Zeydoun’s Last Hurrah – October 2023
We were not to know this as we set off from Sabria on day one of our five day Camel Voyage. For my fellow travellers, Georgina my great niece, and Abdul a former work colleague and dear friend, it was their third time travelling with me on the dromedaries which I considered a great honour, remembering my working days at The Savoy London where repeat guests were the greatest compliment a hotel could wish for!
The purpose of our adventure was to once again experience the sheer joy of riding camels across the Sahara under the guidance of our Bedouin friends, Adel and Ali, who never fail to make the unavoidable two-day journey getting from London to Sabria, worth every single arduous mile.
Not one for figures or statistics, I had lost count of the number of times I had embarked on a desert voyage astride my beloved Zeydoun, but this time, and for the first time, I would not be riding him. It had been agreed that in his old age, he would be the tent carrying camel. Throughout Circuit Steve last November, Zeydoun had been having great difficulty rising from the ground – a wobbly experience for the camel, and an unnerving one for myself the jockey, and Adel his keeper.
So imagine my concern at seeing him being loaded up not just with the lightweight tent, but with heavy jerry cans filled to the brim with water, saddle bags stuffed with provisions, clanking cooking utensils, and three mattresses to boot! Hindsight is easy, but had I known in advance that Zeydoun’s long suffering temperament was to be taken advantage of in this way, I would have insisted on hiring another camel to carry the weighty baggage.
As the days melted one into the other, Zeydoun became noticeably tireder. The unrelenting heat was a handicap in itself, and it had become apparent that Adel and Ali too had reached an age and stage in their own lives, preferring the flatter desert routes where possible, rather than negotiating the precipitous dunes which once upon a time man and beast used to take in their stride.
Happily though, Zeydoun still led the train in his usual majestic fashion, head held high, Adel setting the pace, walking at his side. Georgina followed on her elegant white camel, Labiar, hitched up to Zeydoun. Labiar belongs to Adel’s half brother, Faraj, now retired from the military and organising successful long distance camel safaris of fifteen days or so, that we were later to witness first hand at a well stop. His clients on this occasion were two delightful German ladies.
Abdul and I rode Ali’s camels – me on Lahajah, Abdul on Lazrak hitched up to Lahajah, the ever attentive Ali marching on foot beside us. Sometimes Abdul preferred to walk, especially when the going was on the level.
The extreme heat necessitated long breaks at lunch time, stopping at midday, and setting off again at around 5 o’clock. During these prolonged hours of rest, whilst we read and slept under improvised shade provided by blankets draped over a large bush, the camels, although hobbled, were free to roam as they pleased, stripped of their heavy baggage, with only the saddles remaining on their backs – these would come off as soon as we pitched camp for the night, when joy of joys, the dromedaries revelled in rolling in the sand whilst we rolled out our sleeping bags in readiness to climb into after dinner!
Evenings in the desert are special: time to breathe in the cooler air, our aching backs propped up against the wooden camel saddles arranged in a semicircle in front of a blazing campfire. Whilst Adel crouched over his steaming cauldron, Ali passed round the Coca Cola. We relished the simple vegetarian diet of cous cous one night, macaroni the next, spicy sauces, fresh vegetables and fruit, not to mention the dates! Hauntingly beautiful music signalled the end of each unforgettable day: Ali playing the drum, Adel the flute. Drum beats and quivering notes floated into the inky night sky – the desert at its romantic best.
Day five arrived all too quickly. The daily carefree routine to which we had become so accustomed was about to change. There would be no more breakfasts and lunches enjoying Ali’s bread, freshly baked in hot ashes in the sand. No more nights under the stars. No more camel riding. The only thing we were thrilled to leave behind was the hot wind, from which on some days, there was no escaping other than hunkering down in the makeshift shelter hastily put together by Adel.
The lunch spot on our last day was within sight of Sabria, and the change of mood palpable. The serious subject of Zeydoun’s future could not be ignored any longer. For the past sixteen years, Adel has cared for Zeydoun, they have never been parted. But now my black camel’s retirement was imminent. I was not at ease with the idea of him being turned loose into the Sahara to fend for himself, the fate of many a camel too old to work. Neither, at my age, did I think it made sense to invest in a new riding camel, much to Adel’s disappointment. As mentioned in my book, ‘Great Aunt Alice and the Black Camel’, Zeydoun and I are growing old together, he with the Saoud family in Sabria, and me with my family and friends in London.
The dreaded moment came when the camels were saddled for the last time. I walked over to whisper sweet nothings to Zeydoun, but to my utter dismay my affections were greeted with a roar and bared teeth – a scenario I had never, ever encountered before. Shocked, I took this up with Adel, who was quick to explain: ‘It’s nothing to do with you Diana, it’s because he’s angry with the load he’s had to carry’. And with those words ringing in my ears, I looked on as a weary Zeydoun rose willingly to his feet, giving away nothing of his innermost feelings. It was to be his last Camel Voyage as a working camel.
