Chapter 3

‘This is Naji, your driver,’ the smuggler announced, and I immediately wanted to back out of the whole affair. After a brisk handshake, Naji launched straight into a long and detailed list of business issues, speaking a mile a minute, without pause, for at least half an hour. We were seated in a dark corner of the Nasim Coffee House in central Omdurman. My head was spinning as I attempted to absorb his endless talk of breakdowns, faulty parts and sky-high prices.

I tried to interrupt him, hoping he would tell us instead about the route from Omdurman to the Libyan city of Kufra. I was particularly keen for some reassurance about the Hambata, brutal highway robbers who I had heard made a habit of looting vehicles along the road we would take. In a great stroke of luck, Naji did in fact turn his attention to me.

‘Where’re you from then?’

I had thought him totally oblivious to those around him and in my surprise at being directly addressed it took me several moments to formulate a response. I sat gazing at him mutely.

‘Am I supposed to guess? Alright then. You’re not from Sudan or Somalia, that’s for sure. Those Somalis are all stick thin – catwalk models the lot of them. But you’re well-built, a modern day Antar!’ He fell silent for a few moments, sipping his tea. Then he continued, ‘You’re either Ethiopian or Eritrean.’

‘You’re right, I’m—’

‘Eritrean! Right?’ he broke in, before I could finish.

‘That’s right!’

‘What’s going on with you people? Why’re you all … fleeing your country, if I can put it that way?’

‘We have our reasons.’

‘Ah, a man of mysteries I see?’

I changed the subject. ‘You haven’t told us about the actual journey. What should we bring with us?’

‘Provisions for fifteen days. And water.’

‘OK, that can be done. And how about lowering the price?’

‘I’ve got a lot of responsibility you know, looking after you lot. There’re plenty of drivers around here – if you can find anyone who asks less than me, then let me know.’

‘It’s true, we’ve already asked around. But we’re not asking much here, just a little reduction.’

‘Fine. What difference does it make? I’ll lower everybody’s fee by a hundred, all right? We’ll all meet up tomorrow just after sunset, on White Road, outside Khartoum. There’s a café on the pavement – I’ll meet you there.’

We did as we’d arranged, and found him waiting for us with nine other travellers, including three women. In total, there were twenty-three of us.

‘How will we possibly all fit in the Range Rover?’ I wondered aloud.

‘Easily. You’ll sit up front, next to me …’

‘And the rest?’

He didn’t answer, but simply ordered everyone to get in. The seats had been removed to make more room. We squeezed together, piled one on top of the other. After two men had managed to cram themselves into the front seat with me, we set off in the direction of al-Ubayyid, which we reached at noon on the following day. We did not stop, but continued along a winding, bumpy road outside the city.

Several hours later, we were confronted by a police car approaching from the opposite direction. As the car passed us, we saw the faces of two officers turned towards us. The car swerved around and signalled for us to stop. Naji got out of the car and went to talk to them and I strained to hear their muffled voices for some time before he returned, livid with rage and seething at the bribe they had taken from him.

‘This is too much! Am I smuggling drugs? Weapons? Uranium? Those sons of bitches – those dirty pigs – they think they can fleece everybody just ‘cos of their filthy khaki uniforms. That’s the rule though, all over the world: whenever they’re in uniform anyone who disagrees with them becomes a threat to the country and the rule of law. That’s what those devils dictate to us – and soon enough those policemen forget all the good that was ever in them. Nothing holds them back. No law. No document. Never mind if they take the very clothes from your back, as long as they’re protected by their khaki. Well?’ – suddenly turning his fury on me – ‘Why aren’t you saying anything? You think I’m just some rambling idiot?’

‘I’m just thinking about what you said.’

‘Really?’ he asked doubtfully, shifting his gaze between me and the road, ‘Listen, I don’t need someone who just sits there meditating on my words. I need someone talkative, someone who never shuts up!’

‘In that case, relax. I am the definitive chatterer! You’ve never heard chatter until you’ve met me!’

‘I don’t want you to chatter,’ he laughed, regaining his composure as his anger subsided a bit, ‘What did you say your name was anyway, Mr Chatterbox?’

‘You know my name. But by all means call me Mr Chatterbox if you wish. I’ll happily take another nickname.’

He pulled a pack of cigarettes from the dashboard and took two, briefly releasing his hold on the steering wheel. He handed me one and, after lighting his own, passed me his Zippo, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. But I had already lit up, using a small lighter I’d been clutching throughout the journey. Leaning his arm out of the window, Naji adjusted the wing mirror on his side, before peering across into the right-hand one.

‘You’re always looking in the mirrors,’ I observed, ‘as though we’re in a traffic jam.’

