Into the Sahara

I've been on camels before so I know there was no need for an hour-long ride to be so painful. I think Gary had a particularly vindictive hump, which would make sense seeing as how he had a fairly nasty disposition. I love camels – their look of serene superiority and big stable feet. But Gary? He had a nasty snarl. He growled. He jerked about and tried to overtake the camel to whose back end his rope was tied. And he'd obviously skipped out on his orthodontic appointment. I'd forgive him all of these things though, if he'd had a more forgiving hump.

Our camp was a delight. Big, sort of traditional tents arranged around a huge central carpet
surrounded by mattresses where we sat, chatted, ate and drank mint tea. After dinner, Mohammed, our camel man, lit a frugal fire and a few of us sat and listened to him drumming. The ceramic, skin-topped drums made a wonderful sound and soon he and Omar were singing in Arabic. Mohammed's hands were a blur in the dim fireliight. I went to bed, outside the tent, listening to the beautiful sounds of the drumming and singing as the sky finally opened up and stars began to show themselves.