Sahara_ The Largest Desert On Earth _ Journeys To The Ends Of The Earth _ Real History

It takes its name from the Arabic word for emptiness, al-Zahara. But the Sahara is really a collection of deserts and the most remote is the Teneray. I set out to cross the Teneray in the way caravans have done for a thousand years. It'll mean a journey of 1,200 miles over rock and sand by vehicle, camel and on foot and it's a dangerous journey. For in this sweltering desiccated furnace, death strikes the weak, the ill-prepared or the unlucky. They call it the land of fear. My name is David Adams and as a photojournalist, I've made a point of going to some of the world's most remote places. My journey starts in the African Republic of Niger, a former French colony where the Teneray meets the Aya Mountains, which is why I'm in the ancient city of Agadez. Agadez is a mud city and there seems no end to the patterns that clay and straw can achieve. It's also a holy city of Islam. This mosque claiming to have one of the highest mud minarets in all of Africa. It's a city that got rich on trade. Less than 100 years ago, slaves, gold and ivory were sold here in the Agadez markets. I just love the chaos of these markets in Africa. You can get absolutely anything and everything's being bargained and it's all over the place. Sugar cane, onions, grain from Niger and then there's this stuff, salt. It's actually been the mainstay of this whole area of Africa for probably more than a thousand years and it's the great salt caravans that bring it here. This is Caravan Central, first port of call after crossing the wilderness. From north, south, east and west, they converge on Agadez because it straddles one of the great desert crossroads of Africa. Everything about these markets is geared to caravans. Clothing, footwear, headwear, even a haircut. Meat, drinks and fruit for a lengthy desert crossing. And of course, food for the camels too. He doesn't look very happy, does he? I think he's probably really upset because he can't eat it. It's sort of the reverse of having a carrot hanging in front of you. You've got lunch on your back and you can't do anything about it. This is truly stepping back in time. Here we are at the dawn of a new millennium and there are still people wearing swords. They're called the Tuareg. Not people that you'd want to mess with. Only 18 months earlier, they were in full armed rebellion against the Niger government. So if you want to travel to the desert and survive, you need their help. Which is why I've got to go 120 miles to the north. That's 200 kilometres to Chimia, a place famous for its camel races. Here I'll find the people I need to get me across the Tenere. So these are the people I'd come to meet. The legendary warriors of the desert. And they wouldn't look out of place in a Star Wars movie either. The Tuareg once ran an empire that controlled the central Sahara. No caravan could pass without their say-so. There are many theories about their origins. Some say they're one of the lost tribes of Israel. Others that they were originally Christian. Hence the prevalence of the cross as a Tuareg motive. But today they're Muslim. And in stark contrast to the Islamic norm, it's the men who cover their faces while the women leave theirs unveiled. The Tuareg are fiercely competitive. Many of them riding up to four days just to take part in this race. And today that's all it is, a race. Not long ago they'd have lined up like this for a warrior's charge. They're off and there's lots of jostling for the lead which sometimes leads to accidents. And what an awesome sight. These are descendants of desert pirates who as recently as the 1990s were still raiding caravans with lance and sword. I don't think nature ever designed a camel to gallop. It's more of an awkward lollip, half canter, half trot. Not very comfortable for the rider. And it isn't a race for the faint-hearted. The course is just over two miles or three and a half kilometres. Plotting across the Tenere with a caravan won't be quite like this. It takes 10 minutes to cross the line and when they do it'll be to the cheers of their women and the jeers of their rivals. It's going to be interesting crossing the desert with men like these. There'll be many races today and in between they're dancing. A chance for the warriors to let off steam and for me a chance to take some photographs. It's actually perfect moments like this when there's an amazing picture and your camera breaks. This is my panoramic and it's not working. This will never happen again so I'll have to go and fix it. On they dance until the prize giving. And this is the prize. The legendary sword of the Tuareg, the takoba. And it's certainly not a toy. But today they're more for show he says, a symbol of manliness. But for a