‘Can’t you see the logjam?’ he replied. ‘That traffic inspector over there’s about to throw a fit! And look at that guy, cruisin’ along as though he’s king of the road. And that pretty lady’s going to bump into us if she’s not careful.’ He laughed, ‘Can’t you see the gridlock?’

‘I wish!’ I smiled.

He slowed the car down and began massaging his chest above his heart, heaving a deep sigh.

‘Other vehicles are never a good sign in this part of the world.’ He flicked his cigarette butt out of the window and I waited for him to continue, but he did not.

‘What’s the problem?’ I pressed him.

‘Have you heard of the Hambata?’

‘Yes, I’ve heard of them. But I thought they rode camels.’

‘These days, they own top-of-the-range four-by-fours. I wouldn’t be surprised if they even owned planes.’

‘You’re exaggerating. They really own cars?’

‘And weapons.’

‘That sounds serious.’

‘Extremely serious. So be vigilant. If you see headlights, especially at night, we must take cover.’

‘And that’s why you keep looking in the mirrors?’

‘Exactly. So if you see a car, just pray to God and all his saints – if you happen to believe in any, that is – and maybe we’ll be saved.’

We fell silent for a few minutes, then he asked ‘Are you imagining the chaos?’

‘That doesn’t take much imagination. Have you ever encountered them before?’ I quizzed him.

‘I can’t say.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because you’ll ask how I escaped, right?’

‘I guess.’

‘Well, the answer’s a trade secret. I’m not prepared to spread it about.’

‘But say they did attack. What would they do?’

‘They’d seize the camel and the packs. The vehicle, that is, and all our possessions. They might be kind enough to leave a little water, if they were feeling generous.’

‘Could I fight back?’

‘Only if you really are a modern-day Antar.’

We were flying over flat terrain, dotted with bare-branched trees. The car was going at breakneck speed, leaving a trail of dust suspended in the dry air. A mournful wail reached us from the back of the car.

‘Why do you lot put yourselves through all this?’ Naji shook his head, ‘The journey only gets worse after this.’

‘The sea, you mean?’

‘The desert is nothing compared to the sea. Wouldn’t you say?’

‘I’d say they’re about equal,’ I replied.

‘I’m not taking anything away from the desert. But the sea! A liquid hell, to my mind.’

‘I don’t think you can place one above the other. One’s a devil, the other’s a demon. Anyway, are you from the desert?’

‘It’s the only life I know.’

‘Tell me about it, then – what are the desert ways?’

‘There’s no such thing as desert ways!’

‘But how was it when you were a child?’

‘I’d be lying if I claimed to know anything. The desert changes every day, always surprising you with some unexpected shift.’

‘But what about its customs?’

‘It’s a wilderness, simple as that. But not the romantic kind of wilderness you read about. When a sandstorm comes, it’s like Judgement Day’s upon you. The lay of the land changes utterly, and that’s no laughing matter. No fixed landmarks. Sand dunes constantly on the move. A great sandy mountain, stretching off to the west, becomes no more than a speck in the eye. All you can do is ask God what the hell’s going on.’

We had not yet entered the desert proper and were still driving over ground covered in stunted trees. Naji, however, grew anxious as a column of sand appeared in the distance. He stopped the car and walked several paces, gazing silently through his binoculars. Then, quick as a flash, he jumped back in and accelerated as though racing the wind.

‘The Hambata?’ I asked.

‘Relax – we spotted them early enough.’

‘Good. I can’t imagine they’ll be driving this quickly. I feel as though we’re flying.’

‘You imagine wrong, I’m afraid,’ he said as he pulled the scarf from his grim face, sipped on a carton of juice and lit a cigarette, without slowing down at all. For half a day, the column of sand flew along behind us. Even after darkness had fallen, Naji refused to turn the headlights on, merely reducing his speed slightly. Throughout the night, we stopped only for a few minutes to refuel the engine from the barrels we had with us, as we finally entered the wide oceans of desert sand. To everyone’s distress, we also lost priceless gallons of water as the left side of the car smashed into a bank of sand, causing water to gush from the containers. Eventually, at dawn, Naji halted the car.

‘Welcome to the desert,’ he announced.

The passengers dispersed into the surrounding wilderness to relieve themselves, stretch their legs and prepare a long-awaited meal. This was our fifth morning and there would be another nine or ten before we reached our destination, assuming everything went smoothly. Naji climbed onto the car roof and pulled the telescope from his bag, scanning the horizon for a trace of flying sand. Although everything was perfectly still he was uneasy, maintaining his position on the roof while we lit fires to cook and brew tea.

