Tuareg

They had drunk the camel’s blood and eaten its meat. He felt strong and animated, full of energy and capable of taking on the “lost land” without trepidation. But he was worried about his companion’s fears and how silent he had become. With the light of each new day, as the same landscape stretched out before them, he could read the increasing desperation in his eyes.

‘It’s not possible!’ was the last thing he had heard him say. ‘It’s not possible!’

He had to help him get down from the camel now and carry him into the shade to give him water, whilst cradling his head as if he were a frightened boy. Gazel wondered where his strength had gone and what strange spell the plain had cast on him.

‘He’s an old man,’ he repeated over and over again. ‘A man who has aged before his time, having spent so many years imprisoned between four walls so now everything for him, other than thought, requires a superhuman effort.’

How could he tell him that their real difficulties had not yet even begun? They still had water and three camels to drink the blood of. It was still a while before those strange bright lights, like a thousand suns, would start to burn behind their eyes, the surest symptom that dehydration was setting in. The road was still a long one, a very long one and would demand enormous will power and an invincible spirit, without ever offering an ounce of hope or reward in return.

“Stay away from Tikdabra.”

He could not remember when he had first heard that warning, probably while he was in the womb of his mother, but now he was there, somewhere in Tikdabra, carrying with him a man who was fast becoming a shadow. He was quite sure, moreover, that he, Gazel Sayah, “the Hunter,” Imohag of the Kel-Talgimus, could have conquered Tikdabra alone, with the help of his four camels.

He would be the first man ever to have achieved it and his fame would have spread throughout the desert far and wide and his name passed on by word of mouth, as he became a legend. But he was carrying an unbearable weight with him, like the chains put on the ankles of rebel slaves by their masters and the weight, this man who had been destroyed and beaten down in less than a week, meant that neither him nor any other Targui in the desert would ever make it through that empty land.

He realised that the moment would come when he would either have to shoot the man in order to relieve him of his sufferings and save himself, or they would both of them end up suffering the most hideous of deaths.

‘He will ask me to kill him,’ he said to himself. ‘When he cannot go on any more and I will have to do it.’

He could only hope that it was not already too late.

If his guest asked to die voluntarily, it was within his rights to do so and he would be free of all responsibility from that moment and free to try and save himself.

‘Five days,’ he calculated. ‘In five days time he will still be in a condition to ask for it himself. If he lasts any longer then it will be too late for both of us.’

He was presented with a difficult dilemma, on the one hand he should try and keep his companion whole, feed his hope and try to save him in every humane way possible. On the other hand, he realised that for every hour and day that he managed to prolong his companion’s life, the possibility of him surviving for another day or hour decreased.

Abdul-el-Kebir, because of his constitution and out of habit, drank three times as much as Gazel did. This meant that when the time came, the Targui would have four times more chance of surviving, if he were alone.

He watched him as he slept, restlessly, murmuring occasionally and with his mouth wide open, as if searching for air. He would be doing him a favour if he extended that sleep now to eternity, freeing him from the terrors of the punishing days that lay ahead of them. It would almost be kinder to ease him into an eternal sleep right then, at least while there was still a measure of hope in his heart; the hope that they might yet manage to cross the border.

What border? It had to be there, somewhere ahead of them or maybe it was already behind them. Nobody in the whole world would know to point them in the right direction since the Tikdabra “lost land” had never accepted a human presence in it before, let alone allowed the imposition of a border upon it.

Maybe “it” was the border; the final frontier between countries, between religion and life and death. “It” sat there like a barrier to man and Gazel realised that in one way he loved the “lost land.” He loved the fact that he was there of his own free will and that he might be the first ever human being, since the beginning of time to know what it was like to take on the “desert of all deserts.”

‘I feel strong enough to beat you,’ was the last thing he said, before falling into a deep sleep. ‘I feel capable of defeating you and putting an end to the legend once and for all.’

But once he was asleep a voice came into his head that echoed repeatedly and monotonously: “Stay away from Tikdabra.” Then the image of Laila emerged from out of the shadows and she stroked his forehead and gave him fresh water from the deepest of wells. She sang to him in the same way that she had sang to him on the night of the Ahal, at the festival of love-making, when she had drawn strange patterns on his hands, patterns that only his people knew how to interpret. Laila! Laila!

She stopped in her task of grinding maize and lifted up her dark eyes to look at Suilem’s wrinkled face. He was staring up at a peak that overlooked the guelta.

‘Soldiers,’ was all he said.

And soldiers they were and they came from every angle, their weapons at the ready, as if attacking a dangerous enemy enclave instead of a miserable nomadic camp occupied by only women, old men and children.

