The Nomad's Path by Alistair Carr

Author:Alistair Carr
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: I.B.Tauris
Published: 2014-08-14T16:00:00+00:00

18

‘Chad rebels attacked a position ninety kilometres north of N’Djamena yesterday,’ Ahmet gabbled excitedly, as he listened to the radio and scooped a spoonful of couscous. ‘There are reports that the rebels entered the capital early this morning.’

‘C’est pas bon,’ Omar muttered. ‘C’est pas bon.’

‘Two of the political factions against the Chad government are Tubu,’ Ahmet explained. ‘The problem is that if things heat up there, it could well affect things here.’

‘C’est pas bon,’ Omar persisted. ‘C’est pas bon.’

The rebels, I learnt from Ahmet, began their advance a thousand kilometres away on the eastern border with Sudan, and had moved towards N’Djamena in a column of three hundred vehicles – each containing between ten and fifteen armed men.

Like the hour hand of a clock, the sun moved past its zenith, yet seemed motionless as it hung in the powdery-white sky.

‘Al-salāmu ‘alayka ayyuha al-nabī wa-raḥmat Allāh wa-barakātuh.’ [Peace be upon you, O Prophet, and the mercy and beneficence of God.] ‘Al-salāmu ‘alāynā wa-’alā ‘ibād Allāh al-ṣāliḥīn,’ [Peace be upon us and unto God’s righteous servants] Omar and Ahmet prayed.

A while later, we loaded the camels and walked away from the rebellion in the south – towards the Tuareg insurgency in the north.

‘Omar says we covered forty-five kilometres yesterday,’ Ahmet translated, ‘and that we’ll probably do the same today.’

‘How do you say “thank you” in Tubu?’

‘Bourgalli.’

‘Good morning?’

‘Killah-Nichirra.’

‘Goodnight?’

‘Killah-Diche.’

‘How are you?’

‘Wossara, and the reply is Wossou.’

‘And to command a camel to lie down?’

‘Sho, sho, sho,’ Ahmet explained, as we rode toward a flickering skyline while El Hadji’s radio blared Arabian music. With Ahmet translating at my side, I learnt from El Hadji that they make the four-day trip to Nguigmi once a month, and they start to do these journeys, unaccompanied by adults, as young as eight – finding their way through the near-featureless Sahel by getting to know the wells along the way, like a dot-to-dot drawing.

* * *

When the radio whined into life that night, we learnt the rebellion had entered N’Djamena around 7 o’clock that morning. ‘Rebels,’ as one resident of a Western embassy told Reuters, ‘are headed for the palace and are about two blocks from here.’ A witness told the BBC that thirty military tanks had been set on fire and the town was under the control of the rebels. Another source confirmed that they occupied the capital’s outlying neighbourhoods ‘and a good part of the city centre, after intense fighting with government forces’. The rebel command announced they had the presidential palace surrounded, that the president was inside, and they planned to attack the palace later that evening. Just before dusk, however, troops attempted to recapture parts of the city, but their gains were reportedly small and it seemed – from the adrenalin-charged voice of the French broadcaster – that an uneasy calm had settled over N’Djamena with the arrival of night. ‘Et la peur?’ the journalist questioned an interviewee with melodramatic sensationalism. ‘Et la mort?’

As these events were broadcast to millions of viewers around the world, the

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