In Timbuktu I could not help but face the very same realization that the many European explorers faced when they finally reached Timbuktu: it is just a motley collection of mud huts in earth’s most inhospitable desert. That being said, there was something glorious about reaching the unreachable. Timbuktu is, to this day, synonymous with the end of the road, and we had arrived! Our arrival was not exactly uplifting though.
Having fallen several hours behind schedule, we pulled into Timbuktu’s port (actually a separate city, but more on that curiosity later), in the pitch black as we had been asked to turn off all of our lights and the sun had long since set. Our normally unshakable guide was visibly tense and anxious, taking every precaution in the book, given the numerous recently published security warnings and advisories from nearly every western government regarding Timbuktu and its environs (ie: Al Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb). The last minutes of our previously languid boat ride were tense and full of oppressing silence, as every one went through worst case scenarios and all of their biggest fears. It was made somewhat worse by the warning we received to remain vigilant once on the shore as many thieves target arriving foreigners in the port. I am happy to say that we arrived without incident. While the fleet of SUV’s that were supposed to be there to ferry us to our hotels were not, we waited without incident and were soon safe and sound and happily ensconced in the relative luxury (electricity and plumbing) of our hotel.
Getting to Timbuktu was quite a relief, but that feeling could not compete with the sheer euphoria we all felt upon taking our first showers in days. Wow! I remember when I moved back to the States from Kenya, and quickly lost my appreciation for the hot water coming out of the shower head; we don’t know what we have until we don’t. So Timbuktu… the proverbial end of the road, is a one camel kind of town, and I say that having seen it relatively overrun with visitors for the festival. Having read about Timbuktu’s glory years, as the center for trade, culture, and learning was one thing, particularly as the years in between now number in the hundreds, but the recent travails of the once proud city were hard to hear yet alone bear witness to.
Due to climate change (conservatives take note, if you can overcome your environmental megalomania), the last few decades have dramatically altered Timbuktu in ways that centuries and indeed, millenia, could not. Case in point: as recently as a few years ago, big boats, even ferries, were able to get all the way to Timbuktu, stopping a stone’s throw from the city’s ancient quarter and center of commerce. Now, due to desertification, the Niger treads no closer than 12km from Timbuktu! The only water source to extend to Timbuktu now is an irrigation ditch Qaddafi paid for to supply water to his new hotel project. The ditch is too narrow for even a canoe. This is just one of many severe and all too real anecdotes we heard about Timbuktu while there. It brought climate change home in a way that Al Gore never could.
Author’s Note:
We spent the next days and nights enjoying the surreal Festival in the Desert on the picturesque dunes of the Sahara. I did not chronicle the experience, as it was beyond words… maybe one day. In the interim, check out the pictures and go to the festival, experience it for yourself. You won’t be disappointed.