All Tuaregged Out

Finally got back from the desert this evening, and quite frankly I'm all Tuaregged out. We spent the weekend mucking about on camels, and my one - it actually goes by the rather catchy little moniker of Albajaz, did not respond to my overtures in quite the way I felt I could reasonably expect.

After a tolerably civilsed couple of days, I felt he let himself down at the end, by trying to bite me.

I have to say I was disappointed. Only my lightning reactions saved the day. Perhaps he was upset at watching some of his pals receive Ivermectin injections - this despite the Tuareg declaring that injections were bad for you because they drained your strength. But tablets are acceptable, apparently.

At one well we stopped at, word must have gone ahead, and about forty donkeys seemed to materialise out of the sand. Their owners seemed to think it would be ok if they had injections, after all, they're only donkeys. One poor thing arrived with an ear half hanging off. The owner said it was a bite - Amadou said, looking at the cut, it was a bite by a knife. Anyway, after some deliberation, he decided to take the risk of doing field surgery - we'd already seen that the owner had tried to treat it with sump-oil, and sooner or later it was bound to catch on a stick or branch. So the SPANA team went into action. Lots of local anaesthetic, then a long time trying to clean up the mess, before extensive suturing leading to successfully removing the remains of the ear. Anti-biotics and painkillers, then he was up on his feet, and without so much as a thank you, was running off home. But a nice way to finish, before we had to saddle up the camels again.

Then yesterday is probably better glossed over. We started six hours late! Six hours!

I know they didn't want to do what we wanted to do - ie search for the elephants in the Gourma - but the Tuareg method of getting their own way is very frustrating, and exhausting. We had a stunning array of excuses given to us - the originality of which I haven't heard since school.

We had 'neighbours child was ill - had to be taken to hospital' and 'slight car accident - had to take car to police station', then 'couldn't find insurance papers' 'couldn't get any fuel, ice, water etc'. Finally, beaten and demoralized, we just headed off into the desert again - the only place they are truly happy. And I must say the stretch of rolling dunes we ended up in was very beautiful. So we had the campfire, cooked a meal aned then rolled up to sleep in our blankets.

Yes, of course you've guessed it. At four o'clock we were woken by a screaming gale, the sand streaming off the dunes, and hitting us like a sandblaster. But Chris was happy - he got wonderful film until the cameras seized up in protest at the sand-blasting - then we spent the rest of the night huddled in the 4x4 against the driven rain. And then of course the rain gave us problems the next morning, with all the nice flat plains - used as roadways - flooded. We had to dig the damn thing out seven times before we got to Goundam. Perhaps it was not helpful that our driver was much more at home on a camel than a 4x4. Still, we finally made it. And I've 'done' deserts for a bit, thank you very much. Tomorrow, we're off by canoe to see some of the river villages where we have para-vets. And it's the hippo breeding season. When they're at their testiest.

Jeremy Hulme

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In Which We Find a Storm...Then Regret it Immediately

Gordon Bennett - what a night! Following right on from 'what a day'!

Yesterday morning we met up with our group of Tuareg - they introduced us to the camels - they even had names, but don't ask me to repeat them, something like 'Idlib'. But I do now know that the Tamasheq for donkey is 'esha', cow 'tess' and camel 'anniss'. There you are. If that comes up in a pub quiz this week, thanks to SPANA, you'll get really good marks.

Anyway, off we went up north, looking for a particular well. Ten camels and seven donks, women and kids on the donks, men (and contrary to what you might imagine, daughters rather than sons riding pillion) and tents and firewood on the camels.

Oh, and us of course.

My job is to film Chris Terrill filming the caravan. I know, I know, very complicated, but I just do as I'm told. As always. But it's not easy, lurching along, trying to keep the camera steady. I got lots of really good bits of the sky, and plenty of the sand, but very little of Chris. Must try harder. We got to the well, filled all the water containers and gave everything a drink, then put up the tents, and someone lit a fire and started cooking a meal.

Meanwhile, we did lots of lying around, wondering if the clouds on the horizon were getting any bigger, and arguing if the wind was getting stronger or weaker. Then, late afternoon, the kids ran off to catch up the livestock, we saddled up and headed off again.

