1. THE DESERT WIND

Silence is a tangible presence in the Sahara. The breath of the wind, rather than ruining it, emphasises it, and like the distant noise of an oncoming vehicle it brings our attention to its strange distinctness.

In the desert, wind is the everyday companion of silence.

Encamped on the edge of the desert, shrouded in the red dust of sandstorms, this ancient city is swept by wind, day and night. This is Timbuktu, once both the starting and the arrival point for the numerous camel caravans, as well as all of Africa’s ships, transporting their treasures on the Niger River.

Timbuktu, once upon a time, with its canal and gardens

For centuries Timbuktu has exchanged its gold for science books, building schools and tirelessly copying the knowledge that came from across the desert by hand, so as to spread it. In the profound darkness of the Middle Ages, it was a bright beacon of civilization that attracted students and sages from all over the Islamic world.

Now, only old manuscripts remain in Timbuktu, locked in smashed up trunks, hidden in the clay houses of the heirs of the dead sages. The splendour of Timbuktu has been swallowed up by the sand of the desert, a ghost town fallen into disgrace like a powerful overthrown caliph,  dethroned and reduced to the status of a beggar in the streets of his own capital.

Now, only old manuscripts remain in Timbuktu, locked in smashed up trunks, hidden in the clay houses of the heirs of the dead sages. The splendour of Timbuktu has been swallowed up by the sand of the desert, a ghost town fallen into disgrace like a powerful overthrown caliph,  dethroned and reduced to the status of a beggar in the streets of his own capital: The light of Timbuktu’s three hundred and thirty-three Sufi saints.

For months I lived among the desert people:  my face wrapped in the blue turban of the Tuaregs as a protection against the burning wind and sandstorms of the Sahara. Then one day I realized that the same potent wind that had once destroyed the city could also be the means of its resurrection.

The very wind that burns and dries all it touches could also power the blades of the windmills, pulling water up from belowground to give life to new gardens and provide free electricity to light up the mud houses and the dark streets at night.

Two years after having restored the dry well of the Tuaregs, I decided to return in Timbuktu, inspired by a wonderful idea: to transform the desert of Timbuktu into a huge garden with the help of windmills. They would convert the destructive wind of the desert into a wind of mercy and bring back the city to its prosperity.

                      Next episode: Windmills

INDEX