weapon that's just a symbol it's extraordinarily sharp. The perfect prize for a warrior. So these races are about more than just rewarding winners. They're about creating legends. It's as if we're back in the middle ages in the time of the Moors, crusader knights and tales of chivalry and honour. I'm preparing to cross the desert. To help me a team of Tuareg will show me the way to the Tenere and beyond. Camping equipment, tools, spare wheels and spare parts, diesel fuel, medical supplies, rations for three weeks and of course plenty of water. We decided not to take tents. It hasn't rained in the Tenere for 15 years and it isn't likely to for another 15. But I did bring these. Can't go anywhere without the old skis. We're heading north into bandit country. Our route takes us through the heart of Niger's Ayia Mountains. This was a Tuareg stronghold during the rebellion. It's desert all right, but just in case you're wondering where the sand dunes and mirages are, well relatively little of the Sahara is sand dune and a hell of a lot of it is mountainous. Some of these arid peaks are over 7,000 feet high. I wanted to explore them. I wanted to go deep into them where no European had ever gone. And to do that I had to start in the isolated town of Ifuan. Here everything's improvised. Buckets become drums, wires become toys and an old plastic container will do as a soccer ball. It's good huh? Oh I think it's rotten. I don't know how long this thing's been sitting in the sun. It doesn't taste very good. If I'd have been walking down these streets 18 months earlier, there's a fair chance I'd have been kidnapped and held for ransom. This was a Tuareg headquarters during the rebellion. Today all is quiet and I'm just a figure of curiosity. Word was getting out that there was a stranger in town. Maybe I'd like to ride a camel. If so wouldn't I like to buy a saddle? Or maybe one of those murderous Tuareg swords. This is a really old one. Looks like these are the old alchemic moon symbols which you only find on the really old swords. I don't think these guys take no for an answer in selling anything. But why would I want to buy it when I can get one made to order? These must be some of the world's last swordsmiths to make swords for combat. A blade of the finest cutting steel. Which 500 years ago would have come from European cities like Toledo or Padua. Today's Takaba is more likely to have been forged out of Toyota bumpers. Do you speak English? I'm looking for a guide. I'm a guide. Yeah? Yeah. Because I want to go from Iluwen across the air mountains into the Tenere. I can do it for you. Yeah? Yeah. Do you have camels? I have camels. Because I would like to go either today or tomorrow if it's possible. Tomorrow perhaps. But now you have to wait. I buy a sale for my camel, yeah? Okay. Yeah? You can wait. Yeah, I can wait, sure. Yeah. And that's how I came to meet Hoya Abdurrahmana. A man who'd become my guide and mentor. A man who'd helped me to understand more about Tuareg culture. Out in the desert, Hoya's family live a nomadic life. Moving from camp to camp with their animals in search of feed. So the family has been here for three weeks? They need to be near water, but not too near. An old custom forbids Tuaregs to camp nearer than five miles from water, lest their children grow up taking it for granted. It's rare that one gets the chance to meet the Tuareg at first hand. And what a greeting. Hello. Bonjour, David. It means, how are you? How are your parents? Your family? Your children? Your grandparents? And so on. That's a fantastic handshake. David, bonjour. Can you go and greet my family? Yes, yes. This is my sister, yeah? Bonjour. The two here are my sisters. The third one is my wife. Bonjour, madame. His name was called Abzawi. And what does it mean? What is Abzawi? They give him this name, depends on his colour. So Abzawi means white? It's white. Abzawi is white, but not very white. Not very, very white. It's near white. So it's on Abzawi that I'll ride into the Tenere, perched on a Tuareg saddle, with what look like sharp, trident-shaped handlebars. What are the spikes for, these ones? This is protection for Takuba. From the sword? Yeah, from the sword. Oh, so when they were fighting, this is so that you didn't get cut? You go behind, and Takuba, you stay here. Because I thought it was for me to hang on to. No, not for protection. Saddlecloths, provisions, and a traditional water bottle made of goat skins. But there's something missing. And where are the stirrups? There are no stirrups? No. No stirrups. Oh, OK. And there's something I remember about camels and committees. This one looks particularly well-designed. It's also got a very good temperament, I think. Now, this is the easy way of mounting a camel. If you want to do it the Tuareg