Finally, just as it started to get dark, we stopped and unloaded everything, and people stated lighting fires again. Clearly the idea was to spend the night here. The old boys with us kept saying there was going to be a storm, but we'd got wise to that trick. They've been saying that ever since we arrived. Perhaps we should have taken more notice of the firework display on the horizon - sheet lightning and fork lightning at the same time - pretty impressive. But it looked as if it was passing us by.

Some clot even said they thought it was moving further away. So we took no notice, and just lay on the sand eating our gastronomic experience.

Then it hit us. Like a thunderbolt. Gale force winds blowing sand everywhere, in our eyes, mouths, nose - God knows what it's done to the cameras. And the noise makes it difficult to speak, hear, or even concentrate.

Eventually someone suggested we make for the little school room, on the other side of our particular sand-dune. They are relatively common - one room, walls and roof made of woven matting (the kids just sit on the sand, and can even write in it).

Once inside, it was fairly sand free and, by this time (around mid-night), exhaustion took over, and despite the howling gale (and the snoring) I dropped off to a fitful sleep on the sand (very hard). Then next thing I knew, waking to the sound of rain drumming on the roof. No problem, I thought, they've been coping with this for thousands of years - the weave will expand and become waterproof.

Splat, right on the face.

Next hour, rain pouring in on sad-looking huddled pilgrims trying to doze through the drips and the sopping wet clothes. Ye Gods. There must be easier ways to earn a living. Then at dawn, rain stopped at last, we struggled out, looking like the last five miles of Napoleon's retreat from Moscow, and tried to warm ourselves up catching and worming goats and donkeys.

Don't showbiz people keep saying "the show must go on"?

Jeremy Hulme

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Not Too Old For A Camel Ride - Part II

Emboldened by yesterday's success, I'm having another go. Also, let's be honest, as tomorrow we are starting the big camel trek, judging by what the troops here seem to think of my physical prowess, it might be the last thing I ever write.

The dear Oloulu was an hour late this morning - pretty good time-keeping for him. Then he decided we'd better get some fuel. Then he decided we'd better get some water.

Then finally we left for the bled.


We arrived eventually at some non-descript bit of sand - but it is apparently home to the same group of Tuareg we met last time; Cue lots of dancing and singing round the camels - we have a paravet there and generally look after them. Everyone is in traditional dress, so we are also made to conform.

Much laughter at last visit's photos I'd brought along - 'that can't possibly be our Mohammed, he doesn't really have a crap camel like that' or 'gosh, look at me, doesn't my hair-do look great'.

Also nice to dish out the specs to the oldies. I have cousins in Winnipeg with an aged Dad in an Old People's Home, and as is the way of things, they end up with lots of un-needed pairs of specs. I get the same from my poor old mother's home. So it's great to make good use of them. I bring out a bagfull, and the old and bold rake through them until they finally find something that works. Eureka! They can suddenly see again, perhaps for the first time in twenty years. Then, in the midst of all the jollity, with absolutely no warning at all, my Tuareg trousers fell down. Round the ankles. Finally convincing the tribesmen that these unpredictable English, are really, truly, stark raving mad.

Jeremy Hulme

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Not Too Old For A Camel Ride

I'm writing this in a cyber cafe opposite the 'grand mosque' in downtown Timbuctou, which frankly, constitutes something of a miracle. Firstly that such things exist in this somewhat out of the way neck of the woods, and secondly, that I have been able to cope with the technology required, and worst of all, trying to type on a French keyboard, and one that is so old, all the letters on the plastic keys have been worn away.

Still, at least we've got here, not the easiest place to get to as there is no proper road, no bridge over the river, and 'planes don't really like to land here as they can't refuel - fuel tankers can't get here.


And not the easiest of starts either - reveille at 4 o'clock, no breakfast, arriving at the airport about five-thirty - too early for the police, immigration people, security etc, so we just went ahead and took off without them. Not quite Heathrow, but then not British Airways either.The airhostess helped us on with the three cameras, then put them in the cockpit with the pilot, so they wouldn't be any inconvenience to us!

Mark you, none of that 'Business Class' stuff.

When we finally arrive, we are met by Uloulu - Tuareg chief for the region, and prime 'fixer'. But sadly he hasn't yet been able to fix the sandstorm we've come all this way to find. Still there's plenty of time yet. And frankly they all think we're completely bonkers anyway - they spend their lives trying to avoid storms - they kill people! Still, we've arranged to hire six camels, and travel with a Tuareg family as they search for water and food for their livestock.

