Articles > Travelling the Tenere

On a dusty plain on the outskirts of Agadez, the camel market was slowly coming to life. Camels and goats were either hobbled or tethered at random. Hausa tribesmen rubbed shoulders with Fulani pastoralists and Songhay from the west. Touaregs, tall straight-backed men, strode confidently through the crowds, set apart by their noble countenance and their contempt for those whom they considered to be of inferior race. There are many tribes within the generic group of Touaregs, each distinguished by subtleties of dress. Common to each are the voluminous floor-length robes, and long head cloths which they wrap many times around their heads to cover all but a slit for their eyes. Some carry ornate swords in scabbards slung from their waist.

The cries of children playing and street vendors hawking their merchandise rose above the hubbub. Men stood in groups, or sat on rugs discussing the merits of the animals for sale. The rich light of late afternoon suffused the scene, picking out the bold colours of the Touaregs’ robes. Every sense was assailed by exotic sights, sounds and smells.

Traditionally, Agadez has been a rest point for travellers crossing the Sahara and a market-place for merchants and desert nomads. Early explorers reported seeing caravans numbering up to ten thousand camels accompanied by a thousand men. Today, camel caravans still transport salt from the mines at Bilma and Fachi to Agadez.

Access to the desert is strictly controlled. Written authorisation is required from the Ministry of the Interior in Niamey; you must be accompanied by a recognised guide; and you must comply with the various safety requirements laid down for desert travel. We planned to make a 1,300 mile journey taking sixteen days, travelling north into the Air Mountains, crossing the Tenere (a remote region of the central Sahara) to the line of cliffs the far side and then turning south towards the salines of Bilma, before finally re-crossing the Tenere along the route of the camel caravans. We had four desert equipped four-wheel-drive vehicles, two landrovers and two Bedford lorries.

We left Agadez on a narrow sandy track that led us towards the dark, volcanic mountains ahead. As we drove, I questioned our guide, Hamma, about his background. He had been born the youngest of a large Touareg family. His father had bred camels. They led a nomadic life, moving to wherever they could find adequate grazing around the southern edge of the Air Mountains. They never stayed long in one place before the grazing was exhausted and they had to pack up their spartan camp and move on. Hamma had never been to school and couldn’t read or write. His learning had been gathered by listening to the old men talk around their campfire. He had journeyed around most of the Air and crossed the Tenere by camel, a hard journey even for a Touareg.

He spoke longingly of his days as a camel herder before he had married and moved to join his wife’s family in Agadez. Once a year, after the rains, there had been a great gathering of the Touaregs. They converged from all around the Air Mountains to celebrate the rains. There was feasting, match-making and most importantly of all, camel racing. Hamma had competed in races up to 30 miles in length, over hard terrain.

As we climbed higher into the arid mountains we crossed dry river beds and bounced over plains of black volcanic rock. Occasional oases relieved the oppressive barrenness of the country. Men used camels to draw water from deep wells so that they could irrigate their small fields of wheat and vegetables. Some villages had large palmeraies. At Timia, we had to produce our papers for the first of many times. A couple of hundred feet above us, on a small knoll, stood a deserted fort, a relic from the French occupation.

Next day we continued into the Air, crossing more lunar landscape. We stopped at the deserted village of Assonde. It had been built in the fifteenth century but abandoned during the Great War between the Touaregs and the French colonialists. Hamma talked of many battles and great bravery, but camel-borne charges by the Touareg were no match for the superior modern rifles and machine guns of the French Legionnaires. All that remained at Assonde were the decrepit shells of houses.

We turned east about halfway up the Air and emerged from the dark, stony wasteland into a broad valley leading out towards the Tenere. Dunes sprang up on either side of us, some littered with blocks of white marble. Small herds of gazelle skipped away as we approached. Hamma told me that hunting had been banned in Niger but the twinkle in his eye suggested that the Touareg did not adhere to this. Mounted on their camels, they use dogs to bring their quarry to bay, and sharpened poles as lances.

We let our tyre pressure down to give us better flotation over the sand and then carried on for several hours into the desert until we arrived at a concealed lugga - a dried-up river bed, of which the Sahara abounds. On one side of the lugga there was a rock wall about 100yards long and 50 feet high at its highest point on which were groups of rock paintings which Hamma said were up to 10,000 years old. The petroglyphs depicted addax, giraffe, cattle, ostrich, Touareg women and scenes of hunting on horseback - images of a time when the Sahara was still fertile and populated by animals now associated with central Africa.

As we progressed north the driving conditions became more testing. We found ourselves using our sand ladders and winches more and more often as the vehicles bogged down to their axles. We followed a broad open piste at the edge of the mountains until we came to Adrar Chiriet. This great, dark mountain massif formed an island in the surrounding sand sea. On the horizon dunes of many different pastel shades glowed warmly, as though casually dropped like so many piles of silk. Subtle pinks blended with soft oranges, rich creams and the palest off-whites. In stark contrast, Adrar Chiriet rose up, a Tolkeinesque collection of forbidding towers and spires. We camped in the lee of a rock face. The Harmattan, the seasonal desert wind, blew constantly, a sharp chill keeping us in long trousers and jerseys even by day. By night the temperature plummeted. I would often wake to find myself lying in a mini-sand dune that had built up around me in the night.