Among the women travelling with us was another young Eritrean, named Terhas. I must admit to watching her rather closely as she cooked and cared for the group, her movements gentle and vivacious.

‘Mother enough for the whole world, that one,’ Naji grinned at me. I was about to answer when I saw him freeze, his eyes fixed on a Toyota speeding towards us in the distance. We stamped out the fires and piled into the car.

‘They’re going to hit us!’ I cried, hearing gunshots in the distance.

‘I can see that,’ Naji replied calmly. Our speed was creating a great swirl of sand behind us and there was a reassuring distance between us and our pursuers. What’s more, I now had faith in Naji’s abilities. His voice rose as the front of the car smashed through a mound of sand.

‘They’re banking on damaging the car by shooting at it. Otherwise they wouldn’t dare chase us this far. They’ll lose their nerve and turn back soon.’

‘They’re very persistent for now though!’

‘This is their idea of a feast. It’s party time for them!’

Without warning, the desert whipped itself into a violent storm, enveloping everything in swathes of darkness. It was hard to say whether this turn of events would help us or deliver us straight into the hands of the Hambata.

‘We’re going to crash! You’re driving too fast!’ I cried out.

Naji paid me no heed, simply stepping harder on the accelerator as though trying to crush a snake’s skull. He had taken advantage of the cover provided by the flying dust and sandy peaks to swerve from our route at a forty-five degree angle to the North East, hoping to regain our previous course after another seven hundred miles. After only half that distance, however, he changed his mind, deciding to aim for our original route right away. We were running worryingly low on fuel, everyone’s health was rapidly deteriorating, and the signs of collective hysteria were growing steadily more apparent.

I could sense Naji impatiently awaiting nightfall, when he would be able to read our position by the stars. The storm had quietened with the arrival of evening and the scalding heat had diminished, having drained every drop of moisture from our bodies. The desert was finally calm after a long day of ceaseless movement. I grew drowsy and soon drifted off to sleep, lulled by the cold breeze and the car’s steady movement. Now and then I would be woken by a violent shudder but would soon slip back into unconsciousness. When I finally awoke, the car was motionless, and the night was pitch dark. The passengers were scattered around the car, fast asleep, and the bonnet was open to let the engine cool down. I stretched out on the sand, but could not sleep. I knew Naji was lost, even if he refused to admit it.

Morale was low. We were lost, thirsty and worn down by the desert’s constant unpredictability. The blazing sun glared impassively down on us and vermin scurried and slithered across the sands. Our water had run out, and our noses and mouths had transformed into sand-filled caves. The last drops of water, as hot as though they had been poured from a boiling kettle, trickled down my parched throat.

People were dropping like flies. Assgedom Mesfin, another young Eritrean, was hovering between life and death. Terhas diligently cleaned the sand from his mouth as he lay unconscious, his head resting on her lap. Pushing her finger through his lips, she unclogged it of sand before leaning over him and transferring her saliva into his mouth. It was clear she would not hesitate to give her life for his. Throughout that scorching day, she moistened his tongue with her spit, determined not to give up.

At midnight, Naji still had not found the route. He kept stopping the car and climbing onto the roof to scan the terrain, looking out for headlights and straining to hear the rumble of an engine. Two Eritreans and one Somali had already died. The Somali and one of the Eritreans had fallen ill at dawn on the ninth day and died around an hour after sunset. The second Eritrean followed them a day later. Dehydration, it is said, kills directly after nightfall, when the air grows bitterly cold.

Terhas’s body was wasted and her voice a thin whisper, but she refused to let Assgedom go. She continued feeding him her saliva, doggedly trying to keep him awake. And the next morning, as she poured a large mouthful of urine into the sandy cave of his mouth, he regained consciousness, the burning, salty sting of the liquid flowing brutally down his swollen throat. He struggled to communicate his gratitude but death had settled resolutely in his beseeching eyes. She tried to smile back at him, but soon gave up, feeling the onset of that same ugly grimace that appeared whenever any of us tried to smile, our faces contorted by the desperation we felt.

On the eleventh day, he was still alive and Terhas’ resolve strengthened. Perhaps some miracle would save us all and the nightmare would end. She could not remember the last time she had urinated and waited anxiously throughout the eleventh day and the morning of the twelfth. Eventually, during one of our stops, she walked a few paces away from the car, pulled her trousers down and squatted over a plastic bag to collect the few scanty drops she could finally produce. But as soon as she saw him, her face darkened. Unless some miracle occurred, Assgedom would certainly die: Assgedom, who just three months ago had been alive and well, a valiant soldier battling the Ethiopians at the Eritrean border.

