Continuing from last week’s article, the story unfolds further. As we near the second-to-last
chapter of this series, I hope you’ve walked this journey with me, experiencing my desert moments
through the stories we’ve shared so far.

My experience with my desert friend, Azzi Addi Ahmed, was most memorable. All through my
life, I had never met such a wonderful friend as what he was. I am not saying that my other friends
are not worth the relationship, but in all fairness, Addi was simply God-sent. What really amazed
me was that he did not know me prior to rescuing my car, yet he had an unconditional love for me,
which is rare in this our world of crime and fraud.

Addi was not worried about whether or not I was a spy, or even a ghost or anything in that
neighborhood. He took me in completely as a brother and checked me into a hotel the first night,
but on getting to know about a financial doom that might soon befall me should I continue there,
coupled with so many unsettled bills with him for the rescue work, the fixing of the car and a host
of others, Addi showed the most wonderful kindness I have ever experienced, offering a place in
his home to me. I then changed accommodation to his humble home where he lived with his
expectant wife. My sojourn in Addi’s house was most interesting, as I came into contact with both
hospitality and love. There, humility and kindness blended perfectly well. I enjoyed whatever they
had to offer. I was glad to put my stay with them to use as I taught his wife the English language.

However, time and desert call did not allow both student and teacher to make appreciable progress
before I resumed my nomadic life again. Addi, too, though not in a hurry to send me off, was really
conscious of the importance of my trip and worked hard to see that my car got repaired so that I
could get back to the tracks. Getting a matching clutch for my car was difficult, and after a very
long search, a solution was finally found, it seemed, out of the blue; but before this time, we had
considered a few options, such as selling the car as scrap and then finding my way to Algiers
through another medium, or maybe flying back either to Nigeria or London.

A second option was to hire a truck that would convey the car to Algiers, where the possibility of
getting a matching clutch was more probable. The third option was for me to go to Algiers, buy
the faulty part, come back to Tamagasset, get it fixed and commission someone to drive it to
Algiers on my behalf. In weighing all these options, I discovered that I could not contemplate any
of them, especially the first. Selling this particular car would seem to me like selling a child or
something close to that, because my desert car is my “baby” and how could I let it go? The thought
alone sent some cold shivers all over me. I later apologized to the car for ever giving a thought to
such an unholy exercise. My friend tried hard to convince me on the need to make up my mind
and accept one option, especially option three, which, according to him, was going to give me
some rest and a sure recovery from my desert ordeal, and within a few days, I would be strong
enough to continue with my trip. While trying not to hurt my host, I related to him how very
uncomfortable I found all these options and he, being completely out to please me, made more
efforts, which led to our breakthrough in technology: a Peugeot clutch in a Suzuki SUV.

Finally, the most important, but delicate aspect of the whole business, was finance. How and where
do I start settling my bills? The question of ‘where’ was not as frightening as the ‘how’, because I
knew that I could start from the beginning of the business, which was the rescue operation, but
‘how’ required means of actually fulfilling this great obligation. Little did I know that the greatest
surprise of my life would come and as such, I need not have worried as much as I did.
Addi was sent to be my benefactor and, with the warmest brotherly smile filled with sincerity,
Addi asked me to settle just the mechanic he decided to forego the cost of his rescue work and
three days’ accommodations. All of a sudden, I broke out into a song one more time. This time,
the song was about acknowledging the wonders of the Almighty, who cares at all times. I rendered
this song with my hostess listening (though not understanding all the wording of the song). I went
on and sang:

God will make a way
Where there seems to be no way
He works in ways we cannot see
He will make a way for me
He will be my guide,
Hold me closely to His side
With love and strength
For each new day
He will make a way
He will make a way.

Having had a wonderful session with Addi concerning the bills, and now with boundless joy in my
heart, saying that I had the most soothing sleep that night would be stating the obvious. I slept like
a baby, devoid of all worries, of course. At exactly 5am, I was ready to hit the tracks once again.
It was time to part with my friend and his wife. To me, it was the saddest moment of this trip in
terms of parting with people. The times I had parted with my family and friends, I had felt the pain
of parting, but this time around, the pain was more, not because I was not prepared to face the
desert again, but because of the kindness of these good Samaritans, who made me an integral part
of them. I was not the only one that felt this pain, because Addi was close to tears as he was bidding
me farewell. For the wife, it was double tragedy, she had to lose both a friend and her teacher, but
I had to leave. We hugged and kissed, and off I went. For sure, I will miss Addi and his wife, and
will continue to miss them. I hope that one day I will have the opportunity of meeting with them
again. I drove on and carried on for hours. At dusk, I parked my car and rested for the day.

It was a very stormy morning, though not as serious as the one that ushered me into Tamagasset.
I drove very carefully and the storm continued for hours, up to about 9am. At about 10am, the
temperature had risen to about 15o C. I camped to make my breakfast, since the storm had stopped
completely. I rested for about an hour and continued towards El-Meniaa, but was not really able
to make it into El-Meniaa because of the unfavorable tracks. I camped at the police post, where I
intended to pass the night.

