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Singing in the Sahara - Letter from the Algarve by Frances Ruddick
• 03 Jan 2008 •
 The celebration of Three Kings’ Day takes place this weekend and across the border there are exceptional parades. The event brings to mind my own experience of camels when last year we went to the Sahara.
We left by car from our home in Loulé and began what turned out to be the most epic journey of our lives. Four hours to Gibraltar, ferry to Tangier, six hours to Marrakesh, another six to cross the Atlas Mountains, six more across the stony desert before finally reaching the Sahara’s dunes.
At that point - looking for an authentic experience - we hired a couple of camels to trudge onward into the desert! Our Berber guides handed us thick blankets, which were to double up as our saddles and our beds.
In all we were a party of twelve tourists of international origins and four guides. Everyone was exceedingly friendly and as often happens when the common language was pigeon English. Not surprisingly the rest of the group were of the younger generation, making us feel somewhat past our sell-by dates. Nevertheless we were game for the journey and together we all headed south, the camels roped together in two long lines.
Camels as you probably know are bad tempered creatures and often try to bite each other. We discovered that they do not discriminate between another camel and what they’re carrying on their back. What with the constant motion and trying to avoid their teeth, the experience was far from pleasant. Swaying back and forth, up and down the dunes, our ships of the desert walked on into the dusk, until darkness fell.
A campfire glimmered in the distance, partially surrounded by several tents. Anticipating the end of the journey the camels began to hurry and a reception of four more Berbers greeted the party as we reached our destination.
Desperate to relieve itself of its burden – that was me - my camel promptly sank to its knees, tipping me over its head and onto the sand. Fortunately I was uninjured but the accident had amused our Berber hosts who lifted me to my feet, removed the saddle blanket and gathering together the rest of the group, showed us to our beds. More accurately I should say, pointed to spaces on the sand inside the tents. We shared our accommodation with two young Dutch women.
Resourcefully the Berbers had created a stew for our evening meal, cooked over the fire in a huge copper pot and served in individual ‘tagine’ dishes. We drank mint tea, surreptitiously laced with whisky we had brought in a silver flask. Alcohol being a more or less banned substance in Morocco, if you require the occasional tipple you need to bring it yourself. In the interests of European diplomacy we provided our Dutch lady friends with a snifter, which they gratefully imbibed.
The fire was stoked up and the Berbers began to drum and sing. The camels noisily joined in, ruminating and grunting just outside the campsite. After about an hour it was suggested that the tourists should take a turn and entertain the Berbers. Everyone looked meekly at each other, reluctant to take to the floor. Struck dumb and reticent to be the first, the international group of travellers were far too bashful to perform.
It certainly shouldn’t have fallen to me to make an idiot of myself; after all I’d already provided one cabaret when I slipped off my camel.
The silence of the desert was resounding; even the camels had quietened down. No one spoke a word and as embarrassment took over and the whisky took effect, I rose to my feet and broke into a rendition of, “Oh Lord won’t you buy me a Mercedes Benz.”
Fortunately the internationally known vocabulary carried me through. Believe me I cannot sing for toffee but words such as Lord, Mercedes Benz, TV and dollars are known worldwide. Furthermore for a woman who was clearly unsuited to camel riding, a Mercedes Benz was judged to be a preferable mode of transport. The Berbers enthusiastically applauded my efforts.
With that in mind, I expect that amongst the 500 or so vehicles in this year’s Dakar Rally there will be several Mercedes. The race passes through the Algarve this weekend and it’s well worth finding a good vantage point to watch the intrepid competitors as they speed by. If they have the misfortune of breaking down in the Sahara, I can confirm that the Berbers are partial to a vocal rendering of Mercedes Benz. |  Return to Top
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