The Sahara by Eamonn Gearon Read Free Book Online Page A

mid-nineteenth century, and the sole city in former Spanish Sahara to be established by a local ruler, it has been sacked and almost completely destroyed in its short history. Once it gains independence, the Sahrawi government in exile has said that Smara will become the nation’s capital city. In the meantime, it has remained firmly in Moroccan hands since they overran and expelled Polisario forces from the city.
    Like Smara, the remote oasis of Zouar in northern Chad has been variously besieged and occupied over the past four decades, by both Libyan forces and domestic rebel groups. Although far from the Chadian capital, Zouar’s remote location in the Tibesti Mountains, not so far from the Libyan border, means that this otherwise unimportant place not only has an airport but a strong military presence.
    Although military considerations might prevent outsiders from visiting certain towns, it is not always the case. The city of Tamanrasset, in the Ahaggar region of Algeria, is one of the Sahara’s larger and better-known oases. It is also the centre of the four-nation Joint Military Staff Committee, whose members - Algeria, Mauritania, Mali and Niger - along with outside support, most notably from the US, are working to combat criminal gangs and terrorist activity in the region. The scale of the desert, combined with low population density, is what makes places like Tamanrasset so remote. It is also why illegal pursuits here are so hard to thwart, and why they are in turn so persistent. The French initially settled Tamanrasset, which they named Fort Laperrine, as a bulwark to protect the trans Saharan routes from banditry.
    Long a favourite goal of adventurous tourists, Tamanrasset’s population of nearly 80,000 means that the city is large enough to survive even when numbers of foreign visitors are down. Atar in Mauritania, population 25,000, is likewise large enough and, as a district capital, important enough to survive without tourism, especially crucial given that events such as the Paris-Dakar Rally, which used to have a scheduled stopover here, seemed to contribute little cash to the local economy. For relatively nearby Chinguetti, founded in 777, and the smaller twelfth-century town of Ouadane, tourism has become a staple of the local economy. Unfortunately, tourist income is notoriously unpredictable, making the prospect of financial security and planning for growth as remote as the towns themselves.
    There are numerous other Saharan settlements that have neither wonderful mud-brick architecture nor bewitching ruins to attract foreigners, and few have the natural resources of Arlit or In Salah, even where these prove to be a curse instead of a blessing. The majority are humdrum towns, lacking pretension or bustle but ideally offering their inhabitants a peaceful agricultural living, or even modest prosperity for those fortunate enough to run or own some small business such as the grocery shop, cafe or garage. Then again, there are any number of dusty, overlooked and ignored one-donkey towns that lack even these modest offerings. Lucky even to feature on the most detailed map, these hamlets in the Sahara are often literally nothing more than home to a hundred or fewer souls, where the physical horizons may be unlimited but opportunities are entirely absent. Yet none of these places is an unchanging entity. With almost universal access to motor vehicles, steadily improving roads, satellite television and, increasingly, internet connectivity, all oasis-towns are changing as much as the life of those who inhabit them. Perspectives change, and so too do expectations.
    Not even in the desert is life frozen in some imaginary past. I remember certain oases without electricity only twenty years ago. Likewise, I recall being startled the first time I heard a mobile telephone ringing in the Great Sand Sea, as the shadow of progress spread reception into the wasteland. It is possible to sympathize with tourists who say they