In this second part of the series, I delve deeper into the moments that tested my will, the cultural intersections that highlighted the importance of understanding, and the encounters that redefined my perspective. From the eerie silence of the desert night to the unexpected camaraderie at checkpoints, this is a narrative of survival, learning, and the undying hope that sustains us through life’s most daunting challenges.
As I sat down to write, it occurred to me that I had not checked my speedometer to see how much distance I had covered that day. I was dumbfounded with what stared at me from the dashboard. I had hoped to cover 300km that day. In reality, I had only covered a little more than 100km. At that moment, I became acutely aware of the dusty track ahead and behind me. I felt truly alone in the middle of nowhere, and another panic attack set in. I felt utterly drained of all strength in me and wondered if this was how l would die. I crawled back into my tent and tried to sleep, but in my state of mind, I could not manage this assignment.
My thoughts drifted to life and death. I thought my time had come, and I was overwhelmed by fear. I was unable to either drink or eat. I had ten hours of nightfall ahead of me to worry about what would be my fate the next day. I begged sleep to come to me, but it would not. I became obsessed with the thought of the consequences of my car not starting the next morning. My thoughts raced everywhere. I kept trying to sleep, but began dreaming with my eyes still open. I was hearing voices. Close to my tent, I could see them playing their mystical music, and I believed the language I did not recognize was that of the natives of the desert, laughing, singing and murmuring and shouting as they danced around a fire without even noticing my presence. Then there were the darker voices, those of the ghosts of the corpses I had seen that day calling me to join them. “Now it is your turn”, they mourned and wailed in my head. “We are coming for you”, they whispered and hissed in my ears. I began to cry. I started to talk to my car, to my tent, to the darkness, to the sand and the wind. I realized what was happening to me, and I was terrified. If my time really had come, I wanted to be able to record my last moments clearly in my diary so that people would know how I spent them. I feared death, but most of all, I feared insanity first.
I cried and cried, heaving, sobbing and rocking like a child with no mother to comfort him and kiss him lovingly at a time when he needed her most. After what seemed like forever, as the last warm tears dried on my cheek, I felt strangely better. I started to think logically and knew that the only thing left for me to do was to find a way of resting properly, to get some sleep. I got up and made myself a hot chocolate drink. I drank it and fell asleep. I slept for an hour or so and woke up. It was 2 a.m. My body ached all over and the pains of old age were punishing me. But now, at last my mind was focused, and I made myself a light breakfast. I had promised my wife, my children and my friends that if I ever felt I was in danger, I would give up and come back. At home, where my supporters eagerly waited for news of my progress on Nigerian television news and the churches in my town held prayers for me on Sundays, there was nobody who would have wished any man to die for their cause. Yet, there I was, on the brink of death, and the horrible irony was that I could not go back if I tried. To do this, I would not survive another day of those corpses. I had no choice but to break my promise to them. All I could wish for was that I would one day be able to explain to them why.
As dawn broke, I tried the car. I turned the ignition key and it started first time. My appetite returned at once, and I ran back to my camping stove to prepare a second breakfast to celebrate. This was the fourteenth day, and I was still alive. Why not eat or feast on my provisions? I ate as much as I could and drove off through the desert surrounding me, hoping to get to some sort of settlement before dusk and at least see some living persons to chat with, but alas I got more than I bargained for, and I learned a few lessons.
In traveling through other lands, countries and across boundaries, one must try not to impose one’s way, culture and traditions on other people without trying to understand that there exist diversities and conflicts in culture and religion across nations. I take a lot of interest in humor and jokes, because I like to laugh or make people laugh.
It was a very long drive this particular day, and I came across this military and police check point. The place was well organized, and a few of them spoke fairly good English without pretending, unlike in some places where they made you speak French or Arabic, even when they could communicate with you in English. They asked some questions, and looked into a few of my bags. Their questions centered on, why an accomplished man of my age should be risking my life undertaking a very dangerous and tiring adventure. AND THEY MADE TEA FOR ME. I told them stories about my experience across the Sahara Desert. I told them that this time around, I saw more dead bodies than I had ever imagined. They joked by telling me that most of the dead bodies were those of Nigerians. They had picked up some news on my expedition and one of them had listened to an interview I granted a radio station some weeks before in Nigeria. So, they were well informed about my journey, and I felt at home with them.
At the end of the exchange, which I thought they needed, since I must have been the only one passing through their territory, maybe in weeks; I also needed someone to talk to. It is very difficult to go for several hours or days without opening your mouth, let alone discussing and joking with a fellow being as opposed to talking to yourself or thinking aloud. At the exchanges, they asked me to give one of them a ride to some town about 4 hours’ drive out of my route. I told them that I did not have any seats left in my car, which was the truth; every space had been taken, including the passenger seat.
Then I made the biggest mistake of my life by saying to them that if the passenger had been a lady, I would have considered lapping her, but not a man. They took offence at that, which was meant to be a joke. The leader of the group demanded to see my passport again. The atmosphere changed from friendship to tension. He looked inside my passport, said something to one of his colleagues in Arabic, looked at me in a very pitiful manner and said “Sir, we respect your age, but for that, we would have locked you up for some time for that unnecessary and expensive joke”.