She took one look at them and knew immediately what was happening, so she turned around and said to the Akli in no uncertain terms:

‘Hide,’ she ordered. ‘Your master will need to know what’s happened.’

The old man hesitated for a minute before obeying, then slipped off in between the jaimas and sheribas and disappeared into a bed of reeds by a small lake, as if he had been swallowed up by it.

Laila then called her husband’s children and the women servants over, took the littlest into her arms and stood there, tall and strong in front of the man who appeared to be in charge of the group.

‘What do you want from my camp?’ she asked, even though she already knew.

‘Gazel Sayah. Do you know him?’

‘He is my husband. But he is not here.’

Sergeant Malik took in the tall and defiant Targui, without any veils covering her face or heavy drapes over her arms, breasts or strong legs, at leisure. He had not been close to a woman like that for years, not since he had been posted to the desert and had been forced to rid himself of all such thoughts and desires. He replied softly, a smile playing at his lips:

‘I know he’s not here. He’s very far away, in Tikdabra.’

She shuddered with horror as he uttered that fearful word, but managed to hide the terror she felt. The Tuareg women were never supposed to reveal their fear.

‘If you know where he is, then why have you come here?’

‘To protect you. You will have to come with us because your husband has turned into a dangerous criminal and the authorities are afraid that an angry mob might attack you.’

Laila had to stop herself from laughing at the audacity of this man, as she gestured with a sweep of her hand around her and said:

‘Mob?’ she repeated. ‘What mob? There isn’t a soul around here for at least two days in either direction.’

Malik-el-Haideri smiled like the cat that had got the cream. He felt happy and vaguely amused for the first time in a long time.

‘News travels fast in the desert,’ he said. ‘You know that. Word will soon spread and we have to try and prevent the start of any tribal warfare. You will come with us.’

‘And if we refuse to?’

‘You will come anyway. By force.’ He looked at them all. ‘Is everyone here?’ They nodded silently as he pointed in the direction from which they had arrived. ‘Right, off we go then!’

Laila pointed to the camp.

‘We have to take the camp down.’

‘The camp will stay where it is. My men will remain here and wait for your husband.’

For the first time Laila nearly lost her composure and her reply was almost beseeching.

‘But it’s all we have.’

Malik laughed contemptuously.

‘It’s not much then. But where we’re going you won’t need anything.’ He paused. ‘You must understand that I can’t go wandering around the desert carrying blankets and carpets and pots and pans like some kind of tinker.’ He gestured to one of his men. ‘Get them to start moving. Ali, stay here with four men and you know what to do if the Targui turns up!’

Fifteen minutes later Laila turned round to look down at the small valley where, by the water of the guelta she just could just make out her jaimas and sheribas, the goat pen and the corner of ground by the reed beds where the camels were grazing. That and a man were all she had ever had in her life, apart from the son she was carrying in her arms and she was overcome with fear that she would never see her home or her husband again. She turned to Malik who had stopped at her side.

‘What do you really want from us?’ she asked. ‘I’ve never seen women and children get involved in a confrontation that is between men. Is your army so weak that you need us in your battle against Gazel?’

‘He’s got somebody that we want,’ came his reply. ‘Now we have something that he wants. We’ll play him at his own game and you should be thankful that we didn’t slit any of your throats while you slept. We will offer him an exchange. One man for all of his family.’

‘If that man was his guest, then I cannot accept that. Our laws forbid it.’

‘Your laws do not exist!’

Malik-el-Haideri had sat down on a stone and lit a cigarette as the line of soldiers and prisoners began their descent down the rocky mountainside towards the flat land, where their vehicles were parked. ‘Your law, made by the Tuaregs for the convenience and exclusive use of the Tuaregs, is not recognised as valid by our national laws.’

He blew smoke into the woman’s face. ‘Your husband has failed to understand this, despite our best intentions, so now we’re going to have to make him understand this in a less pleasant way. You cannot do whatever you want under the umbrella of your own tradition, somehow relying on the immensity of this desert to support it. He will come back one day and on that day he will be forced to take responsibility for his actions. If he wants to see his wife and children free again then he will have to hand him over and be tried.’

‘He will never hand him over,’ Laila said with conviction.

‘Then get used to the fact that you’ll never be free again.’

She did not answer, but looked back to the reed beds where she knew that Suilem the Akli was hiding and then, as if turning her back on her past forever, she turned around and started off down the hill after her family.

Malik-el-Haideri finished his cigarette, clearly flustered by the presence of this woman and he watched the gentle swaying of her hips as she walked away. Then stubbing his cigarette out angrily, he got up and followed her down slowly.