Tales of the desert road
The desert is full of stories, especially while sitting around a campfire stories come to life. Farafra, Egypt, January 2020
“Awful” is not enough to describe the desert road to Siwa. Back in the day sand dunes covering the road for dozens of kilometers and potholes large enough to swallow cars were regular sights. Stories of fatal accidents with cars overturning were normal. You would always have to take 4 spare tires with you and if you had a good trip you two of them would be unused.
One freezing windy winter night, years ago, I had to head to Siwa to pick up some tourists. I knew that the dunes had swallowed the road again and that I needed to find my way through the desert without their guidance. Part of the challenge was always to find the army checkpoints on the way to identifying myself, otherwise they would assume me to be a smuggler.
While loading my car to head out after sunset, a friend came over and advised me: “You should go in the morning”
“I can’t, I have work in Siwa in the morning”
He held my hand “You shouldn’t go today”
Stubborn as I am, I insisted on going.
Stubborn as I am, I insisted on going
After loading my car, I drove into the cloudy and moonless night. The darkness was complete, as if you would have emptied a sharpie in the sky. The first hours passed uneventfully.
30 km before the first checkpoint I noticed three soldiers on the side of the road waving at me. I brought the car to a halt right next to them. Without saying a word they got in, slammed the door, threw their duffle bags in the back and fell asleep. This is not an unusual occurrence, by itself. It is common that you pick up soldiers between checkpoints or they send water to other checkpoints if it’s on your way. But at this time of day this was uncommon.
Half an hour later I am rolling into the next checkpoint and greet the soldier.
“I have some of your guys, they are sleeping in the bag” and I pointed at them with a nod.
He leans into the car and looks around “Where are they?”
They were gone. I get out and open the door to check. There is no trace of them or their bags. I was awake. I wasn’t tired, if I would have fallen asleep the car would have flipped over. Driving required my full attention. There was no doubt that the soldiers got into the car. I saw and heard them.
Tears in my eye from the cold and frozen to the bones, I heard the soldier advise me “You should spend the night here and continue your journey tomorrow”
Stubborn as I am, I insisted on going.
Stubborn as I am, I insisted on going
The next checkpoint was 100 km away and the most difficult part of the journey lied ahead of me, as most of the road was covered in dunes and rocks in between. Driving here was if someone’s was constantly hammering on your car, after a while you get used to the rhythm of the beating.
The darkness is suddenly interrupted by candles flanking the road left and right, as if I was driving into Karnak temple. The second I finished this thought, I noticed a man is sitting on the passenger seat. A thick mustache decorated his weather beaten face, while he was wearing a clean white robe. A woolly hat, a Bedouin scarf and a black jacket kept him warm.
I knew I didn’t stop to let someone in, but at the same time I couldn’t bring myself to talk to him. Questions were burning on my tongue: “Where did he come from? What is he doing in my car? And most of all who is he?”
He slowly put his hand next to the gear stick. I froze in shock and didn’t dare to move or touch the gear stick . Regardless how large the bumps ahead were I smashed through them in fourth gear. All while he kept his calm posture looking into the distance.
He slowly put his hand next to the gear stick
Trying to get a better look of him through the rear mirror, I see the empty passenger seat empty. But there he was, sitting next to me breathing slowly. For the rest of the night, I stared on the road, fully awake but terrified to the bones.
In the moments before sunrise , during twilight, a bright light breaks the darkness and illuminates the desert. In that moment his facial features changed and he went up in smoke. Like incense.
I could hear my heart beating and I felt something clogged in my throat.
I returned home a few days later and met my friend again. After describing the man to and events to him in detail, he took a deep breath and took my hand again: “Never take this route at night again. What you saw… You are describing a singer that used to frequently travel on this road between the Oases . On one moonless night decades ago he died in an accident, where his car overturned…. You are not the first to see him.”
“The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown”