way, just grab its chin, climb up on its neck, and spring into the saddle before it bites you. Easy. So off we ride into the mountains towards one of the highest peaks in the Aya, Adra-Tamgak. As we go, Hoya sings me songs about his Tuareg heroes and their exploits in battle. We're heading up a dry riverbed through the Tamgak Corridor, the start of a major caravan route to the Tenere. So it's a bit of a surprise to get our feet wet quite so soon. It was the last water we'd see for over a week. By now, I'm getting to know Hoya. Not long ago, he was a wealthy man who owned over 100 camels. But he got caught up in the Tuareg rebellion against the Niger government. It absolutely ruined him, leaving him with just these two camels. In the rebellion, many of his friends were killed. As I was to discover, Islam is central to Hoya's life. When I was praying, it means I was, I take contact with God. I pray for him, I must do this for him, and I will ask him what I want. That night, Hoya brewed a pot of strong Tuareg minted tea, which has to be poured back into the pot three times. Why do you pour it three times? Next morning, we've got company. A family of baboons appears from nowhere, in the middle of this Aya mountain wilderness. These are the big black ones? And that's not a yawn, it's a threat. His way of letting you know that you've come quite close enough. But what's so amazing, is that they're here at all, in an arid place like this. As it happens, they're relics from a different age. Oh wow, that looks like a whole family. It's a family here. And how old do you think these are? Maybe around eight, a thousand years. I'll take some photographs of this, this is going to be great. They're animals long gone from this desolate wilderness, yet their images have been faithfully recorded in stone. It just goes to show the power of climate change. When Tutankhamen sat on the Egyptian throne, and King Solomon ruled Israel, this would have been lush savannah land, with plenty of game for hunter-gatherers. Whoever carved these, seven to ten thousand years ago, sat here in a very different landscape than I do. Because what he saw out on the plains, was giraffe, ibex, and all the other animals here on these rocks. And all I can see, is dunes. There before me, is what I've come all this way to see. The great Tenere desert, washing like a gigantic ocean of sand, across the rocky coastline of the Aya mountains. So reunited with my vehicles, we head off into the desert, with Hoya coming along as my guide. Towards midday in the Tenere, the burning sun heats the sand to over 110 degrees. Not good for driving, even for our Tuareg friends. And they're some of the world's best desert four-wheel drivers. It's hot, I think, it's not so easy to... I think we might be having lunch here, eh? The problem is that the sun is so hot at the moment, that all the sand is really, really light, and so they can't get any traction. We may even have to wait till late in the afternoon. So we let air out of our tyre. Deflated tyres cover more surface area, and gain more traction. And once into the real desert, we can get up quite a speed. Once into the Tenere, all the desert is a road, where each car makes its own track. The Tuareg always drive in formation, always in sight of one another. Yet you can get lost in a mirage, long before you ever reach the horizon. Here the sand is firm, and the drive is easier. But where the dunes are soft and steep, that's where their driving skills really kick in. The trick seems to be to run up to the crest, brake at the very last moment, and then let the car gently slide down. And there you go. But sometimes even the Tuareg get it wrong. It was our first accident, and we're 400 miles from the nearest service station. Nobody's hurt. What's happened is the bags come right through the back window here, falling down into the compartment when they hit the ground. It also ripped out the tyre from underneath. And when they collected the ground in front, it's actually bent up this really large bumper bar. It's serviceable, but I think it's going to cost us quite a bit. It was a rather violent introduction to some of the most serene sand dunes on Earth. This is actually a giant meteorite crater, Arrakal. And right now, the light is absolutely perfect. I have to say, I've been waiting all my life to come and sit here and watch a sunset like this across these dunes. These are some of the biggest in the world. And for the next couple of hours and early tomorrow morning, the colours and these shapes will just change and change and change. And for this, taking the photos here is absolute heaven for me. The shapes are incredibly sensual. Curves and ripples made crisp in the red evening light. And as the last rays of desert sun slip over the horizon and the sand