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I mentioned in an earlier blog that a person who spends to much time in the desert can become Erg-challenged, and would either end up as a poet a philosopher or ye god's forbid mad...!!! I have yet to meet the mad (but stranger things have happened) as for a philosopher...I was humbled by a meeting today.

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A strange place the Sahara, a blank page upon which to write an invisible text.

Things move slowly out here in the Sahara, my time in the field has been extended by a week, my rotational colleague having broke his foot (that鈥檚 a new one, that鈥檚 3 feet he has ?) so I will miss out on the Tiree windsurfing extravaganza.



But worst things could happen.

When I do eventually get home to Tiree I will be over burdened for the first week or so with the inevitable culture shock...and it will take some time to be at peace with myself.

Strange but I never feel out of place when I go somewhere remote or poles apart on the cultural ladder, but I always feel it when I get home. Little things like walking into the COOP and seeing so much on the shelves; Been at a loss to have a conversation with people, people...a TV, a clean toilet. I seek solace in my children and walk on the beach with my boy Finn. Inevitably I drink to much the first night or two (7 weeks without a drop certainly removes all resistance to the demon brew)...I sit entranced in front of a TV...adverts, cooking programs, the lotto draw, I don't care it's amazing. Oh and my comfy Ikea seats鈥nd a fire place, and my bed my wonderful bed under my massive Velux sky鈥read with lurpack butter, bacons butties and real coffee..

My wonderful home with the sound of the ocean and not the continual drone of a generator...kids playing on the Machair, geese in the garden and hare鈥檚 dodging my thundering Landrover. Music鈥ots and lots of music鈥�



All just little things I notice...and a small part of the list. The luxurious conflict of have and have not鈥rom the right side of the fence.

I sat today not far from our new camp location, the desert tracks run clear south from here to the Sudan border鈥bout 1000km of nothing. And watched two very moving things (or two moving things depends on your outlook)鈥 camel train to Kufra, the weather is beginning to cool and it was only 41c today鈥ime for the seasonal camel trains.



It鈥檚 a magical sight watching these particularly strange beasts appear from the watery mirage lumber up, and pass on to their fate. The Tuareg guys (Tuareg means blue man, because they used to use blue mud as a sunburn preventative prior to cheap sun cream) always come near, 鈥淎s alum Alikum, kev halik, kev cum鈥濃�︹�滱likum salaam, quess hum d Allah鈥欌�� the reply鈥 digress and could go on.



Strange things camels, three gears鈥ast, plod and won鈥檛 get up鈥nd then the horse designed by committee waddles off over my shoulder鈥ime-less like the Sahara.





I drove for about an hour and saw trucks, amazing trucks鈥� and one broken down truck near a deserted oil well support camp鈥t鈥檚 customary in the desert to ask if all is well鈥ut it was not, is not.



30 men from Darfur driven out by the conflict鈥e chatted. My Arabic is poor, my French limited鈥 chatted with an older man, the driver and his friend. I drove back to camp went to the store and took a goat carcass鈥 drove back to the refugees (REFUGEES). We waited for sun down, they said their prayers to their god, we broke the Ramadan Fast & I ate supper with some of these men鈥roud men. Men like Malek,



Mr Malek, father, husband and philosopher

I felt humbled at what they told me about Darfur, I felt like I knew nothing about life, yet our common ground was a meal, the love of our families鈥he things they told me are not suitable for a blog built around our love and lives in the Scottish Isles. They are not suitable things for any human being to have to come to turns with鈥 have learnt a lesson today in humanity, the best side and the worst side. Of murder, rape and displacement鈥f men who can cry at their lot and at the same time have faith in a better day tomorrow鈥augh at my inept linguistic skills...had fits of laughter that i should live in a place that was cold and wet...and then apologise for any inconvinience they may have caused me.



I was upset on the way back here to the camp...and now I am smiling when think of Malek.

And now I want to go back to my home and hold my children tight, and stare at the TV, walk on the beach and be bemused at all the things we have in the COOP.

Strange place the Sahara鈥� a blank page upon which to write an invisible text.
And as Omar Khayyam wrote, 鈥淭he writing hand having written, moves on鈥