Struggled to get up this morning for 6.30 breakfast, lying warm and sheltered from the wind. Freezing cold out of bed and only muesli and fruit salad for breakfast, nothing warming to eat.
Talked to Bob about teaching and relationships with our mothers and grandparents on the 2-hour drive to the town of Arlit, where Kel headed off to the bank to get money while the rest of us filled in the first of many registry forms and got the first of many passport stamps.
It was amazing, just in the square where we parked, the difference from all the other villages we've seen so far. Crossing the border had taken us from lands of Muslims and Arabs into black Africa. Groups of Niger hustlers adorned with all sorts of jewellery and Tuareg crafts crowded the back door of our truck. But the women most caught our attention: tall and graceful, even the more rounded ones, wearing fabulously bright printed fabrics, wrapped as skirts and thrown over their shoulders, or with a matching blouse or another bright pattern, they moved with fluid grace. Most had distinctive tribal scars around their mouths and eyes.
We had two hours to spare so I headed off with Bob, Geoff and Ann and almost immediately we became part of a bustling market: narrow alleys snuck between mud buildings and covered stalls selling all manner of spices from huge woven baskets; oranges, crisp bright green lettuces and sad tomatoes; and stalls selling pre-cut lengths of the vibrant cotton prints the women wear. Bob and I bought a 4-yard length to split between Bob's girlfriend Karen and me, one of the stylised bird patterns we’d seen in the square. We soon lost Jeff and Ann, who'd gone in search of beer, like a quest for the holy Grail. Bob and I then bumped into Jim and Hans, munching on bread and drinking coffee.
Then we encountered a Tuareg adorned with jewellery and another with a tiny, well used decorated leather pouch with a large kohl container in leather. Bob started bargaining, trying to trade his T-shirt for the pouch but got nowhere. We walked off but Bob was determined to get it and headed back to offer money. Ended up offering 3000 Central African Francs (about US$8). Halfway through the deal, several other men joined the discussion, chattering in their own language, and we got the distinct impression that the interloper was saying it wasn’t enough. He went off, obviously angry. The two Tuareg’s were a bit dazed by the process and just let their spokesman barter with Bob. Success in the end - Bob delighted with his purchase. I was good-naturedly mad, having wanted it myself, and told him that from now on it was my turn and he had to help me get one.
And then we entered the market’s central square – and cursed that we’d left our cameras on the truck. Stretched-flat non-identifiable red and brown matter covered lengths of tables - the flies crawling across it made us think it was beef jerky/biltong. A turbaned man was turning wooden sticks of spicy meat and fat over a tub of hot coals. The smell was mouth-watering and we all decided to try some – delicious, although at the top of my spice-tolerance and it having a long-lingering aftertaste. Probably goat but tender and tastier than our previous goat meals.
Dashed back to the truck for our cameras but the truck wasn’t there so returned to the market, where one of our earlier hustlers picked us up and lead us to see where Agadez jewellery was made. Inside the shop we were immediately the centre of the attention of five silver sellers. Our guide was still wearing a fantastic silver Tuareg good luck symbol that I had admired and coveted since he first hustled us at the truck. I was offered a Tuareg bracelet for my jacket, then earrings and necklace for my jacket. Obviously a very tradable article. Eventually bought my beautiful lucky charm for US$10, grinning from ear to ear when I got on the truck.
We stopped at our first Niger check point just out of town. Then drove on for a late lunch.
Gale winds buffeted those of us in the crows’ nest for the afternoon drive so I won't be going up there again any time soon, but the elevation did give us a good view into the slum-like mud villages we passed and igloo-shaped huts low to the ground. We also passed several groups of people walking in the desert and we stopped to give water and salt to a beautiful fine-boned woman carrying a huge-eyed baby.
Eventually we pulled off to camp among green-leafed pale-wooded bushes which were light to carry and burned well. Washed behind a thorn bush despite the wind still blowing.
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