dunes cease to glow, I revel in this photographer's dream. This is the biggest dune in the Tenerai, huh? Yes. OK. The next morning, I wanted to have a crack at the world's highest sand dune and do it on skis. My friends thought I was absolutely crazy. This sand hill is a little over 300 metres high. That's almost 1,000 feet. And the Tuareg tell me it has never been skied before. The trouble is, the nearest ski lift is over 2,000 miles away and it was hot, very hot. Every step I take here seems to be two steps back and this ridge seems further and further away every time I take the next step. I stupidly didn't bring a hat or a water bottle, which is the cardinal rule here. So I'm just melting. But getting up here on the ridge, this view is absolutely incredible. These dark ridges behind me that just burn in the sun and then dunes away into the distance across this amazing crater. And I can see everything. Woohoo! Very good. Fantastic. It's harder than snow but just having got up there and skied down on it your legs kind of get really tired because you can't move properly. I don't know if anybody's done that before but my hat off to them if they have. Oh and I'd love some water please. See I've been really stupid not taking it up. One week into our desert journey and we're now well into the Tenere and I have a caravan to catch. We're heading into the heart of Niger's sand ocean and the analogy isn't a bad one. Here in the middle of North Africa it feels as if you're really crossing the sea. The Tenere takes its name from the Tuareg word for nothingness. So we're crossing a nothingness the size of France in the middle of an emptiness the size of the United States. Death comes quickly here in the Tenere. Go without water for eight hours and you start to die and your body doesn't rot. It's so dry out here even bacteria struggle to survive. No wonder they call it the land of fear. Yet for centuries Tuareg caravans have been crossing it and we're on the trail of one right now. Caravan tracks here. Oh yeah? Caravan tracks here. Do you know how far ahead they are? I don't know exactly. I will go and see. No need for global positioning satellites out here. They use organic navigation. Camel droppings. It looks dry. It looks dry. How many days? Three days, maybe three days. So not so far by the car? Around 100 kilometres. Okay let's catch them up. Then in the middle of nowhere we see bales of hay. It's a camel takeout, a supply dump. Our caravan can't be far ahead now. On and on through the nothingness we go until a strange shimmering line starts to resolve on the horizon. It's the caravan. Once more it seems as if time has stood still. Things have hardly changed since the Middle Ages. With satellites high above, here they are navigating their way with pinpoint precision through the Tenerai and not a compass in sight. This is the same caravan that's been dropping off hay all along the route, so when they return they can feed their camels. Using the sun, the wind and the stars to guide them, they'll find it again easily. But they have a problem. A boy with a badly infected hand. Luckily as part of our supplies we have a medical kit. Looks like he's got blood poisoning. His glands are right up here. There's not a lot we can do with him and he probably needs pretty serious attention to it, but hopefully we can stop the infection and clean it up. But it's much better treatment than he'd normally get out here in a place where the nearest medical help is hundreds of miles away. It's very important. If he doesn't take them all they won't work and if this doesn't get healed he will lose his arm. If his wound turns gangrenous it could be a stark choice. Amputation or death. All of this brings the dangers of desert travel into sharp focus. While the Tenerai is awesomely beautiful, there's no margin for error. No support if something goes wrong. By now we're nearing one of the most isolated outposts in the country of Niger, the town of Bilma. And how's this for water ski practice? Well at least there aren't any sharks out here. We've done about 220 miles across this sand ocean and my twireg friends have navigated us perfectly. No thanks to this though. And again on a maritime note, what would you expect to see on the other side of an ocean but a lighthouse? It's just that the real ocean is a thousand miles away. It was part of a whole string of them built around the Tenerai in the 1930s. It's abandoned now but it had a distinctly colonial purpose. Of course this wasn't actually built for the twireg because they don't need navigation in the desert. They've got their own. It was built for the French army so they wouldn't get lost. This is the oasis town of Bilma and here there's plenty of fresh water. It bubbles out of the ground crystal clear, turning the