Day 60

High above the ground, my camel sways side to side as her broad feet pad across the sand. Her coat is coarse and curly, and her short hair is thick and oily to resist the daytime heat. But now, we trek across the desert at dusk. 

I try to match her undulations with the movements of my body and enjoy her left-to-right, right-to-left rhythm. On all sides there are rolling sand dunes of magnificent golden orange, which brighten to butterscotch on their sun-touched rises and burnish to bronze as they fall. The sun is setting quickly, and the colour and heat from the dunes drift upwards to absorb into the skyline. I’m glad for the heat that rises from my camel’s huge body, it transfers into the blankets I sit upon and warms me.

This evening, two boys dressed in Berber tunics walk beside us and lead our camels across the dunes to catch sundown at a rehearsed vantage point. Along the ridges, our camels walk single file and follow the curvature of the dunes. Their shadows are stretched across the sand by the low sun, turning them into monstrous shadow puppets with vast bodies and twenty-foot-long legs. 

We reach the edge of our vantage point and the herd of camels are brought to a halt and guided into sitting positions. It’s a steep drop down but my camel gracefully falls to her knees and tucks her legs in. I wonder about her camel nature. She’s been trained to walk in a uniform line with her camel companions while tied together with cords and knows how to sit down and stand up when instructed. There is a branded mark of ownership on her haunches and she has an extremely docile nature.

Above, our young guide is rapidly trekking up the huge dune as sunset approaches. Many other tourists have had the same idea, as on surrounding dunes, people are already settled and watching the horizon or in the process of struggling up their dunes. Wiggy follows our guide and after floundering around in my backpack, I follow too. In my broad sandals, the sand only disperses if I tread quickly and heavily, yet Wiggy is trudging up the dune ahead of me and under his weight, the sand is sliding down in little avalanches under each step. The effort of climbing the dune is huge on my untrained thighs and unexercised lungs. I’m hot, my muscles throb, my lungs feel raw, and my teeth ache. 

At the top, we catch our breath and get settled for sundown. High up now, we have a glorious panoramic view of the golden dunes. The sun is falling closer and closer to the horizon, and then, in the last few moments of sunset, the dunes below us are submerged in darkness while our peak remains aglow, like a mountain capped with golden snow. I sink my hands and feet into the sand, the powder fine grains slip through my fingers and cool me. The wind picks up too, it sweeps about making my loose clothes flap, dries my sweat, and smoothes away our tracks. 

Going back down is far faster, we return to our waiting camels and are more fluid after the climb. Back at camp, night has set and the distant city’s lights rise and hover above town like a haze. But in the desert, the sky stretches above and cocoons us. The Milky Way peppers across the sky and dying stars twinkle. Tonight, a Berber camp is putting on a party for tourists. The happy sound of drums and songs travels across the desert. Looking out, I can see the small glowing aura of their camp. I imagine their long red carpet, woven with intricate patterns, the tents lined up in symmetry on either side and at the end, the fire pit ablaze and surrounded by musicians and guests.

We say goodnight to the camels and I run back to our tent to get a small tip for the boys who guided us.