October 30, 1996

Far away in the dunes three small dots moved slowly along the amber-colored sand. "They are my dromedaries," Ali said. He was the dromedary man; responsible for the care and feeding of the three animals that lived at the Auberge Kasbah on the edge of the Chebbi Erg. It was peaceful here and, like his surroundings, Ali struck me as a peaceful man. He wore only a simple blue tunic tied at the waist, a watch, ring and silver chain. Still pointing to the dots on the dunes, he said, "Would you like to come with me to get them?" Ahmed came too and together we walked along the ridges where the wind had blown the sand to a knife-edge. The sand was like silk, rippling away from each foot print, sinking and filling as quickly as one foot stepped ahead of the next. I watched it snake away down the concave arcs to my left and gather like waves of pudding on the smooth almost velvet-like sand to my right.

I've read that Nomads used to ride dromedaries across the Sahara from Morocco to Algeria and also to Timbuktoo (52 days) in Mali. Perhaps when the Algerian border opens up, they will travel these distances again. "There has been much drought," Ali told me. "There is no reliable water source in the desert now."

We walked a bit more in silence and then sat in the sand to watch for the animals. "There are two ," Ahmed said. He pointed to the small moving dots. "It is not far now." But distances on sand dunes are deceiving. I looked back at the Kasbah where we had started. It too was a small miniature dot in the distance. Over one more dune and it disappeared.

The dromedaries seemed indifferent to us when we approached them. "What would they do if you didn't come to get them?" I asked. Ali waved his arm over the great vastness of sand. "They would stay out here. When it is dark they cannot see well to come in by themselves."

While Ali and Ahmed scampered down a dune and yelled commands to the animals, I emptied my shoes. My companions had no shoes - perhaps that was the better way to travel here.

The third dromedary was described to me as a wanderer. "We tie his front legs together to keep him from going too far," Ali said. Ahmed sat down and surveyed the sand. Then he pointed far out ahead of him at three more of the graceful beasts. Within seconds he was sliding down the dune, sand spraying behind him; his tracks disappearing as quickly as they were made. "Yes," he yelled when he'd reached the animals; one of them was indeed theirs.

As we headed back, I let the large padded feet of the dromedaries get ahead of me. They seemed to float, almost dance. The imprints of my feet were deep, theirs were only shallow dents in the sand. The sun too seemed to float in the sky. It transformed the grey mountains far on the horizon into gold. Perfect African nights are made of these images, dromedaries and their shadows dancing together, black and gold changing places on shifting grains of sand.

[BIG]

When we reached the edge of the dunes, a blanket of wheat was laid out for the animals. Their back knees followed their front knees and they sat to eat, sideways crunching of jaws, tongues licking at wool. I walked back to the van and looked again at the dunes. They were dark now. The sun had stolen their amber waves and laid over them blankets of black. In the morning their beauty would return and the dromedaries would again be dots on the hills, back in their home of Sahara sand.