Jean-Luc Manaud

Living in the desert is difficult. And traveling in the desert involves a whole learning process that can be long and tough. No one can even begin to know anything about this land without the experience of searching for water, for wood and for animals. That no doubt explains why a nomad in the central or southern Sahara, when talking about an outsider, will first mention courage: “He’s not very courageous” or “How courageous she is!” How many times have I heard these sweeping statements, well before any other comment is made about character, intelligence or the beauty of a person’s face? The desert can mean splendor and serenity, but it is also unpredictable, hostile, and often thankless; it must be approached with respect and with care. The desert is modest and secretive, but, despite its nature and will, it has become a commodity, hidden behind a mirage of advertising decors and the lure of trendy tourism – an easy-access desert, available to everyone, the decoy of modern times. But will people who have “done the desert” in ten days, in a so-called “organized” trip, have had the experience of hunger and thirst, of cold and hardship? Will they have encounters with death, becoming as familiar with death as anyone living in the desert, or crossing it? Yes, there are lands that exist with the people who live there, and others that exist with the people who traverse them.