WESTERN SAHARA 25°36’43.1”N 14°40’54.8”W
“This one week was so different than all the others we had in our six months in the desert.”
Catching up to Hannah, who was already standing next to her bike, I dismounted and followed, pushing the bike for the last few metres and leaning it against the side of the building. Despite the kickstands, we had to rearrange our bikes several times until they finally withstood the wind and stayed vertical. We only grabbed the most crucial items and fought our way through the storm to the entrance of the building. Opening the door, we quickly slipped inside. With the closing of the door, the roaring of the wind disappeared, and in its stead, we were enveloped by the lively humming of people laughing and talking. Lifting my hands to my head, I searched for the end of my turban and, once I had found it, pulled it loose. Unwrapping the fabric off my head felt freeing in an entirely new way. By letting fresh air touch my skin, I was telling my body that it was time to relax, that there had been enough cycling for the day. I was able to breathe freely again, without sand obstructing my airways. It was safe to open my eyes fully. My body came to expect this feeling that accompanied the unwrapping of fabric. I blinked and rubbed my tearing eyes, trying to get the fine grains of sand out. Then, once my sight cleared, I looked around and took in my surroundings. We came precisely at the right time, just before dusk. It was Ramadan and everybody was getting ready for Iftar, the first meal of the day, signalling the end of fasting for that day. It was relatively crowded, considering we were in the middle of the Western Sahara. Sitting down at an open table, we leaned back in our chairs, too exhausted to do much else. We could already tell this was going to be a pleasant night. The mood was good, the stomachs empty, and the tables full of food. The air buzzed with relieved anticipation. The sandstorm raged for one week, and during that time, the Sahara showed us a whole other side of herself. There were annoyances that accompanied us from start to finish, like not being able to eat without having sand between our teeth, not being able to breathe freely, or all the time spent on the saddle when the wind wasn’t directly behind us and having to shout to be heard over the deafening roar. But in most situations, the excitement over new, challenging situations easily outweighed the annoyances. When we had to stop riding because the wind, which was just getting stronger, pushed us into an oblique angle, it was exhilarating. Having to dig a hole in the sand for our tent so it wouldn’t be carried away by the storm was unusual, and therefore exciting, at least the first time. We could even find a thrilling aspect in having to leave the tent at night to pee and find the correct stance so we’d be positioned just right in the wind. This one week was so different than all the others we had in our six months in the desert. The sandstorm had the potential to be fairly aggravating, but we were so captivated by nature that all the small, irritating things didn’t bother us much.
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MOTHER VOLUME THREE
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