The Sahara

It was a local bus, it stopped everywhere. We approached the Sahara and the military presence increased in every town, inching our way toward Algeria. Finally, a taxi dropped us off in the middle of the desert, a ghost town. We were fifty kilometers from the border.

In a small garden courtyard, over a pot of tea, I negotiated hard, a camel for my girl, a night in the desert. A deal was struck and my guide and I walked alongside Darlene, regal on her camel. From high in the dunes, we could gaze over the black Sahara and into Algeria.

That night, after a fiery sunset, the moon rose over our camp, a valley in the dunes, a lone date palm, and a grumpy caravan of camels. Two cots pushed together, we slept in the open air, under a pile of wool blankets.

All quiet on the eastern front.