A hand gestures for me to join a circle of crouching Tuareg tribeswomen. In
the centre is a wooden drum whose loping rhythm sets the beat for a melody
sung by a teenage girl.
In the sunset I notice several plumes of sand on the edge of the massive
desert plateau. It’s the young blades, dressed to kill in indigo veils and
robes, racing in on camelback towards the circles of singers, cutting each
other up on the way.
The camels then take up a prancing gait and follow the rhythm of of the Tinde
drum, circling the group. So it’s true, the camels dance at the Festival in
the Desert.
I had first come to the north of Mali in January 2001 with a French group,
Lojo. The area had been cut off from the rest of the world for years because
of the Tuareg rebellion, the result of a history of distrust between ethnic
groups exacerbated by poverty and drought. The legendary rebel group
Tinariwen was due to headline an event showcasing Tuareg culture; behind the
scenes, government ministers were offering camels for Kalashnikovs handed
over by ex-combatants.
The remoteness, and the sublime blank canvas of the desert, turned the first
festival into a surreal and haphazard event. Attended by 50 Westerners and
1,000 nomads, it had none of the infrastructure of a Glastonbury, but a
magic that was lit by the eerie glow from a full lunar eclipse in the
freezing Saharan night.
I found myself acting as an informal stage manager, venturing in total
darkness into nomadic tents and inquiring in schoolboy French: “Excuse me,
are you the griots from Timbuktu? Because if you are, you’re on in ten
minutes!”
We had limited amounts of diesel to run the generator feeding the PA, so if a
group got overenthusiastic and stayed on stage too long, it cut into the
perfomance of others. One performer who felt he had had to wait too long
took matters into his own hands, jumped on stage and executed a wild sword
dance of such ferocity that he took control of the show and brought the
musicians to a clattering standstill. I played a short set (wary of such
techniques) with a pickup band of French and Tuareg musicians, one of whom
arrived on the stage directly from a camel. My strangest dreams seem more
real in retrospect.
I came back from my first trip to the desert broke but happy and when I got a
call from Robert Plant asking if I would like to work with him, I told him
all about my adventures. “When you next go, I’d love to come with you,” he
said.
Three years later I found myself pushing a Toyota Land Cruiser out of soft
sand on my way to a gig with Plant near Timbuktu. A veteran of desert trips
to Morocco, and a kindred spirit in terms of flipping between cassettes of
wailing Berber music and raw 1920s blues from Charlie Patton, Plant had
fallen for Tinariwen and Tuareg music. Their hypnotic trance-blues spirit
had become a touchstone for our work together.
We were billeted in a traditional tent and unpacked our sleeping bags on to
the reed mats. I had warned my travelling companions to be ready for sand
getting in every orifice, for goat meat with the consistency of a human ear,
and for toilet facilities along the lines of “go forth and dig, keep an eye
out for the scorpions”.
But I was amazed by how the organisers had developed the festival. There was
cold beer and chips, a merchandise stall, a huge stage and lights, and even
a shower, albeit a trickle. The Westerners were in their hundreds, but the
event was dominated by magnificent Tuareg camel riders, striking poses on
top of the dunes. We got straight into rehearsals.
We were half way into a version of Whole Lotta Love with acoustic guitars and
hand drums in our tent, when our next-door neighbours, a group of Tuareg
girls, stunning in indigo and gold, gatecrashed our rehearsal. The way they
started to move to the rhythm made the distance between tribal dance and
rock’n’roll disappear. Later, after they had disappeared, a group of young
camel riders pulled up to our tent. “Where are the girls?”, they demanded. “ Elles
sont parties,” we managed, and they galloped off.
As darkness fell on the final night of the festival it was time for our show.
The view from the stage was unforgettable. Ranks of Tuareg elders in their
finery outnumbered the Westerners, all looking unkempt, but there was a
common knowledge that we were sharing something special. Our set was
followed by a masterly performance from the great Ali Farka Touré, whose
music rolled as effortlessly as the River Niger.
Afterwards we piled into a four-wheel drive vehicle and joined a convoy of 40
cars racing through the desert night. We crossed the Niger at dawn, hippos
lolling not far from our little ferry, and eight bone-shaking hours later,
we were in Mopti, ready to fly home.
Weeks later I was still finding sand in everything. The Sahara was calling me
back. Aman Iman: Water is Life is the new CD by Tinariwen (Independiente,
£15.99)
Need to know
The official website www.festival-au-desert.org
provides details on performers, and information on how to get to the
festival. Tim Best Travel (020-7591 0300, www.timbesttravel. com) offers
11-night January packages to Mali and the Sahara which include four days at
the Festival in the Desert at Essakane. Estimated price for 2008 is
£2,650pp, including visas, return flights to Bamako, local 4WD transport,
accommodation, guides, meals and festival passes. At the festival you will
sleep in a camel-skin Tuareg tent (sharing).
Festival know-how: You need to be prepared to rough it — this isn’t
Glastonbury. There is no local public transport, few washing facilities and
basic toilets; there are no hotels, shops, or restaurants near the festival
site. The event is becoming more commercial, however, so expect to be
hassled by hawkers.
Temperatures are about 30C (104F) in the day and freezing at night so coat,
boots and a warm sleeping bag are essential. Alcohol is permitted but not
widely available.
Listen to the world
Fez Festival of World Sacred Music, Morocco, June 1-10 (www.fesfestival.com).
Moroccan Sufi trance drummers and performers of spiritual music in this
beautiful medieval city.
Sunflower River Blues and Gospel Festival, Clarksdale, Mississippi,
August 10-12 (www.sunflowerfest.org).
In the heart of the Delta, on the very streets where Robert Johnson played.
Soul food and hot weather guaranteed.
Folk Music and Dance Festival of Ethiopia, Arba Minch, December (www.tourismethiopia.org).
Wild tribal dancing and rich African culture. An adventure.
Festival on the Niger, Mali, February 1-3 (www.festival
segou.org). The best of modern Malian music.
Womad Cáceres, Spain, May 9-12 (www.womad.org).
Stunning music and atmosphere — and it’s free.
