I saw Tuareg for the first time on the way down
from Tamanrasset. I was riding with an oil trucker 
named Kerroumi who had picked me up hitchhiking 
outside the city, and as we passed through a 400-
mile stretch of brutal desert (average daytime 
temperature: 110 degrees Fahrenheit), it became 
harder and harder to imagine human beings living 
in this environment. Sand all around, for literally 
thousands of miles. And sand. And sand. Not sand 
dunes, but flat, hard sand with little sprigs of 
withered grass and, here and there, a scrubby tree. 
Occasionally, there might be some patches of vines 
with inedible melons, and sometimes there'd be an 
oued (dry river valley) lined with shrubs. But 
mostly there was just sand. We'd go for hours 
without seeing any signs of human life. And then 
the Tuareg would appear, like ghosts.

Whenever we stopped to rest for any length of time, 
they'd show up. Evidently they could hear the truck 
from miles away and would come, I guess, to watch 
us. On a route with so few cars, we must've been a 
big event. Or maybe they were coming to see if we 
were in trouble, in which case, if we had anything 
valuable to offer, they would have provided 
assistance.

They'd never say anything. They'd just stand there, 
about twenty yards away, tall, erect, otherworldly, 
and regal, like mirages in the shimmering, overheated 
air.

The children had mohawks or a single tuft of hair 
standing straight up. The grownups carried walking 
sticks and were covered up by indigo veils and 
turbans. People call them "les hommes bleus," or 
"the Blue Men," Kerroumi told me. This is because 
the indigo dye they use for their veils stains 
their pores, giving their skin a weird, permanently 
purple cast. Evidently, they've been out here in the  
desert since around the time people quit being monkeys.

At one time, back in the Middle Ages, they lived 
like royalty. They became wealthy mining and selling 
then-precious salt from the desert. Since they were 
the first and only people to colonize this huge 
territory, they could control (and tax) all overland 
trade between Europe and the rich kingdoms of West 
Africa. They even had their own private slave tribe, 
the Bella.

But now, there's no more desert trade, salt isn't so 
precious anymore and recently, in the last few 
generations, the Bella have abandoned them. For 
fifteen years there's been a serious drought: annual 
rainfall has been under five inches. There's nothing 
for the goats to graze upon. It's hard to imagine 
what these Tuareg live on, much less what they're 
doing with a pickup truck.