This is the tenth instalment of a four-month trans-Africa trip from Johannesburg to London that I did with Exodus Expeditions in 1980, travelling by ex-army truck and camping. We were not sightseeing, though we did see some incredible sights. Our goal was to see and experience Africa from south to north by whatever route was open. Four months. Twelve people. One truck. Fifteen countries. 18,000 kilometres. Links to the earlier posts are listed at the end of this one.


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We exit Nigeria just north of the town of Illela, and enter a no-mans-land. The entry into Niger is ahead. There is nothing around us. No buildings, no customs office. Craig stops the truck. He tells us to lay the tarps out on the ground and take everything from the truck. Everything. All is to be spread out on the tarps for easy inspection. He tells us that the border is manned by convicts. There is nothing around for what seems like infinity so where are they going to go? We are in what’s known as the Sahel, a semi-desert region up to a thousand kilometres wide stretching east-west across Africa just south of the Sahara. It is very dry, and largely uninhabited.

We stay by the truck with all its contents revealed; we see in detail how much we have. Craig disappears into the distance. We wait. Some time later, a half-hour maybe, he returns and tells us we’re cleared to go. I guess the guards were feeling kinda lazy, though I suspect they’re more interested in catching contraband in the huge transport trucks than checking on a ragged band of white western travellers on the overland route. From the border we go west all the way to Niamey, the capital of Niger, and back, to get visas for Algeria. It’s 380 kilometres each way on a paved road through increasingly sandy terrain. We stop in Kore Mairoua for supplies, and even though we’re very little north of the border with Nigeria it feels as if we’ve entered a whole new world.




















Niger can be divided into three distinct geographical regions. In the south there is some cultivation. It is in the Sahel, the intermediate region, where the Fulani and Tuareg nomads spend the summer. To the north is the desert zone. The Sahara Desert covers all of the north, more than half the country, making Niger one of the hottest countries in the world. Only one-fifth of the population live in towns, and of the many villages half have a population of 500 or less; there are almost no villages in the desert zone.

In this sparse sere country, with hardy desert scrub clinging resolutely to life, we pass by a few remote villages,





herdsmen with their livestock,





and people who are both shy and curious. A small family group in this parched land, their lives as alien to me as mine is to them, watch us as we go by.





Both the Fulani and Tuareg live in tribal groups, in temporary or portable shelters. Their livelihood comes from their animals. The Fulani raise sheep, goats, and longhorn cattle, and live largely on milk in various forms; the Tuareg also raise sheep and goats, as well as camels, and eat mainly meat and dates. And in the vast desert wilderness both groups know where all the wells are located.

Back close to where we first entered Niger we finally head north again, towards the town of Agadez, and the Sahara, and into the land of the Fulani and Tuareg. We see groups of Fulani herdsmen with their long-horn cattle. This group is at a well, raising water in skin bags for their livestock,





and it is here that Steve, who is just about the most useful and competent person of our whole group, uses his first aid kit to help an injured herdsman.





As we journey along, the occasional lone horseman appears in the emptiness,





or a Tuareg man with his camel.





There is nothing for miles around, no sign of any villages or human presence; it feels as if we are alone in this vast barren landscape so such sightings are always a surprise. I notice that their connection to their animals always seems so organic; a unity that is both seamless and elegant.

The days are long and hot. There’s some relief at night if there’s a breeze, but if not the nights too are sweltering. Nevertheless, on November 5th we have a bonfire.





Most of us are British, or of British heritage, so November 5th is a date that’s seared into our memories by a childhood rhyme.
Remember remember the 5th of November
Gunpowder, treason, and plot.
I see no reason why gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot.
It is the date in 1605 that a man named Guy Fawkes tried to blow up the Houses of Parliament. Everyone builds a huge fire to burn an effigy of him. We’re still in the Sahel, have not yet entered the Sahara proper, and there’s wood available, so we make the most of it. Perhaps we all just need a little entertainment, as if we’re not already hot enough.

Most nights I don’t bother with a tent. Whenever possible I string my mosquito net from a bush and sleep out under the stars, but as we head north the land becomes more and more sandy and arid until there is no plant life to be seen, nor mosquitoes. Agadez is the halfway point to the border with Algeria. The road is still good, though with areas of billowing sand. About a hundred kilometres or so before we reach the town we seem at last to have entered true desert. And there’s this about the Tenere, which is just east of Agadez:

The Sahara is the biggest desert on earth. It takes its name from the Arab word for emptiness. In the dead heart of that emptiness there’s a place called the Tenere. The Tenere takes its name from the Tuareg word for nothing. A nothing the size of France in the middle of an emptiness the size of the United States. It’s no wonder the locals call this place The Land Of Fear. David Adams

The oasis of Agadez is a town of orange mud brick buildings so blending with the landscape that it’s as if the land itself gave birth to a sea of geometric forms that rise organically from the flat plain.

Here we meet some of the Tuareg people.





I have a halting conversation with a Tuareg man who wants to sell me one of their traditional purses. The conversation is in French, the official language of Niger. Craig sits nearby and smiles at my efforts. My French is far from fluent but gets the job done, and I purchase the very purse hanging around his neck.





Approximately 200 kilometres northwest of Agadez is a tiny village of about fifty families called Teguidda-n-Tessoumt.





The population is seasonal. They are employed in an unusual, and ancient, salt industry where they extract salt from clay. The area is dotted with dozens of ponds filled with brine water from springs. Entire families work here.





Children who are too young to work take care of those even younger.





The hills are from the buildup of clay from which the salt has been extracted.





The salt is used as a dietary supplement for animals, and in the winter both the Fulani and the Tuareg gather in the area for their animals to benefit from it.

The further north we go the more the road is swallowed by the desert, until it becomes a wide expanse of tire tracks surrounded by an infinite emptiness. Every few kilometres there is a marker barrel – a fuel drum filled with sand – indicating that you are still on the “road”. Deviating from the track could be deadly. We stop frequently. Up on top of the truck Cameron searches for the next marker barrel.





If it’s not the wind, the truck itself stirs up a light dust, which drifts down onto everything – our bodies, our clothes, the truck inside and out, our food. Everything. Coupled with the sun, we begin to understand why the people of the desert are swaddled from head to foot in cotton cloth.

We pass Arlit, the last town in Niger, and dive deeper into the Sahara. There are over 2000 kilometres still to go. It already feels as if we’ve been in the desert forever, and we’ve only just begun.





Next post: Algeria and the Sahara.



Disclosure:
1. I’ve changed the names of everyone involved for privacy.
2. Obviously any photo with me in it was taken by another member of the group, but I’ve no idea who. We all swapped photos when we got to London.

Previous posts:
1. The Drums Of Africa. Botswana and Zambia.
2. Tanzania Mania
3. Wildlife And Tribal Life In Kenya
4. The Opposite Of Glamping
5. Turn left At Sudan
6. Mud Luscious and Puddle Wonderful. Central African Republic
7. Becoming Unstuck. Central African Republic
8. Waiting For The Rabbit To Die. Bangui, Central African Republic
9. Between The Jungle And The Desert: Cameroon and Nigeria







All words and images by Alison Louise Armstrong unless otherwise noted
© Alison Louise Armstrong and Adventures in Wonderland – a pilgrimage of the heart, 2010-2024.