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July 16, 2009

Dress Code

So I was riding my motorbike through the desert, when it broke down. I knew I wasn't too far from human habitation, so I set off on foot. But I had under-estimated the heat, and pretty soon was getting dehydrated.

Then I saw a Tuareg coming towards me on a camel. "Salaam aleykum!" I greeted him. Remembering one of the few Tamacheq words I know, I said "Aaman!" ("Water!") and cupped my hands to show I needed to drink. To my surprise, he replied in French:
"Pardon Monsieur. Je n'ai pas de l'eau." "Sorry sir, I don't have any water." Seeing my downcast face, he carried on: "Mais j'ai des cravattes. Moins cher!" ("But I do have some cheap ties!"). Somewhat bewildered, I refused the offer of a tie, and we went our separate ways.

A while later, as I was getting really desperate, I came to the beginnings of the bush of the Sahel, and came across a Fulani man on his own, wandering with his staff across his back. I spotted his water bottle slung over one shoulder and knew my luck was in.
"Accaa hakke, neddo am! Mido haaja ndiyam mi yara." (Excuse me, friend, I need some water to drink."
"Yaafam!" ("Sorry!") he replied, tipping up his water bottle to show me it was empty. "Ndiyam walaa!" "No water!"
He paused, then stuck his hand in his bag, and pulled out a handful of gaudy ties. I couldn't believe my eyes.
"A yidaa cravatiiji naa? Tiidaa!" "You don't want to buy some ties? They are not expensive."
"Mi yidaa cravatiiji! Mido maaya domka!" "I don't want ties! I am dying of thirst!"
He shrugged and left me to it.

By now I felt I was dying of thirst, but shortly afterwards I came across a Songhai moodibo (religous man) sitting in the shade of an acacia tree, reading his books.
"Salaam aleykum moodibo! Ada nana fulfulde naa? Mido haaja ndiyam mi yara." "Peace be with you teacher! Do you understand fulfulde? I need water to drink."
He looked at me with compassion:
"Ayyo, mido nana... ammaa mi walaa ndiyam. Accaa hakke. Ko jogiimi wo dewte tan..."
"Yes, I understand... but I don't have any water. Sorry. What I have is just my books..." he paused...
"Si wanaa cravatiiji seeda di coodiimi e Pullo bitiido joonin..." "Apart from a few ties I bought from a Fulani who just went by..." He looked at me hopefully, holding out a tie.

I couldn't understand where all these ties had come from. It is not as though they are part of traditional dress. Barely able to talk from the dryness of my mouth, I stumbled on.

Just when I thought I could go no further, I saw through the shimmering heat rising from the sand what I thought to be a mirage. It looked like a building with people milling around. But as I got closer, I saw it was indeed a building - and a restaurant at that, probably built for tourists coming to experience the desert in comfort.

I just about crawled to the door. But just as I was about to go in, the doorman put out a hand and stopped me:

"Sorry sir, you can't come in here without a tie."

Posted by Keith at July 16, 2009 11:08 AM