When I was young, there was a common belief that travel broadened one’s
horizons and to be a well rounded and cultured adult, you must range far
and wide-something to that extent. In fact my parents gave me $1000 and
a book called ”Europe On Five Dollars A Day” with a round trip ticket in
and out of London when I was 20 years old to foster that conviction. (By
the way I dutifully went through Europe with some playing in between
visiting museums and staying at youth hostels, but more of that in a
future newsletter celebrating forty years of travel.) I stand firmly
behind that advice and in fact will go a bit further and state that not
only should one travel but that every so often, it is important to
experience a “third world country” meaning one off the beaten path. The
reason is simple: one cannot appreciate how things are in other, less
fortunate parts of the world by television and other media. One must
feel a place to come back with a vivid impression and something of
value, all towards putting perspective into what is going on in the
world and what great fortune and luck we have being born into privilege
as we know it.
A few years ago I went to El Salvador along with a mission trip
sponsored by the local church where I live and where my daughter and
wife are members. It was of course an eye opener to see what is
happening in that part of the world, the conditions of daily life, etc.
(My diary of that trip is on my web site in Past Newsletter Archives,
Issue 2 in 2004.) But for decades I have always felt the desire to
experience the real desert, as in the Sahara. Before I describe this
incredible journey, there’s a related story.
I was living in the Bay Area in 1976-77 and one day went to a
so-called psychic center where you would be told about your past,
present and future-sort of an upgraded palm or tarot card reading. One
thing stood out when I asked if they see anything with music in my past
lives. They saw me in a circle of people, dancing, wearing white robes,
surrounded by blazing sun and heat in a desert setting. I have always
felt that somewhere in my DNA and past lives, there was a time in the
desert playing a straight “horn” of some sort. Going to the desert has
naturally been on my mind for decades.
In the late 90s I began thinking about it with my very good friend
from France, Jean Jacques Quesada and finally decided to do it sometime
as a gift to myself for my 60th year. There was of course
Morocco and Tunisia as possibilities, but not much else because of
political and cultural reasons. But the idea of visiting Mauritania in
northwest Africa which was part of the French colonial system came to us
and when we looked into it, seemed like a safe place that though it was
not a heavy tourist center did have the possibilities to have a guide
accompany you into the desert. Twice the size of France with a
population of three million and a moderate Islamic government, we
decided to give it a try. By chance, with Mike Brecker’s passing during
the IASJ convention, saxophonist Ric Margitza who has been living in
Paris for a few years came by the booth to commiserate about Mike. I
asked if he wanted to go, so there were three of us.
This trip was definitely one of the great experiences of my life,
right up there with going to India thirty years ago. Following are some
impressions:
Six days driving around the Sahara camping out, living in the sand,
witnessing changes of landscape ever few hours; sand always in your
body, mouth and mind; blazing sun; hours of a four by four truck
bouncing up and down over all kinds of topographies-small and large
dunes deserts, miles of rocks only, mountains like Wyoming, an endless
deserted beach; the truck undergoing a major breakdown but somehow
getting out of the situation in a timely fashion with the guide (Sidi)
walking several miles while we sat under a lonely tree for shade; five
hours later a “taxi” arrives to take us to the next stop and somehow in
this little village, the truck was fixed and driver Lemrabot showed up
in the middle of the night ready to go the next day; daily malaria
pills, yellow fever shots, avoid all water, etc; Sidi and Lemrabot
could somehow drive for hours without any landmarks and find their way
finding tracks of another vehicle in the sand; tall, thin men dressed in
blue robes with handsome faces; beautiful women all wrapped in colorful
draped fabric; the cheche which covers the head and face and is a
necessity in the blowing sand (and takes several lessons to learn to
wrap on one’s head); vocal music, especially Dimi Mint Abba, the leading
female singer that is played incessantly everywhere with a definite
blues vibe lying somewhere between African(Senegal is directly south of
Mauritania) and Middle Eastern type Arab music; by chance coming upon a
political rally in the city of Atar with singing and incredible dancing
accompanied by hands on pots or the ground, dishes,etc., and a kind of
out of tune ukelele-guitar; men and women seated separately, dancing
with amazing grace like birds and gazelles; no alcohol or drugs present,
