Walks on the Wild Side: Exploring an Unforgiving Land

Walks on the Wild Side: Exploring an Unforgiving Land

A thrilling journey through a forgotten corner of Africa. In the early 1980s, John Pakenham embarks on a series of daring treks around Lake Turkana in northern Kenya. Facing scorching heat, brutal landscapes, and the constant threat of tribal conflict, Pakenham and his companions navigate a world where survival is a daily battle. This is more than just a travelogue; it's a deep dive into the heart of a land shaped by ancient traditions and the looming shadow of colonialism. Experience the raw beauty and danger of East Africa through Pakenham's vivid storytelling. Discover the resilience of the Turkana and Samburu tribes as they grapple with drought, raiding, and the clash of cultures. This gripping memoir offers: A rare glimpse into a remote and unforgiving environment - A testament to the strength of the human spirit - An exploration of the complex relationship between man and nature For readers seeking adventure, cultural immersion, and a powerful dose of real-life exploration, Walks on the Wild Side is an unforgettable journey. 'A lockdown read that transports you to less explored lands, packs a powerful punch and examines the attraction to extreme travel' - The Focus John Pakenham worked in theater and then in the film industry as a special effects technician, including on  The Empire Strikes Back . Fascinated by the journeys of past adventurers, he befriended the last of the old-school explorers, Wilfred Thesiger, who encouraged him, between movies, to travel without modern comforts, using only map and compass, donkeys and camels. That created the foundation for the treks described in Walks on the Wild Side .  The following year, having spent nine months working on the second Stars War s movie, The Empire Strikes Back , taking care of the eight different versions of R2D2 during the shoot, I flew to Algiers. I set off south on one of the only two sand roads crossing the Sahara, which is actually a vast conglomeration of different deserts merged into one; huge sand seas and endless gravel plains. After a couple of long days in a series of buses I reached Tamanrasset (south of the Hoggar Mountains) in southern Algeria, dead-centre of the Sahara. Amazing that from there to Algiers is almost the same distance as from Algiers to London, yet Tamanrasset is only halfway across the Sahara. An absolutely vast expanse. I wanted to make a journey with camels up the length of the Teffedest mountain range, which reaches north from the Hoggar mountains to its northern peak, Oudane, also known as Garet el Djenoun (the turret of the demons). The local Tuareg peoples, who have a brave and blood-soaked history, were terrified of these fearsome demons, the Kel Asouf, so no one would go near it. For weeks I searched in vain for a guide. At last I met a Tuareg called El Ghamis in the tiny village of Hirhafok, north of the Hoggar mountains, who agreed to take me through the desert to Oudane. He was 38, heavily turbaned, in long, flowing robes, and had spent his whole life working with camel caravans, trading immense distances across the desert, remembering lengthy routes like the back of his hand. Those hands were like the bark of an oak tree, almost brittle with dried, gnarled skin; as were his feet, which had spent a lifetime in scalding sand by day and sub-zero temperatures by night. We had no tent – just wrapped ourselves in camel blankets with long turbans wound round our heads, shuddering with cold. Inside my Icelandic sleeping bag, under the blankets, I was fully dressed, still chilled to the bone, yet El Ghamis’ bare feet were always outside his inadequate covers. By contrast the midday heat was extreme. No wonder the rocks shattered with expansion and contraction. He agreed to take me to the closest point to Oudane that he considered safe, and from there I would have to go alone on foot. To Oudane from Hirhafok and back is almost 150 miles. We took three camels, all of which I found agonising, totally unlike riding a horse. My back was on fire and my bottom was bruised and numb. The Tuareg dictate the speed of their camels by gently jabbing the toes of the left foot into the back of the camel’s neck with each step to maintain the rhythm, non-stop, all day long. As a result, experienced cameleers like El Ghamis developed disproportionately large thigh muscles on the left leg. There was no way I could do that, and after 30 minutes my thigh was screaming. Consequently I tended to lag behind and would sometimes need a light flick with the camel stick to make up speed. But this was dangerous as the camel sometimes broke into a gallop and on one occasion I was thrown. It is about eleven feet from head-height to the ground, but luckily I landed in the only small patch of sand we crossed that day in a plain of endless shattered rock. No broken bones, but one of my two aluminium water bottles was crushed flat, which would be a serious handicap. We met very few other Tuareg travellers en route, sharing camp whenever we