don't tell. There was no cutlery. Everything was by hand. A piece of pita bread tear off, lay between the finger and thus fill the pot or the casserole dish, with meat and millet and into the mouth. The men in the round, seemed not to chew at all. You snakes everything down quickly. The larynx worked s/he as the jowls. Soon that this operation came to my consciousness, the Bowl was empty. The breads taste good, also of the millet I ate like to something more, unfortunately it disappeared quickly. Greedily, I looked to where the food was brought. Dried dates were served for dessert. Delicious, sweet and sticky. This black tea with lots of sugar. Xie was also one of the first Arabic words that are imprinted me. So as Salam. Mostly I radebrechte further with Italian, which was very well understood in the former Italian colony of Libya.
The memories came at regular intervals. Cutlery and dessert at home with mother: pudding, cake, fruit Compote. There, we had never really hungry to eat more than enough basically. I sometimes secretly disposed meat from the plate, because I do not like to ate it. But how happy I had now a dessert in the desert. But I sat with strangers men (women disappeared in the tent) on a carpet, surrounded by naked sand, retracted the legs, with a glass of tea in his hand.
For the evening, a Bedouin got me a place to stay for the night. A cot or simply empty space a place to sleep on hard clay soil in one. I always took my bike. In the panniers was my sleep clothes. No, I was not with pajamas, slept almost naked until I times in the night by a naked man visit
got. «There realized for the first time, that the phrase "one from the other shore"in real life actually is. I had at home never want to believe that men like other men. Quickly, I took along my utensils and put my sleeping bag outside in a hollow on bare desert sand. After this experience, I became more careful at night offers. At the latest when a man put his hand on my knee, I was awake. And showing off, no matter how generous his dinner invitation. To a knowledge rich, I had no boredom the next day on the bike.
At the end of the desert track, there was a time of exploitation. I schindete my body up to the dying. On some (few) days I was from Sunrise until sunset on the road. Step, slide, drink, eat, are. Lying in the shade of large stones. Lying in the shelter of stones from the desert wind.
As I said, my desert wasn't so Sandy: large boulders marked my trail my trail, sand and pebbles. Sweltering heat and dust were my companions. Still, Ghadames was my goal. A city in the desert, rather a Tuareg town in the border region of Libya Algeria Tunisia.
Why of actually Ghadames? Today, I don't remember exactly it. The only way onto the map, which led to the South, went about Ghadames. And I wanted to the South. See the desert. Experience the desert. It seemed to me, the English word for desert hit it better: desert - leave. Of the life of abandoned Earth. Still, it was rocky. And of course seemed the Sun - when did she not in this country Libya. The sky was certainly blue with contrails. But my memory has not recorded it. I remember only rough stones, gravel fields and tracks in the sand. And the loneliness, silence and distance. If you met people, they wore a white cloth on his head, that left only the eyes free. The white cloth, in Arabic Litham, protected me against the Sun and the desert sand blown by the wind. And falls off his bike.