Travel Reference
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By mid-afternoon, the sky was darkening again. In an instant, the wind picked up. In-
stinctively, we reached for our turbans, anticipating the worst. Behind sand goggles, I shied
from the raking wind. For twenty minutes, the dust devil lashed at us - but when, at last,
it subsided, what remained were not clouds of dust. They were simply clouds. Swollen,
grey reefs hung over the desert, giving this barren landscape an even more ethereal ap-
pearance. Moments later, the temperature plummeted; a soothing cool breeze floated down
from the north. Moez and I exchanged a curious look. Awad and Ahmad looked to the sky
and smiled.
A great crash tore the silence apart, and sheet lightning lit up our surrounds. Thunder re-
verberated in the vaults above, rolling over distant mountaintops. On the horizon, the sky
was black. 'It's rain,' said Moez, 'and it's coming this way . . .'
Torrents of water were drenching the parched horizon, sweeping inexorably towards us.
We watched in wonder. It was Ash who felt it first: a cold, fat globule of rain fell from the
shifting clouds, to land on his upturned hand. Here, in the middle of the Sahara, we let the
rain wash over us and opened up our mouths to the skies.
Fifteen minutes later, as suddenly as it had come, the rain was gone. The sun, fierce as
ever, reappeared from behind retreating clouds, bathing the desert in its merciless light.
Wondering if this had been a strange mirage, we tramped on - but there was no illusion in
how those brief rains had transformed the desert. Flash floods demarked the depressions
where ancient waterways used to flow, the dry riverbeds given a brief, second chance at
life. Water gushed along tiny tributaries. The acacia bushes, normally so brown, had in an
instant become green. Flowers sprouted and shoots opened on bushes and desert melon.
Lizards lapped up droplets from rocky outcrops and - as if out of nowhere - a plethora of
rabbits had appeared.
The camels, fluttering their eyelashes, drank from puddles and grazed on the sudden
flourishes of green. And, for a time, there was more spring to our steps, more buoyancy as
we followed the trail into the west.
Only hours later, the water had all been sucked into the greedy sands. Gone were the
fledgling rivers, back the ancient riverbeds. Gone, the flocks of rabbits come up to gorge
on the new greenery; back the cracked feeling in the back of my throat, and nervous looks
at the jerry cans hanging from Burton's saddle. For a brief moment, we had danced in the
rain of a Saharan thunderstorm - but, like everything in this inhospitable land, it had only
been the gods of the desert taunting us with the promise of water.
Thirst is a terrible thing. It destroys you from the inside out.
Throughout the next day, I watched our supplies dwindling. When you have water, you
take it for granted - but when you don't, not only does it ruin your body; it ruins your
mind, planting ugly thoughts, poisoning every corner of your being. To begin with, you try