As she poured the acrid drops down his throat, he continued raving about that wretched war: ‘We were identical … the lot of us … our features, our clothes … even our weapons were the same … and we all knew the enemy’s language … and when we fought in the dark … their army would attack each other and we’d fight each other too … we buried their dead beside ours … because we couldn’t tell them apart … They did the same …’

Terhas poured more drops into his mouth and the glimmer of a smile appeared on his face. For one brief moment it looked as though his spirit had returned. But the moment soon passed, and the long process of death began. I feared for Terhas. When Assgedom was gone, I knew she would give up, offering no resistance either to her own dehydration or to our bloodthirsty pursuers. She would dry up like a worn rag and die without even realising.

On several occasions, the car was swallowed by sand. Just as we thought we had escaped the Hambata, we would grind to a sudden halt. The passengers no longer leapt out enthusiastically to push the car free as they had done at first. Naji pulled the veil from his face, which was covered with dark, swollen blotches.

‘If you’ve got a death wish,’ he rasped, ‘get out now and spare us all some bother. But if you don’t push the car now, bullets will riddle your chests. I can hear their engine from here. Just look at the dust they’re stirring up,’ as he pointed a trembling finger towards a billowing cloud of sand on the horizon. Below it, a car sped forward, humming like a swollen insect. Everyone gave an involuntary start and jumped into action, pushing the car with every remaining ounce of their strength. We broke free – after a considerable effort – and raced forward into the sandy wastes.

That evening, we held Assgedom stretched out across our bodies. As death approached, he found a mysterious surge of strength. He gave a sudden shudder and looked around for the car door, struggling to break free. We grabbed him and held him down but he was seized by another violent fit and lunged at the door, his tongue lolling and his eyes bulging. Terhas clung on to him, imploring him with her tearful eyes and forcing him back down. But it was all over after that. His body grew still and its warmth trickled away, replaced by an icy chill that proved fatal for those beneath it. In the middle of the night, we laid his body in a shallow grave and left.

How long had we been travelling? I had no idea and neither did Naji. Fever had eaten away at him and I wondered how and when he had fallen ill. The sun rose and we were motionless. Night came, and then day, and Naji remained unconscious, his arm dangling from the car and slowly roasting in the sun. I pulled it back inside and searched his pockets for medication but found nothing. In his clenched fist I discovered a single date, which I began to chew, softening it and extracting the pit so I could push the rest through his cracked lips. He struggled to consciousness and gazed at me wordlessly.

‘Get the dead out,’ I ordered the remaining passengers. We buried three more corpses.

‘This one’s on the way out too. Shall we chuck her as well?’ one of the men waved towards Terhas. He was clearly hallucinating, and closer to death than Terhas, who stared at him fearfully.

Having recovered somewhat, Naji resolved to set off again and I almost refused to get back into the car. I would gladly have been thrown from the vehicle as it drove off, and longed to remain stretched out in the silent emptiness. The moon, hanging over the edges of my vision, enchanted me. Even when dying of thirst, you cannot help being captivated by the moon, absorbing its dazzling glow and longing for it to be the last thing you see. I gazed blankly as it drifted across the sky, my clouded mind struggling to follow its movement. I don’t know how long I was out, but when I opened my eyes it had disappeared and the scorching sun had replaced it. Voices drifted from some unknown location and I struggled to distinguish them from my own feverish hallucinations. Were they sounds from the past? Or new ones, freshly uttered? The sun was terrible that day and the desert angry, whipping us relentlessly with storms of sand.

I found myself crawling naked across the ground, which became like a mirror, reflecting my image into the universe. I was convinced that gushing streams lay just beyond my vision and I was determined to reach them and soak myself in their cold flow. The frenzied sand refused to calm, like a madman in a fit of vengeful rage. Gusts of scorching dust covered my limbs, naked but for a pair of baggy shorts. I tossed and turned in the silent heat, seeking refuge in the memory of my grandfather. I heard someone calling my name, and peered around – but there was no one.

‘Grandfather!’ I cried, ‘Pray for me! Pray for my soul as it leaves my body! Pray for my forgiveness! I need your prayers! How they calm my troubled soul!’

When night fell, the lights of civilisation shone from the darkness, glittering densely on all sides. We drew to a halt at a wide stone house whose inhabitants rushed to help us as soon as they recognised the vehicle. They led us inside where we were given a little water to gradually rehydrate our parched bodies, as well as some milk-soaked bread. Almost everyone fell into a deep slumber. I cannot remember my actions clearly, although I do recall needing to reassure myself constantly that what I was experiencing was reality and not a dream. I chattered away feverishly to the cigarette I was smoking between mouthfuls of bread, repeating over and over again that we had made it.