Day 15: Smara Refugee Camp
This evening, as a fat full moon rises over the camp, Bachir's wife Krikiba produces a meal for all of us and her family, cooked, as far as I can see, on one primus stove on the mud floor of a tiny kitchen.
We slip our shoes off and enter the tent. A white strip light, powered by electricity from a solar panel, casts a harsh glare. There are no chairs, and, unable to lounge and eat with nomadic nimbleness, we contort ourselves awkwardly on the mats, carpets and cushions, providing a continuing source of entertainment for family, relatives and neighbours as we tuck into camel casserole and rice. This is the first time I've knowingly eaten camel. The meat has a slightly sweet flavour, more like mutton than beef, and I can't stop myself wondering if any of this was ever attached to the head I saw in the market, with its inscrutable Mona Lisa smile.
Choose another day from Sahara