France, Greece, Turkey, Bali, Hong Kong, Kenya (safari, of course), Mexico… All wonderful holidays, but none can match the mystery and intrigue of living in and exploring West Africa—from Mali to Morocco, Ghana to Senegal, Bamako to Accra, Freetown to Tombouctou (aka Timbuktu).
Visit the Dogon Plateau northeast of Mali’s capital, Bamako, and you’ve time traveled to the stone age. Climb the cliff to receive a blessing from the shaman. Be awed by the view below, now denuded of trees, but once a thick forest that hid invaders who launched attacks against the cliff dwellers.
Stop in Tombouctou. Marvel at the mud brick mosque, cringe at the waterhole as you watch the women wind down the path with pots on their heads to collect water for daily needs, and learn that you’ll be thirstier during the cool night than you were during the day. Sleep on the sofa in the open air lobby instead of the bed in your room, because you hear noises and when you turn on the light you discover the walls papered with bugs. That night, swath yourself in blankets during the sandstorm and find little dunes of sand in the shower for days after.
But, it is the desolate expanse of the Sahara itself that captures your heart with the same allure as the rolling waves of the ocean. Both leave one feeling dwarfed, but at peace. Afterall, they have existed and endured for centuries. So shall we.
My love for the Sahara led me to refer to it more than once in my writing. Snippets are included in Mali to Mexico and Points In Between, and characters travel to or refer to it in my sci-fi series, Embattled, Empowered, Embraced and Embroiled.
But in Whispers Under the Baobab the Sahara truly shines as it is, in part, the setting for a mystery, an adventure, a love story, a coup, and a wild overland escape to Bamako by horse, camel and river boat.