The Camel Man

by Rebecca West (Australia)

Making a local connection Morocco

It wasn’t the first time I thought I wasn’t going to make it out of Morocco— There was the eerie ticking of the gas bottle at the local bus station, as the canteen kitchen went up in flames; the dramatic arrest of a man wielding a knife; and the derailing of the train I was minutes late from catching. It’d truly been an adventure, but none quite like the Sahara. I’d entrusted a nomad named Ahmed to get me into the desert, a winding 11 hour drive from Marrakech. He drove a silver 4WD and told me of his family in the desert, some in Morocco and some stuck on the Afghan side of the border. He didn’t know how old he was, but he guessed about 27. Windows up, we journeyed into the Sahara, the sickening twists of the High Atlas Mountains long behind us. It was vast and it was brilliant, its edges bordered with resting camels. The sun wasn’t scorching like the desert would assume, but rather masked by a thick layer of cloud, the temperature pleasant. I wrapped my headscarf around my face, more so for novelty than for protection from the lacklustre sun; my sunset camel ride shaping up to be just as lacklustre. Ahmed pulled up beside a man cloaked in purple and crouching alongside his camels— Youssef. Youssef was a nomad of the desert, just like Ahmed. He’d never been to school but he spoke six different languages: Arabic, French, English, Mandarin, Spanish and the native Berber. He showed me to my camel and instructed it to stand, its jolting ascent an omen for the journey ahead. Reins in hand, Youssef lead us into the dunes and en-route to our overnight camp. I could make no sense of which direction we’d come from, but Youssef navigated the dunes like familiar backstreets. The weather grew less impressive and he looked nervously over his should as the storm clouds brewed; a daunting wall of weather. The temperature dropped and the camels unsettled as the storm gained ground. “Will we make it to the camp?” The worry in Youssef’s eyes was evident and his reply unnerving. “Ah… I don’t know… “I’ve never seen it like this before.” It hit us hard and all at once. An enormous tidal wave of sand that hung over us in the sky like a cliff’s edge, before swallowing us whole. Rain pelted from all directions and the sand whipped at our ankles. The camels stirred, some baulked while others buried themselves into the sand. If the camels were refusing to go on, so was I. We dismounted our camels, burrowed into the sand beside them and took shelter beneath their wet saddle blankets. They smelt terrible, but it was all that stood between us and the storm. Huddled beside Youssef, I buried my face into my scarf. He pleaded with my camel to rise, tugging at the reins and whispering in its ear, but it was no use. We stayed huddled in the sand— tiny specks on the great Sahara. Cracks of thunder shook the dunes and lightning struck all around — one hitting just a few hundred metres away. The air was drenched in sand and it was getting harder and harder to breathe. I had never been so afraid. I shut my eyes and clenched Youssef’s hand, not knowing how many more hours we’d have to bear. HEADLIGHTS— Blinding lights pierced through the darkness and a car horn honked. “Get in!” It was Ahmed. I jumped in the 4WD, my clothes full of sand. The car was dry and I could finally take off my headscarf and breathe freely. The relief was overwhelming. As we took off over the dunes, my stomach dropped… Youssef. I looked back over my shoulder and there he was, crouched beside his camels in the midst of the storm, whispering in their ears. Ahmed’s eyes met mine frantic in the rearview mirror. “He wanted to stay with his camels”. I watched out the back window as he cuddled up to them, his head rested on their backs. It wasn’t long before I lost sight of him through the storm— Youssef, the camel man.