Caravans Stone: in the Adrar des Iforhas
“Even then kill you, I am obliged to welcome you ", let Bakshim in greeting when we entered his house Kidal, unstable near the Mali border with Algeria. Bakshim was one of the leaders of the famous Tuareg revolt the years 90, and social rank had to keep their distance much longer than usual between the Tuaregs. Or rather, Kel Tamasheq village, that's how they like to be called. Despite an unpromising welcome, the time agreed to accompany Tamaradan, in the remote Adrar des Iforhas, Tuareg traditional retreat from the arrival of the Arabs in the Maghreb. That is why, I had been told by, in the huge basalt rocks protruding from the golden sands can see caravans and prints depicting dance scenes, inscriptions and attractive characters tifinagh, consonantal writing these nomads. So I wanted to go there.
Bakshim I had suggested that maybe my idea was not the best in the world, but his pride and the recommendations that I had crossed his door prevented him from being explicit, so that the next day rode an old Toyota northbound. The hours passed while walking pileup that tumbles within whose suspension was a distant memory, as my guide the direction indicated, Watch for signs that I was unable to distinguish in that dry drudgery. At one point I thought we passed a second time by one place, and when I made a suggestion about, I let out another proverb Bakshim: "Better move without knowing where to sit still with nothing to do". I resigned myself to move forward without further discussion.
It is better to move without knowing where to sit still with nothing to do
When the sun began to descend, appeared in the middle of nowhere, stopped in some bushes with little foliage, a car with the hood up and a couple of men with a puzzled looking under. We stopped to lend a hand, but before we had come down from Toyota, We walked around a small group of men armed with rifles. Their usual victims were trucks carrying illegal immigrants to the Mediterranean and Atlantic coasts, those who shed their savings if miramientos. Nor was he averse to do any illegal business, as drug trafficking. Suddenly, Gave some voices Bakshim know who was making those pirates and ordered the driver to tighten the throttle no more. We went buzzing without running miracle anyone.
The night spent in a half sleep horribles dotted. Make bivouac hoping no one would have followed seemed foolish. Luckily, after a few hours raised a strong wind forced us to spend the rest of the night in the car to avoid swallowing sand. I trusted that also erase our tracks. But, the new day rose clear in every way, and finally I could fulfill my dream of seeing those I had been taxed so far. Around all was silent, and those rocks defied the passage of time with encrypted messages and stylized figures. But the story of the bandits had left a bad taste in mouth, and perhaps not enjoy both vision as he had imagined.
I asked him if he thought the men could be close to al Qaeda Salafi. He looked at me and said: "Fundamentalism is typical of cowards"
Back to Timbuktu, when I told him what happened to a marabout or holy man had given me contact Bakshim, it was silent. I asked him if he thought the men could be close to al Qaeda Salafi, which apparently are trained in the Algerian desert. He looked at me and said: "Fundamentalism is typical of cowards".
Some time later, in the safety of my home, I learned with concern the news from Mali. And I could not help thinking that those suspected guerrillas of news closely resembled the desert raiders I met: people with nothing to lose, whose main ideology is to eat another day. At any price.
Comments (2)
Javier Brandoli
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Terrific story
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Josep M. Palau
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Thanks Javier!
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