This was a big mistake, for, to my dismay, I was subjected to the most embarrassing interrogation
I had ever passed through in my life. The session started with a physical check on the car. The car
was searched inside out, from bonnet to bumper. I guess the fuel tank would have been searched,
too, if they had had access to it. Then the search turned to my person, with my papers studied
thoroughly. So diligent were they in their review of the papers that I wondered if they were going
to write an examination on them. The currencies, too, were not spared this unnecessary exercise
as they took pains to go through each one against the currency declaration form.

Then came the mother of all searches-the First Aid Box and my camera. They queried my
possession of so many drugs and wanted to know if I was sick, their reason being that since I came
this far from Lagos, driving several weeks and did not fall sick, that the need for the drugs was no
longer there. My explanation of acting on my doctor’s advice did not save me as I ended up (after
so much argument) sharing the drugs equally with them. Then the camera caught their attention.
They saw my declaration form, which had everything except the camera. They claimed I purposely
did not declare it because I was spying with it. They threatened to take it from me, but fortunately
I was able to spot one of them who appeared to be a gentleman and I immediately began to work
on him.

While trying to resolve this problem, we struck another deal. I decided to take photographs with
all of them, since the camera could not be shared. The shots were taken, and yet these desert demi
gods could not be appeased, as they introduced another factor; they must have the photographs
there and then. I pleaded with them that it was impossible, but these pleas fell on deaf ears. They
simply wanted me to perform some magic by printing photographs outside of a photo laboratory
and in the desert, of all places.

This seemed to be the toughest obstacle to overcome, as there was no argument that could convince
them. In all of my life, I had never met a dafter and cruder set of people. To say I was frustrated is
to say the least. Just as I was about to give up, the gentleman in their midst that I had earlier worked
on intervened. He assured them that I was sincere and so believed that I would keep my words to
process and print the photographs and later send to them.

Acting then as a contact man, he gave me his name and address. Having paid my dues, so to speak,
for not making it into town on time, I was now allowed some peace and I retired for the day. On
getting to Paris, I made sure I kept my promise of sending those photographs, if not for any other
thing, but to assure them that I was sincere in my mission. Ridiculous! But it was an experience.
How could I ever think the police in Nigeria were the worst in the world? Forgive me. At this point
in my journey, signals were beginning to appear and disappear on my telephone, offering me the
opportunity to speak with the Nigerian Television Authority, and Abuja Mission Control that was
monitoring my voyage in Lagos, as well as my family back home in Lagos. I had been able to
charge my phone battery in Tamagasset, but still had no adaptor for charging it in the car.

The tracks were still very sandy and rough, but marked, though they disappeared occasionally due
to sandstorms. The weather was also very kind, quite beautiful, especially in late morning and
evening, which made up for the extreme heat during the day. My car was holding up very well with the Peugeot clutch fitted into it. I started seeing some rock formation and landscape, which
provided occasional shades and beautiful scenery.

The sandstorm that heralded me into and out of Tamagasset had just subsided when I saw a
signpost pointing to Algiers-1400km away. All of these markers brought back some beautiful
memories of a voyage that was likely to succeed. Although the distances between places were still
far apart, the likelihood of anything happening and the possibility of being stranded was no longer
there. My next night stop in my diary was going to be in El-Meniaa and then on to Ghardiadia, and
finally to Algiers. But it was soon not to be, because the tracks became very sandy and made
driving very difficult and slow. Towards the later part of the evening, it was clear that reaching El
Meniaa before dark was out of the question, as I had covered less than 300km from Tamagasset. I
had driven for eight hours, and the time was about 6pm, and I was tired. I sought out a nice beautiful
location with some rock formation that provided some shield against the sandstorms, called it a
day, and set up my camp for the night. I prepared my dinner, settling for a good meal of Campbell
soup with corned beef and white rice. The temperature was mild and surrounding me were some
of the most beautiful outcrops of undulated rock formations, and they provided perfect shade. This
was most ideal for a camping environment! I had eaten one of my best meals in a long time (so I
thought), and here I was in the most beautiful location I had come across. The weather was very
good and from every indication, I was going to have a very good night’s sleep.

The tent was very secure, not only from the weather, but from every possible creeping or crawling
animal, since life was beginning to return. I then put on my protective gear, rubber shoes and hand
gloves, entered into my sleeping bag, and drifted off into a deep sleep until about 3am. I woke up
to the sounds of horses neighing in the distance. Initially, it felt like it was part dream and part
imagination, but I had to check this out, so I grabbed my flashlight, switched it on, and opened my
mosquito net. The moon was shining and provided me with some light as well. I looked out into
the darkness and I saw a few camels and horses with some men dismounting from the horses. At
this point, it was no longer a dream or imagination, it was real. Oh, dear, I was going to be attacked
by bandits.

I crawled out of my tent with my torchlight, raised my hands and shouted “Asala malekun”. Having
offered them peace greetings, they started walking towards me, an assurance that I was not armed
or with somebody that might harm them. They were far from me. As they progressed, I shouted
again “I am alone and not armed”. My friends in Tamagasset had warned me and had made me
rehearse those words with them. I then saw them put back their swords and knives, as they
continued towards me. As they came closer, I was able to tell that there were four men. They asked
me to sit down and I sat on the floor, since there was nothing to sit on, and soon they all joined me
sitting on the sand. I asked them if I could make tea and share with them, and they agreed. I brought
out my stove boiled some water and made some tea.

Join me next week for the final part of this series!