I forgot I was in a totally Muslim part of Algeria, where ‘sharia’ is strictly observed, and their women are not seen and no joke must be made about them. I pleaded with them for several hours, after which they accepted my apologies and finally let me go. I drove on for about an hour, but felt too emotionally and physically drained after all the hullabaloo over my mistake. The desert suddenly seemed too wide to cover. I stopped the car in the middle of nowhere, set up my tent and camped there for the night. As I lay in my tent that night, not feeling like food, I thought about the vastness of the desert and wondered about its breadth and length.
SAHARA DESERT: THE HORROR & THE VICTORY
As I continued on my drive, I could not help, but think about my unpleasant experiences of the previous day. At that moment, the entire picture of how tiring this trip was suddenly became clearer. I felt lonely. It was a very trying moment for me, and I immediately realized that the time had come for my faith to be tested. In all honesty, words are quite inadequate to describe all that had transpired the previous day. The weather conditions and experiences were so horrifying that I almost gave up the fight but for the love of my people and my will to come home alive. With my commitment to seeing that the menace being caused by desertification is stopped, I concluded that it would be just fine to carry on, in spite of whatever danger I might encounter.
My car, which was converted from a pleasant car to a ‘desert car’, felt the abuse of the harsh desert conditions. The car, too, has some stories to tell as to what transpired between its tires and the desert sands. Not only did the tires receive more than they bargained for, the other parts had a hard time trying to cope with the unfriendly desert tracks that were good for neither man nor machine. Before the trip started in Lagos, my son, Uche, collected some information for me from the internet, which was titled Desert Corner. In this report was the information that between 1978 and 1998, over 200 people, mainly Europeans and Americans, had died trying to cross the Sahara Desert. I believe that Uche was probably sending polite signals to me on the need to abort the trip.
These statistics notwithstanding, here I was, all alone, exposed to dangers and horrors, and not even sure of what might befall me. It was now time for an open conversation, or if you like, confession to God. I started talking to God. I told Him that my second attempt to cross the Sahara Desert might have been a mistake and should be considered overly ambitious, and that I had been carried away by my successful maiden trip, and sincerely not out of any selfish interest; but this time around, I was making this particular trip to save lives, maybe thousands of live, so I begged Him to please, please save me, and if He did grant this request, I would never again attempt an adventure like this.
It was my second time to feel this way since embarking on this voyage. Thereafter, I got a feeling that my request was being granted, or at least considered, because I picked up courage. I was immediately better focused, my eyes cleared, and all I did from that point on was look ahead. I remembered my wife, my family, and friends. I started dreaming with my eyes open. I dreamt of how I would make the most important call of the voyage; a call to inform them about my successful crossing of the desert. If for no reason, I would call to end their agony. I thought also of how my success would be announced over the radio and television, and how it would be written all over the newspapers. Now my spirit was up, and the pains that I had felt all over my body started to disappear. All of a sudden, as if I was being startled out of a trance, I realized that no one else but me would conclude this trip, and not just conclude for the sake of it, but I must also obtain a meaningful result through data collection to carry on with the fight against desertification.
As I drove, the reading on the speedometer that I took after the third day’s trip kept flashing back into my memory and I began unconsciously driving for the sole purpose of making up for the loss in the original distance to be covered. On this day, the car experienced more pressure than it had witnessed in the past days. I found myself driving as if I had my eyes closed. I probably looked like a teenager celebrating his independence from being driven by his parents. The whole attitude with which I acted was as if I cared little about life. I continued almost on smooth tracks (at least, better than those of the previous day) until sunset.
Going through all that had happened this day, I considered the journey concluded, and I started fantasizing on how my data would be put to use and this evil called desertification would be brought to a halt. As usual, I woke early, did the constants, and before I knew what was happening, I was already on the tracks. The tracks were compact and generally nice. The drive was smooth, and for the first time after midday, I came to some high spirits, and not too long after that, I witnessed the first sign of life when I saw a bird. I could not believe it was real, and I started wondering again about life and death. I recalled the skeletons that I had seen two days earlier, and I began to wonder if the bird I saw was real or sent by the dead to pilot me home to the world beyond. Meanwhile, I continued to drive on the beautiful tracks. I was driving very fast, at about 80 to 100km/hr. Things started to look good again as more birds came into view – two, three, close to a dozen of them, so they were real after all. At about 4pm, the heat was going down to about 80o F, so I decided to stop and watch the birds properly. I convinced myself that I was not dreaming. I must be getting close to life. I am going to be alive again! As I looked around, I saw a big sandstorm gathering in the distance. I was not worried, because I felt as though I was seeing lights in a far-away land. After watching the birds and the beautiful scenery with the distant sandstorm for a few moments, I saw real life coming back to my whole body, and my mental state returned to normal. Before I knew it, I started to sing again. This time, the song that I sang was, “Nobody knows the trouble I have seen, nobody knows, but Jesus.
See you next week!