Iferouane had been the capital of the Touareg Kingdom. Depending on the season, thousands of nomads would camp at the oasis. Prior to their conquest by the French, they had controlled most of Niger to the north of Zinder. As a nation of warrior nomads, they had either attacked or demanded protection money from any outsiders entering their kingdom. Now, Iferouane is a large settlement of rectangular mud-brick buildings centred around the same oasis. A few stores sell dry biscuits, dates and EEC aid-provided tins of sardines and corned beef. We were able to fill up with water for the last time before entering the Tenere.

Between us and the Tenere lay a vast sand sea with dunes rising up to a thousand feet in height. The path to the desert lay through the Col du Temet, a pass between some of the highest dunes. The scenery was almost too spectacular to believe: an endless panorama of massive classical dunes. Great sweeping ridges of sand snaked up to star-shaped, wind-blown summits in perfect crescents. With each vista the dunes seemed to loom larger and more graceful until it became impossible for them to become any more beautiful. We camped at the foot of one of these great sentinels. The ridges hummed: a low murmuring drone through to a high insistent whine, depending on the strength of the wind. A symphony in sand.

This intoxicating scenery continued for another twenty-six miles until we reached Adrar Brous, a large mountain that signalled the end of the sand sea. Beyond lay the Tenere, 220 miles across of perfect void. Our maps, empty sheets of yellow, hinted at the country ahead but nothing had prepared me for the reality. Scrubby acacia bush gave way to tussocks of cram cram grass until that too disappeared. Beyond, there was no vegetation, no twigs, no stones, no tracks - total emptiness. The ground neither rose nor fell. It was impossible to tell whether the horizon was fifty yards or fifty miles away. Drivers became disorientated. Moving vehicles appeared stationary. Patches of dark sand appeared as the shadows of dunes and drivers would slam on the brakes thinking they were about to crash into a wall of sand. Any form of perspective vanished, leaving just nothingness, with a line of shimmering mirages separating sand from sky.

Hamma sat beside me staring intently forward and indicating the direction that we should take with a flick of his finger. He used neither map nor compass, relying on the position of the sun and the pattern of the wind in the sand to guide him. He told me that camels could not cross the desert by this route as there were no wells.

On our second day in the Tenere we spotted an object breaking the line of mirage on the horizon. We drove over to find the body of an aeroplane with bent propellors and debris lying all around that had crashed four years earlier. In the back of the plane was a small packet with handwriting in French which said, “To all entrants of the Paris-Dakar Rally, put your mail here. Good luck.” From the wreckage we could see another much larger object in the distance.

We drove towards its distorted image. In a scene reminiscent of the Mad Max films, we came across an abandoned oil drilling rig: five portacabins, half filled with sand, and mechanical debris in great twisted decaying piles, surrounded the main platform. In the control room, log sheets bearing the crest of the parent American company were fluttering in the wind.

Some hours later, Hamma announced that he was looking for a lone tree - a concept that seemed to me perverse in its difficulty. Sure enough, several miles later a small isolated mound hove into view with a scrubby acacia tree perched on top. Beneath the acacia was a block of marble to which was attached a plaque inscribed to Thierry Sabine and beneath which was lodged a plastic bag containing two books describing the life of this remarkable Frenchman who had founded the Paris-Dakar Rally. He had died in a helicopter crash in Mali in 1986 whilst organising the 8th Rally, and been laid to rest in the desert that he loved.

Continuing on our way, a narrow pink line materialised above the mirage, growing steadily larger until we could see it as the line of cliffs, or falaise, that marks the eastern side of the Tenere. We made for a notch in the cliff-line which brought us to the outpost of Chirfa. There we reported to the Gard Nomadique. With the formalities over, we went to the centre of the village where there is an abandoned Foreign Legion fort. It could have been transposed straight out of the pages of Beau Geste: an arched entrance and crenellated walls surrounding a small parade ground. A single layer of rooms lined the inside of the walls. At opposite corners of the Parade Square stood watch towers looking out over the desert. All that was missing were legionnaires in blue tunics and white kepis, with blancoed webbing straps attaching grey army blankets to their backs as they drilled under the Saharan sun. I wondered what deeds of bravery these walls could relate if only they could talk.

Before heading south, we made an exploratory foray northwards. Passing a series of lush palmeraies, we came to a series of enormous volcanic plugs. The largest of these, Ourida, rose 1,000 feet above us and must have had a circumference of over a mile. In the base of two of the plugs were huge caves, with arched entranceways like some gothic cathedral. Inside, they were cool and at the back we found tunnels where, a thousand years ago, four or five Toubou families would have lived.

