the fans is now very easy, he explains. All he has to do while driving is to press the bare ends of those wires together with his fingers. Just a minor adjustment, he reassures us, nothing to worry about. A little later we sit down for the Libyan soup and the couscous.

 

* * * * *

 

 

Upon awakening, the early rays of the sun are shining low over the high dunes. Suddenly a strange creature runs away from under the canvas. That's a gerbil, Akra knows, a desert rat with hind legs that are about five times as long as its front legs. It looks a bit like a tiny kangaroo. When it's running fast, it only uses its hind legs. When it's walking slowly, it alternately uses its front legs and its hind legs. Its track then almost resembles that of a three-legged animal, because the front legs land closely together. Gerbils only appear at night, because they don't like extreme heat. Evidently this specimen had entrenched itself under our tent last night – its burrow is still visible in the sand.

With one eye on the uneven terrain and the other eye on the water and oil thermometers, with the left hand loosely on the steering wheel and the right hand fiddling with the two copper wires, Akra steers the jeep imperturbably through the dunes. Then suddenly Lake Mafou appears, a crescent-shaped lake surrounded by reeds and a few palm trees.

It is not unique, this lake. Spread over the southern part of the Idehan Ubari you can find about twenty such lakes. Apart from their idyllic character, they don't have much to offer. Were it not that they are in the middle of the desert, in a country where not a single river is flowing.

The lakes are in the middle of the desert, in a country where not a single river is flowing

Idehan Ubari

Lake Umm al-Maa

That's no coincidence. After all, two hundred thousand years ago, the Megafezzan was located here, an enormous lake, four times the size of Belgium. Further north you then could find Lake Chad, which was much larger still. And somewhere in the borderland between Libya and Tunisia must have been the magical Lake Triton. We don't know exactly where it was, but there is not the slightest doubt about its existence. Even the Greek historian Herodotus mentions it in his writings.

These idyllic lakes are the last remnants of that wet Sahara. The salinity of the water is comparable to that of the Dead Sea – so a swimmer can float in it without any problems. The explanation for this is classic. On the one hand you have the evaporation that takes place here at a very rapid pace. On the other hand, no fresh water is supplied, because there are no rivers and it does not rain here. The concentration of the minerals in the water is therefore increasing. This rapid heating also explains why the water on the surface is colder than, say, half a metre deep. After all, evaporation removes heat from the surface water.

For these lakes, the danger of complete dehydration is constantly lurking around the corner. Lake Chad is the perfect example of this. While in the 1960s this lake still covered an area of 26 000 km² – almost the size of Belgium – today it has been reduced to a mere 1 500 km².

Akra meanwhile has other concerns. Holding those copper wires constantly in his hand while driving is getting on his nerves. During the short break at Lake Mafou he once again disappears under the bonnet. Connecting the fans directly to the battery appears to be the perfect solution to the problem. From now on, the fans will run permanently. Just a minor adjustment, he reassures us, nothing to worry about. Of course, he shouldn't forget to disconnect those wires this evening, otherwise the battery will be empty tomorrow morning.

For these lakes, the danger of complete dehydration is constantly lurking around the corner

Lake Gaberoun

Barely four kilometres further we come across Lake Gaberoun, perhaps the most beautiful of the Ubari Lakes. And certainly the largest, 300 m long, 250 m wide. A high sand dune rises on the south side, on the north side among palm trees are the ruins of an ancient settlement. They were stone houses, built from a mixture of sand and salt. Until recently, Gaberoun was a lively oasis. A certain A'awn must have been an important dignitary there, for literally Gaberoun means the grave of A'awn.

In the salty water of these lakes fairy shrimps feel themselves at home. These are fairly primitive crustaceans, one to two centimetres long, that you can find all over the world, even in arctic lakes, mountain lakes or salt lakes like here. These fairy shrimps were an important source of income for the local Tuaregs. They crushed the crustaceans into a kind of paste and then made a cake out of it. These cakes they sold to caravans passing by through the desert. They even got their name from it – Dawada or worm eaters.

They crushed the crustaceans into a kind of paste and then made a cake out of it

But from behind their desks, government officials had decided that people were not happy here. About twenty kilometres south, they had new homes built along the asphalt road. In 1991 the Dawada were kindly requested to take up residence there. Those who didn't like to move were encouraged to do so by the army. Since then, the settlement has been empty, except for some tourist activity.

Said gives us an hour of rest. We swim in the salt water or climb the highest dune, just to find out that behind every highest dune there always is a dune that's even higher.

In search of the next lake, we stop after barely half an hour. The Rover's engine rattles like old iron, the temperature of the oil is far in the red, we no longer have water to top up the radiator. Nothing to worry about, says Akra. We just have to wait ten minutes, then the engine will have cooled down enough to continue driving. No sooner said than done. Against all expectations we reach Lake Umm Al Maa without any further problems. There, the kitchen jeep has already taken up its position.

We just have to wait ten minutes, then the engine will have cooled down enough to continue driving

Just a minor adjustment

Date palm

Under a shady date palm we enjoy Sahebi's excellent cuisine. Meanwhile, Akra is busy under the bonnet of his jeep. You don't need windshield wipers in the desert, he explains – an argument we can't refute. So he disconnects the water reservoir from the wipers and installs a new tube that sprays the water from the wipers over his radiator. With a simple push of his windshield wiper switch, he can spray now cool water over the radiator. Such ingenuity, he cannot but be proud of it.

Wouldn't it be better to consider installing a new fan, I ask him. Aggrieved, a little angry even, he looks at me. Hasn’t he been able to solve every problem so far? With no more than a minor adjustment? So, he concludes, in the future it will be no different, Inch'allah.

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Jaak Palmans

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