desert into a tropical garden. But it's surprising to discover that most of this fresh water is turned into salt water, deliberately. Because there's so much salt in the ground, water is poured into these pools to leach it out. The burning sun does the rest. In temperatures of way over 110 degrees or 50 degrees celsius, the water quickly evaporates leaving the salt behind. It's here that an old bible story comes to life. They make pillars of salt. You're looking at an industry that hasn't changed for thousands of years. There's a shortage of salt in the Sahara, so Bilma salt still finds its way to just about every corner of North Africa, which is why Bilma attracts the caravans. Not far from the salt pans it's a mass of bellowing, fighting, cud-chewing camels, all waiting to start a two-week journey back across the Tenere. There's a caravan leaving soon. Hoyer and I will be joining it, but first he needs to buy some salt for his animals back home. Now I discover something else about my companion. He's fussy about his salt, so much so that he literally puts it to the litmus test. If it's a good salt it will become orange. If it's not good it will stay like this. The colour's changed now. So it's good? Yeah, it's good. That was the easy part. Now comes the haggling, and we're only talking about a deal worth six dollars. I never thought buying salt would be so difficult. It harks back to the days when salt was a cumsum, and out here it still is. Indeed the word salary comes from solarium, Latin for salt, the money that was paid to the Roman legions to buy their salt rations. In all my travels I don't think I've ever seen so many camels. Every year they reckon some 25,000 pass through Bilma. Each of these salt pillars weighs about 65 pounds or 30 kilos, so with a six pillar load on a good strong camel that's nearly a quarter of a ton. So it's not surprising there's a great deal of complaining at loading time. But once loaded they settle down, our caravan finally gets underway. How many times have you crossed the Tanuray? How many times have you? Yeah. Since you were this big? We've just embarked on a 370 mile trip across the Tanuray, that's 600 kilometres, a journey of more than two weeks. When walking with caravans, lesson number one, never underestimate its speed. While camels amble at what seems to be a dignified pace, their legs are long and you need to walk briskly just to keep up. So how many camels have we got? Yeah. And here's lesson number two, it's maybe 300? We didn't, nobody knows exactly the number of, nobody will count them. I touched on a Tuareg nerve, if you count your camels one may die, so it's better to remain ignorant. And during a caravan you soon realise how effective Tuareg robes are, they preserve moisture. So how much water would these men drink every day riding on the caravan? Now we drink three times. Just three cups of water each day, while I was drinking nearly a gallon or more than five litres. There's a Tuareg saying it's too hot to talk. So they're like a camel. A hundred miles down, 275 more to go, that's about 500 kilometres. But many of these caravans go a lot further, right across Africa, without any regard for international borders. And the borders aren't a problem? No problem, it's crossroads, it's cross-border, because Tuareg likes freedom, he thinks that there is no border from him, in his mind there is no border, everywhere is for him. At last I was beginning to get a handle on these proud desert travellers, gentle and hospitable, but fiercely independent, and it's something they're prepared to fight for. So what does it mean to be a Tuareg? Is it freedom simply or is there more? There are more. Freedom first, but there are many things. The Tenerife, the deep desert? Yeah, the desert, Tenerife, and there is so many, I don't know, culture. In their culture we have so many rules, which means really, and the Tuareg have an obligation to respect that culture. The following morning, as the blue pre-dawn twilight spreads across the Tenerife, hundreds of camels are on the move, silently crossing this remarkable desert in both directions. And if you ever thought that the middle of the Sahara was the middle of nowhere, well think again. This nowhere is a superhighway. The Tenerife is alive with caravans. It would be a mistake to think of caravans in terms of crude western commerce. To a Tuareg, the caravan is a symbol of the journey of life. No one here is a complete man until he's crossed the desert with a caravan at least once. So on I go, day after day, night after night, falling further under the spell of this Tuareg sense of freedom and independence. And with Hoyer's help, I have completed this rite of passage and crossed one of the world's remotest deserts on another of my journeys to the ends of the earth.