Sleeping under a blanket in a tent in Sahara most definitely has everything on sleeping without it. Being warm and relatively comfortable, my second night in Essakane was infinitely more pleasant than the first one. However, that was no reason for me not to get wide awake at around two in the morning.
My tent was the nearest one to our field kitchen. And Sunday was departure day for everyone. Guele had told us the day before we would leave the camp around seven. Whether that was going to be so, we were yet to see. Katrin and Lea were most anxious to start out as early as possible as they had a flight back to Europe to catch in Bamako. From my own experience I knew how important it was to have a generous time margin here in Mali because you could never be certain of what was going to befall you on the road. And as for me, I also wished to waste as little time as possible even if I had no flights to catch as yet. With a week ahead of me yet to go, I still had a luxury of being able to reschedule my trip if necessary.
But I wasn’t exactly looking forward to it. So we hoped Guele would be true to his word.
However, not everyone was breaking camp at seven. Everyone had their own timetable and at least some of them were leaving in the dead of the night. And as our kitchen had been servicing everyone who had ever been hungry here at the festival, it was only natural that right now, on the departure night, it was working at full throttle. So, two a.m. or not, our cook was churning out breakfasts at as brisk a pace as you could imagine. By extension, the place next to my tent appeared at least as crowded as the space before the stage the night before. And as noisy.
There was no way I could sleep with so much activity outside. So I crawled out of my tent to see what the fuss was all about. I saw some familiar faces, and the most familiar of all was Barbara. She had not even gone to sleep yet. She’d just arrived from an after-party which had been held up until short time before. Obviously in a very good cheer, she was bidding her farewells to some of her acquaintances and waiting for breakfast. Or whatever you may call a two-ay-em meal. The sweet smell of freshly baked bread, dispelled in two nicks any whiff of a huff that could have otherwise lingered around my aura, and I decided to join in. We all gathered around the fire to warm ourselves up in the chilly Saharan night, with the sky as clear and starry as an angel’s face, and had our hearty breakfasts, washing it down with tea or coffee.
Gradually, one hour or so later, those early risers – or kip skippers – retreated into the night and commenced their departure from Essakane. Our cook finally caught a moment of respite and sought to nod off a bit herself. Barbara and I went each into our own tents. In fact, I didn’t think I would fall asleep again at all. I felt wide awake when I covered myself with the blanket. But miraculously, soon I was sleeping anew. OK, with the heavy load on my stomach, which didn’t surprise me at all. After all, have I not been skipping dinners for years for precisely that reason? But I did fall asleep again.
I woke up again around six thirty. The sun was only just coming up. Our cook, typically, was again about her pans, pots and plates. You could still – or again – have a breakfast if you wanted. But basically, she too was folding up.
Katrin and Lea emerged, as well. They complained about the noise during the night. I told hem it had been an early breakfast. My explanation didn’t make them a single bit happier. Clearly, they wished they had been able to sleep with less disturbance. But if we were really going to move out of here early enough, I knew it was most certainly going to cheer them up considerably.
Guele was hyperactive and agitated, as he usually was, and it seemed that he functioned best when things seemed at the point of greatest disorder. It appeared almost as if his natural element.
Somebody managed to wake Barbara up and pull her out of her tent. As opposed to just a few hours before, when she had still been on a high from the good time they’d had on that after-party, she was now as still as a sphinx. But we had to go.
Peter wasn’t going to go back with us. Sandy and Karen had long switched camp anyway and were having transport elsewhere. Therefore he decided to join them. There were now only four of us left, not counting the crew. So this new arrangement even offered a promise of an unexpected luxury.
And considering that we were in Mali, we left quite early. Not even half an hour after seven, it was as if we left on schedule.