This is the very worst time of the year - the end of the dry season - everything, animals and humans are practically at the end of their tether. Apart from the drought in Northern Kenya two years ago, I've never seen animals look so thin, and starting to see dead livestock everywhere. We drove down to the river to look at someone's cattle - like walking skeletons and even the camels have used up all their fat.

And when you see camels with no humps, you know things are tough.

One small compensation - a hippo had calved in a shallow of the river yesterday, making her doubly dangerous (everybody is terrified of 'les bangas' and the crazy Jeremy who keeps wanting to take the canoe really close to film them). Sweet, watching her immense head loom out of the water warning us off, and then suddenly, little junior popping up to watch at her side.

Also, a bit worrying to hear Amadou and Uloulo muttering together. Turns out they think I'm too old and knackered to spend days on end in the bush on a camel. Bloody cheek!

Jeremy Hulme

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Arriving in Style

As predicted, the baggage area at the airport was extremely ‘colourful’. And ‘dead ethnic' – as another English traveller once said.

About 35 degrees, a hundred percent humidity, it’s the height of the rainy season, hordes of people, all shouting at each other, battling to get huge trunks and cases onto the three available trolleys.

Not surprisingly, one of our nine boxes was missing – finally after a despairing hour, I saw the towering figure of Dr. Amadou, our director here, fighting his way through the throng. Then, after just the merest bit of shouting at obviously just the right people, the lost box appeared.

Then comes the battle with the customs. Again Amadou saves the day – with just the right mix of yelling, contrition and back-slapping, and the head honcho gets his magic stamp out of the drawer, applies it to our many papers, and Bingo ! (or Voila !, whichever you prefer).

Then all that has to happen is for all the boxes to pass through the x-ray machine.
This used to be the most dangerous job in Mali, as some poor bloke had to actually push it all through by hand. They only used to last about six weeks, but now they’ve installed a motor-driven conveyor belt, and life is easy. So then all that’s needed is a half-hour shouting match with the ‘helpers’, who loaded the boxes onto the belt, over their due payment, and then we’re off. A mere two hours after landing.

This morning, after a few hours much needed sleep, it was off to the police station for the confirmation of our visas (there is unsurprisingly no Malian Embassy in London).

Amazingly easy this time – once they told us it would take a week – then off to meet up with the SPANA team treating animals in one of the city’s poorer districts.
As usual, they are hard at it, with about sixty donks and half a dozen horses. On the whole the donkeys are in pretty good nick – Amadou says it’s not surprising after more than ten years of bullying their owners into looking after them a bit better.

One woman proudly shows me her donkey mare – apparently she’d lost four foals in successive years – salmonella in her milk – then after SPANA’s treatment she at last reared a colt-foal successfully.
She announced loudly she’d therefore called it Amadou. Much falling about with laughter.

Then the heavens opened, the rain came down like stair-rods and a vicious wind tore the leaves from the trees and sent the plastic bags swirling up into the leaden skies.

Rain stopped play.

Jeremy Hulme

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Storm Warnings in Mali

Well, here I am, at about 35,000 feet, just finishing my meal in, wait for it, Air France Club Class. Now, before you get all upset and hair-shirtish, and rush off to complain to the Charity Commission, I must insist, that SPANA has not paid a penny for all this. So, I have just finished my ‘garantit ce repas sans viande de porc’ and endured the cultural and culinary disaster of having the cheese BEFORE the dessert (no wonder the French colonies rebelled so violently) – let me explain.

ITV (or award-winning film-maker Chris Terrill to be precise) are making a series of films on ‘storms’.

They’ve already done tornados in Kansas, white-outs in Norway, gales in the southern oceans, now they want to do sand-storms in the Sahara.

So who better to contact than SPANA? And as they will also show us working with the Tuareg, training para-vets and looking after their herds of camels, sheep and goats (pretty impressive free publicity) – and as I said earlier – paying for it all, how could I say ‘no’ ?

