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In May of 2003, I went on a three day camel trek through the Sahara desert in southeastern Morocco. My camel was called Jimi Hendrix—my tour guide said the camel was wild and hard to contain, and because I was the shortest, I had the honor of riding him and being in the front of the caravan. It was over 110 degrees in the shade and there was sand in my ears, and my eyes burned from the heat. We had a limited supply of water that we shared with the camels and it was carried in large plastic bottles. It tasted like plastic-flavored, hot tea.
We were about four kilometers from the Algerian border and the only thing around besides the sand dunes were the dung beetles – about the size of half a baseball, cut right down the middle. Dung beetles get their name by using camel dung as their playground, rolling it into balls and then in completely straight lines to safety in order to feast and lay eggs in them.
On the last night of our trip we camped under the stars and our generous hosts offered fresh coffee they made on the fire. Having been without coffee for 3 days, I happily accepted, even though the sun had already set. I slept under the North African sky that night on the mat that also served as my camel saddle. About 30 flies buzzed around my face as I tried to sleep and dung beetles waddled all around the camp. I had no desire for poo residue from their little feet to get all over me while I slept, so one of my friends tried to ease my mind by using some extra blankets to make a sort of protective wall around me about six inches tall. I hoped that it was steep enough for the little turtle-like bugs to lose their footing quickly on the incline.
The ancient Egyptians believed that dung beetles were sacred and associated them with Khepri, the god of the rising sun. The dung beetles use polarization patterns of the moonlight to chart their path, and in the same way they roll their balls around the desert, the ancient Egyptians believed that Khepri renewed the sun each day by rolling it over and above the horizon. They drew its hieroglyphic sign on the ceiling of royal tombs to signify rebirth in the form of the sunrise.
It was one of those nights I’m not sure I slept at all. Because the idea of them crawling on me while I slept was terrifying and because of my strong, evening cup of coffee, I arose at about 3am and took a walk around the dunes. As I was sitting atop the highest orange sand dune I could find, I could see for miles across the Sahara desert. Soon the adrenaline wore off and fatigue set in. I was somewhat frustrated with myself for not enjoying and appreciating this hot and exhausting event as much as I should. I closed my eyes to enjoy the silence and the coolness of the roaring wind.
Seemingly without a sound, an old Bedouin man and a small boy came walking up the dune. They both looked at me and seemed to absorb the absurdity of my presence, then sat down a few feet to my right. I said the Arabic greeting I had learned, but it was apparently the wrong and offensive dialect of Arabic to his people, because the old man scowled and stood up to leave. I apologized in French – Je suis désolé and tried again with Bonjour. The little boy looked at me and back at the old man with eyebrows raised – no comprehension. I had used up my only French words quickly. Maybe the old man understood, he glared into the horizon and looked thoughtful for a moment, sitting back down slowly. I attempted to communicate with exaggerated hand motions and smiles. At the least, they were both amused. I showed them a photograph of my family I had brought with me. The old man took out a miniature polaroid picture of a family from the Asian continent. He wanted to trade and I agreed, as you do when an old Bedouin is clutching your family picture greedily. Merci – thank you for this tiny picture of someone else’s family.
It felt peaceful sitting on top of that orange dune with the old Bedouin and little boy. After we exchanged photographs, we just sat there for a few minutes. As they stood up and walked away, the bright ball of the sun came rolling over and above the horizon. And it felt sacred.
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…and just think of who has YOUR family photo now!
I loved this story. You had enough extra information so that I enjoyed it as well as learned something (like why the dung beetles were sacred! Interesting tidbit!) Your trip sounds like quite the adventure. I wonder if Jimi Hendrix would be offended or impressed that there are camels out there bearing his name?
Alyssa,
Yes, you’re right! Surely my family picture has been traded for yet another. I still have the picture he gave me, one of the few souvenirs I have of that trip, among other small items I could fit in my backpack. I also gathered a bit of that orange sand in my friend’s empty 35mm film canister – remember the black ones with the gray lids?
Jimi Hendrix was a pretty cool dude and I think he would have been honored to share his name with the wildest camel.
Jamie
I did the same trek. It was one of those amazing experiences. I remember being very nervous as we left the edges of the desert, wondering if we really would be OK with as much water as the guide said we would.
I love deserts, and haven’t had enough time in them. I wish I had gotten pictures like you did. They are beautiful.
Rhea,
Really?! That’s great. I wonder what other experiences we share!
I was a silly 20 year old who didn’t want to look like a tourist so didn’t even bring a camera for this trip (how cool was I?) and I really regret that. Last week I got in touch with an old friend that was on the trip with me, Chris Titus, and I got these few pictures he recently scanned in. I’m jealous of the photos he has of him wearing a turban while riding his camel, posing with local children with henna on their hands, and, well basically all of the photos he took!
I will never make that mistake again. My camera will be the first thing in my backpack from now on!
Jamie
Jamie,
How fortuitous to find the pics! We probably have some similar favorite places. Where in Vancouver do you enjoy the most? I used to live on Bidwell, near the juncture of Robson and Davies. I spend a lot of time near the water and wandering through Stanley Park.
On the trip which included Morocco, I had had my camera stolen in the early part of the trip. At first I was dismayed, but later I actually felt a sort of a relief. It was actually a film camera. Nice, but clunky and I didn’t really know how to use it. I really enjoyed just traveling and “being” with the experiences. Not sure if I could do that now when the temptation to take a million pictures is right there.. I do think there are two modes though, one of them being eyeing everything to imagine how it would fit in a frame. I guess a photographer develops a certain way of “looking” too. We can never erase it.
Rhea
Rhea,
I know! I’m so grateful to have some of the photos, and he has even offered to mail all the negatives to me so I can have copies of all of them. That’s horrible your camera was stolen for that trip!
I think it was around 2004/2005 that I realized it’s actually pretty great to have pictures of your travels. Before that I usually traveled with friends or family that were all taking pictures like crazy so I just always figured I could get copies from them if I ever wanted any of my own. It does get harder after 10+ years to start tracking down photos that aren’t digital. But then when I met my husband in 2008 he took over as family photographer so we have about a million photos of our lives since then :)
I agree that when you are intent on getting good photos, your eye for a place changes.
I haven’t spent a lot of time in Vancouver, mostly just day trips to visit friends or see concerts. It is an amazing city, though! I spent a week in Victoria a few years ago and really enjoyed it.
Would you be willing to scan the photo the Bedouin man gave to you and share it with us? :)
ughhhhhhh I wish I could! He must have had it awhile before he gave it to me because it fell apart a few years later. It was one of those miniature polaroids that are layered on the white background, not much bigger than a postage stamp.
These days I would have posted it to instagram as soon as I got home!
Oh. :( Thank you anyway, Jamie!
This blog reminds me of our Morocco camel trekking in sahara desert. Thank you so much for sharing it :)