Story and photos by Jamie Douglas
Many years ago, I criss crossed Morocco, prior to crossing the Sahara desert with my trusty expedition equipped Land Rover.
Many years ago, I criss crossed Morocco, prior to crossing the Sahara desert with my trusty expedition equipped Land Rover.
I went through the Atlas Mountains, visiting towns and cities along the way, making many friends of the Berbers and Blue Men and Tuaregs. Many wonderful adventures were had, some of which were downright scary. I was accompanied by two American women, so in many places it was assumed they were my wives, which gained me respectability in the eyes of tribal elders. Another factor was that I spoke good enough French to assure them that I was Swiss and not French, as there were many bad memories about the French occupation, which had ended as recently as April 1956.
Two incidents stand out in particular, both involving firearms. While in Rabat, I petitioned the Moroccan Ministry of the interior to purchase a handgun and a rifle. It required my presence at the ministry itself, and I always brought my photos of the latest places I visited. In this instance, they were very interesting photos of Marrakech. The bureaucrats were sufficiently impressed that they took them to the Interior Minister, who complimented me on my work, invited me and my companions to his house to stay for a couple of days, and rubber stamped my application. Insisting that I save my money, he gave me one of his pistols. The rifle I had already purchased on condition of getting the permit was delivered to his mansion that night along with a couple of hundred rounds of .308 NATO ammunition. Of course I gave him several photos, and he invited us on a tour of King Hassan’s new palace in Marrakech. The palace had not yet been officially inaugurated, but we were given the VIP tour.
A couple of days later we headed south to Agadir, and from there into the Sahara Desert. I tried to time it so that we would end up in an oasis every night, compliments of my Michelin maps. I navigated south, following a crude truck track that took me to a small desert town called Sidi-Ifni located close to the shore of the Atlantic Ocean, the last place where we would be able to buy staple foods and fuel.
A couple of days later we headed south to Agadir, and from there into the Sahara Desert. I tried to time it so that we would end up in an oasis every night, compliments of my Michelin maps. I navigated south, following a crude truck track that took me to a small desert town called Sidi-Ifni located close to the shore of the Atlantic Ocean, the last place where we would be able to buy staple foods and fuel.
The next morning we headed out before the sun rose to take advantage of the cool early morning temperatures. We really were in the thick of the Sahara now. There was nothing but desert landscape as far as the eye could see, and it was serious cross-country driving without a road to follow. Around noon, I spotted a VW bus in the distance, and we made a beeline for it, hoping to glean some information from the occupants. As we got closer, I realized that the Westphalia was stuck hopelessly in sand up to the floorboards. It had Dutch plates, and I hoped to help them out of their predicament, but was a bit leery about approaching the vehicle. It could be that the occupants had designs on whomever might come along to rescue them. I stopped short and got the firearms ready. I left the rifle with the girls, one of whom was a crack shot, and I went on foot with my Beretta pistol, calling out several times.
The closer I got, the more I realized something was wrong. Now I had my gun in my hand! The front doors were open, and I looked in and saw what appeared to be two people in a sleeping bag. But there was no sign of life, something confirmed to me when I opened the back. Inside were the mummified remains of two people. Some of the essentials of the vehicle had been stripped, such as the range, and there were no personal belongings to be found. I waved the ladies over, and they brought the Land Rover close, thinking we would pull them out of the sand, but I explained to them what the situation was. We wondered how they died and what to do. We were a long ways away from anywhere and certainly did not have the means to bury them in this environment, so we figured it would be best to just leave them where they were and alert the authorities when we got to Guelmime (also known as Goulimine). There was no documentation, so I took photos and wrote down the license plate number.
It was now getting to be late in the afternoon, but we did not want to set up camp here. Just as we got ready to drive on, I saw a figure walking toward us from a distance, and again the weapons were readied, as we had to expect anything. It took about 20 minutes before we could see that it was a Berber, and we got ready to greet him with water and cigarettes.
When he reached us, we exchanged Sale Maleikum’s and I passed him the water and a cigarette. I casually inquired about where he was coming from and where he was going to, as well as wanting to know if he had any information about the occupants of the VW. He pointed to the south for the ‘where I come from’ segment, but indicated that he was heading to Sidi-Ifni to get medical care, as he had a really bad eye infection, which I proceeded to tend to with my very advanced first aid supplies, and we gave him a pair of sunglasses we had found in Agadir.
As to the VW, he stated that at the end of the rainy season a year ago, people from his village had found it with the people inside already dead. So they took what they could, and reported it to their tribal elders, who in turn came out and took whatever else they could.
After treating his infected eye, he gave us good directions to his village and he made himself at home in the front of the Westphalia. It was then when he revealed an AK-47 rifle that he had hidden underneath the wool jacket he wore draped over himself, apologizing with, “It’s dangerous out here at night.”
We headed southeast trying to get to his village before nightfall, hoping to refill our water containers. Happily, it appeared on the horizon about an hour later. As we got closer we realized that it was not very large, and as we entered, we were mobbed, first by kids greeting us. But as we entered the area where people lived, a mob of unfriendlies surrounded us and started to rock the Land Rover back and forth to turn it over. I quickly recognized that this was a potentially fatal situation for us, and fired three shots into the air, while simultaneously forcing my way forward through the building crowd. Magically the crowd parted ahead of us, while some diehards hung on to the back, but as I swerved and sped up on the rough terrain, we lost them all. We did not slow down for several kilometers, as I fully expected them to shoot after us or chase us somehow. I decided to keep driving for a few hours, following the compass needle to the south-west, toward Goulimine, where we arrived after two more days. It was our first scary encounter of several, but the only one in the Sahara.
Jamie Douglas
San Rafael, Mendoza
I encourage you to write to me, jamie@expatdailynews.com with any questions or suggestions you may have, and if necessary, we can establish a voice communication via Skype. Disclaimer: I am not in any travel related business. My advice is based on my own experiences, and is free of charge. (Donations accepted). It is always my pleasure to act as a beneficial counselor to those who are seekers of the next adventure.
Jamie Douglas is an Adventurer, Writer and Photographer with an amazing array of Nikon equipment, and a lifetime of experience traveling and documenting. To contact him for assignments, email: jamie.douglas [at] yahoo.com
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