But it’s no holiday. Five O’clock start this morning, dragging seventy kilos of baggage (yes, how could we not take advantage of the opportunity of taking stacks of medicines and goodies out with us ?), across London to Heathrow. Then, when film-maker Chris Terrill finally arrived, he had seven boxes of filming equipment!
Air France, having weighed and labelled all the stuff, suddenly decided that they had a rule that only three pieces of baggage were allowed per person.

So off it all came again.

Then after frantic phone calls, and offers of bucket loads of money, they decided it ‘might be possible’ after all. So, all the boxes got weighed and labelled a second time.

Then they all had to be taken off again. Wrong shapes and sizes.

Finally we waved goodbye to them, at ‘special bagage’. By this time we only had about ten minutes to get through the traumas of ‘security’, and run to the boarding gate and get on the plane – just to find someone already in my seat.

But did I complain? Very much aware of the ‘Entente Cordiale’, I just said ‘n’importe quoi’ to the very large Malian lady, and found somewhere else.
Now the trick in Charles de Gaulle Airport, is not minding very much if your luggage doesn’t make it ‘en correspondance’ to the onwards flight. Or maybe it’s just with the flights from England, a sort of revenge for Agincourt or Waterloo or whatever.
But when I asked at the Bamako check-in desk, if our luggage had made it across, she replied ‘Biensur, monsieur, - and by the way, you ‘ave been up-graded’.

Zut alors!

But not my chum from ITV. So after some pretty feeble protestations, that, er, by right he should have the exalted position, here I am. Can’t think why,
Maybe they think I’m some sort of trouble-maker.!

What fun it’s going to be getting all those boxes through the customs in Bamako.

Jeremy Hulme

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The (Long) Road to Marrakech

Life has been a mite hectic of late – hence no blogs for a week or two. The biggest problem was the frantic rush to get everything shipped to Morocco for the wretched Eco-Museum in Toubkal National Park. All in all it’s been a nightmare – working with the local authorities over there (half of whom have been hoping the whole project would be a disaster), funding courtesy of World Bank, Diana working here on the text and displays, SPANA Morocco doing the translations. That should give you a bit of a clue as to the squabbling, fights and major opportunities for gold-plated, 24 carat cock-ups.

I mean, not only are we doing each bit of text in three languages – English, French
(taking 30% more space to say the same thing), and Arabic – where of course the printers over here don’t even know whether it’s upside down or not! And if that’s not enough, some bright spark decided to add Berber as well. And all the locals argue about its alphabet, or even whether it really exists. What a nightmare.
Then the World Bank got difficult and said all the invoices had to be received for payment by 1st July – so a mad rush to get all the displays finished and packed off in the little SPANA truck (remember, it brought all the stuff over from Marrakech for Chelsea).

The truck had spent the previous month parked outside our house in Essex, gradually being packed with stuff –including a full size replica Friesian cow.

Just before the deadline – and don’t tell me, I know that this is a guaranteed recipe for disaster – on the day before we’d booked the ferry we were due to receive the panels for the food-web display. Very sexy – back lit Perspex, with integrated art-work, flashing lights etc – only they were 2 metres 90 long, and the truck was only 2 metres 70. Disaster. And the designers couldn’t give a toss and just walked off and left us. Simon (the lucky driver), Diana and I, sunk to the floor in desperation and gloom in the loading bay. We were already two hours late.

We suggested cutting a bit off one end. ‘Can’t possibly be done’, the designers chirruped with that melancholy glee unique to the British.

Finally, following a blinding flash of inspiration, we discovered that if we unloaded everything, put the panels in diagonally, then re-loaded everything around them, they might just fit.

I swear the designers were disappointed.

So we waved finally a cheery farewell to Simon, setting off for Lille and a rendez-vous with our Moroccan counterpart.(Of course the truck broke down en route, and then despite having all the correct papers the Moroccan Customs impounded the vehicle – but it’s just too painful to go into here.

Then all we had to do was organise the wedding in the garden for our daughter. Horrific weather, but the tents went up, along with the running battle to stop the blooming rabbits eating the bedding plants as fast as we could stick them in.
But we got lucky, last Saturday afternoon the sun appeared, the little village church looked lovely - half of SPANA’s staff turned up, including the overseas directors, and we had a great party in the garden – with much singing and dancing.

At least it scared the blinking rabbits away for an hour or two.

Now all we’ve got to do is write the next SPANA News – by Monday!

Jeremy Hulme

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