only a joyous vibe between the people and total acceptance of our
presence; the hot African “armatam” or continental wind blowing from
inner Africa to the west; the full cosmos at night with Orion and the
Dippers dancing in front of our eyes; several nights accompanied by a
full moon providing our only light (besides flashlights); no hot water,
no toilets or showers to speak of; driver and guide doing nightly
prayers; the most friendly people to us and each other; even at the ever
present police checkpoints a hand is extended and a polite “bonjour”
offered; in the midst of a desert landscape, suddenly some green grows (calotropis-don’t
touch-poisonous) meaning there is water and people can and do live
nearby; nomads wandering with their camels (every family must have a
nomad representative to keep the tradition alive); driving in a whiteout
meaning a minor dust storm, having no idea how the driver could even see
the road; fact:sand is actually white but the sun’s effect on the iron
in the sand turns it brown; completely undeveloped and deserted beach
where we slept one night after eating the best grilled fish (capitaine)
ever; great conversations and hang with Ric and Jean Jacques as well as
with Sidi and Lemrabot; early to sleep, early to rise and then drive
just for the sake of driving with continuous bumping for hours; constant
stopping to build a fire and drink cups of sweet mint tea, even at gas
stations; me dancing with the mother of a clan who came out of nowhere
one morning where we slept in an “auberge” a sort of “hotel-motel” (not
really) and immediately started playing the boxes and furniture while
singing; dunes, both high and low that can move by 10 feet from season
to season because of the wind. often shaped like crescents (symbol of
Islam); a kid with what looked like muscular dystrophy crawling across
the sand; ancient caravan routes, cities from seventh century; heat that
only is a hint of what it is like in a few months (130 in the shade);
standing in front of a large dune in the “white valley”; tents and
concrete huts (for storage of food) in the middle of nowhere always with
goats and camels around; for some periods of driving no signs of life
(glad we didn’t get stuck out there!!); seeing the oldest Koran in
western Africa from pre 10th century; original Arabic
calligraphy accompanied by the museum guide singing poetry for us in the
Chinguetti library (one room as big as one of our bathrooms lined with
boxes of texts); seeing the “old” city of Chinguetti which disappeared
centuries ago because of the blowing sand; the main city of Nouakchott
bordering on organized chaos with no traffic lights or rules, dirty as
can be, but somehow working; throngs of men standing around;
marketplaces with no one buying anything; goats eating paper and cloth;
men taking “baths” in the street with bottled water; every minute
someone coming up to you to buy something with nothing much to purchase
in any case except more bread; old Mercedes all over the capital with
places to fix cars and get tires everywhere (every Mauritanian must know
how to fix a car); being entertained by a an extended family with us
joining in on some Indian flutes I brought during the evening in the
middle of nowhere; every night the three of us playing the wooden Indian
flutes I brought during the sunset hours; watching for mosquitoes but
seeing none; “salaam malekoum”-a kind of greetings to all in Arabic;
truly believing in the expression “Inshallah” meaning “as God wills it,”
feeling completely comfortable, pain free and relaxed as if this was a
kind of “home” to me in the past; a lot of staring at us but not one bad
vibe; the guide and driver know everyone meaning the country is
basically an extended family; with Ric and Jean Jacques listing songs we
don’t like to play; imagining a Saturday Night Live skit with the
premise of jazz musicians on a sightseeing bus tour accompanied by
Midwesterners-tour guide is Dan Akroyd, driver is John Belushi, jazz guy
is Eddie Murphy with Gilda Radner as his old lady; Will Ferrel and Jane
Curtin and are Mr. and Mrs. Midwest (John and Mary); Chris Farley is the
bus driver; hilarious situations on the road; etc;
finally, promise to return again and play with Dimi next time.
Observations: Black people in charge with no paranoia for a change;
everyone dressed the same with no obvious distinction of classes (except
government of course); family culture front and center ties the people
together even in poverty conditions; bottom line is that this is a
completely different world which was a privilege to experience; in the
desert there are no rules, only what works for survival; the way people
improvise to live shows that anything is possible; the desert is THE
most elemental of habitats-clothing isn’t even necessary; the obvious
truth is that life is a lot of luck, meaning where and when you arrive
on the planet. Check out Dimi on video:
http://www.tv5.org/TV5Site/musique/mondomix.php?id_artiste=573
http://dimi_mint_abba.mondomix.com/fr/video1875.htm