A few miles further on we came to the deserted mud cities of Djaba and Djado. Built by the Toubou in the thirteenth century, they were abandoned 200 years ago due to the proliferation of raiding Touaregs, western slave hunters and malarial mosquitoes. They consisted of labyrinthine passages connecting layers of rooms built on and around a conical hill. Judging from the number of rooms it must have housed a sizeable community. Although deserted and crumbling it still had a regal air set against the mountainous backdrop.

We lurched up a series of rough, stepped rock pavements to access the plateau above the falaise. There we found a boundless wilderness of volcanic rock peaks, separated by valleys and more stone pavements. We came across natural arches, huge boulders teetering on slender pedestals, and caves adorned with paintings of elephants.

Two days later we reached Bilma, the largest of the eastern Niger settlements. At the salines, the sand had been dug away revealing a layer of impure rock salt. This was then smashed with poles into six foot by four foot pits and then flooded, forming natural evaporation ponds. By the side of the ponds lay piles of white salt crystals that had been harvested. These were either ground down and sold for human consumption or remoulded into nuggets or cones that were the original biblical pillars, to be fed to livestock.

We now joined the route back across the desert to Agadez followed by the camel caravans. Leaving the village, we passed a lighthouse built by the French to guide desert voyagers to safety. Camel skeletons lying every few hundred yards along the route served as grim reminders of the hardship and dangers associated with this journey.

Once again the Tenere enveloped us. The conditions were very different to those of the northern crossing. We found ourselves travelling along causeways between long parallel dunes that flowed like waves on the ocean. Although the dunes were nothing like as high as those we had encountered earlier, soft sand was a constant problem and navigation was no easier.

The Tenere is an incredibly invigorating environment; so clean that you can wash in the sand, with wondrous and diverse scenery and so many secrets to share. Hamma gave us an insight to the traditions and life of the desert passed on by generations of Touaregs. At the heart of the Touareg creed lies respect; respect for the environment, respect for meagre resources and respect for the dangers that lie in wait for the weak or careless traveller.

How to Get There: There are practicable overland routes into Niger from Algeria, Mali, Nigeria, Benin, Burkina Faso, and a possible desert crossing into Chad. Up to date advice should be sought regarding the advisability and permissibility of travelling into any of these countries. Currently, it is not safe for Europeans to enter Algeria

Entry Requirements: Visas are required by all except some European nationals. There are few Niger embassies worldwide but French embassies can in some cases issue visas. In addition travellers need an International Health Card showing in-date Yellow Fever and Cholera vaccinations and may need to show a minimum of US$500 on entry to the country.

Authorisation to travel in the desert: This form, typed in triplicate and smothered in stamps and signatures must be obtained from the Interior Ministry in Niamey. It is an absolute requirement and must be produced to police and Gard Nomadique at most villages. Failure to produce this document may lead to arrest and will certainly lead to you being turned back.

Getting around: Niger’s roads have been greatly improved and the main routes are all covered by buses and taxis.

When to visit: Those intending to spend time in the Air or desert would find the coolest months from November to January most comfortable. Brief rains may occur in July and august when the riverbeds in the Air are liable to flash flooding.

Health: Malaria can be transmitted throughout Niger and even at the palmaraies in the desert we were attacked by swarms of mosquitoes. Those heading into the desert need to be totally self sufficient for medical treatment. Special care should be paid to treating water and washing fruit and vegetables obtained from street stalls.

Preparation of vehicles: If intending to venture into the remote desert, vehicles should travel at least in pairs and preferably convoys of 3 or more. All vehicles should have 4WD and be equipped with sand-ladders, shovels, tow ropes, preferably desert tyres, a pump to re-inflate tyres, plenty of spare inner tubes (and the tools to change and repair tubes - tyre levers etc), raised air-intakes, winches to help in vehicle recovery (ideally), a comprehensive tool kit and a broad range of spares. Serious consideration needs to be given to fuel capacity. Extra fuel tanks may need to be fitted together with spare jerricans. Fuel is rarely available and fuel consumption will rise dramatically in soft sand (we experienced as low as 10mpg for the landrovers and 5mpg for the Bedfords in the worst areas).

Equipment to take: Those heading out into the desert need to be self sufficient in every department. The limitations of space and weight in vehicles mean this needs to be carefully planned. A tent can probably be dispensed with, but it should be borne in mind that the desert can be very cold at night. Jerseys, long trousers, some form of covering to protect head and face from blowing sand, dark glasses and a good sleeping bag are essential. You cannot guarantee finding wood for fires and thus need a form of cooker together with a shield to protect it. Careful thought needs to be given to water carrying capacity and a plan for water usage should be devised (by carrying a large number of water jerricans we never restricted water for drinking or cooking but washing water was limited to one cupful per person per day). You cannot have too many water containers.

Personal Safety: Advice should be sought from embassies for regions to avoid. There have been instances of vehicles being taken at gun-point by bandits. A plan should also be made and equipment carried to alert the authorities if you get into trouble. Radios, Emergency Personal Radar Beacons, satellite navigation systems and flares are all worth considering.

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