The Tuareg in Large Urban Centers

This is not a new subject. Edmond Bernus, in addition to contributing to human geographical studies of the pastoral Tuareg of central Niger also looked at the phenomenon of Tuareg men migrating to large urban centers. These men sought work and/or opportunities in major cities like Abidjan, Lagos and Paris. Though I am not well versed on what findings Edmond Bernus and others have of Tuareg migration to cities, I have some observations of changes both intentional and unintentional of Tuareg customs due to these sometimes seasonal, sometimes permanent migrations.

The most obvious and perhaps dramatic change is polygamy. Many anthropological studies of the past and in recent times examine how Taureg men who marry more than one wife with or without consent are both ridiculed and disciplined by their first wife, often resulting in the man losing his place in the household. Men who have more than one wife is an extremely rare situation in their rural society as Tuareg women have the trait of jealousy and exercise what social powers they have to discourage polygamy.

In the large urban areas, it is not uncommon these days to find Tuareg men who have 2, 3 or 4 wives (depending on their means as well as personal choice). This is no doubt an influence that comes from the communities of Songhaï, Haoussa, and coastal societies that the Tuareg work and reside in. From informal discussions that I have had with polygamous Tuareg men, their wives often come from the cities they live in and not the countryside. In the countryside, the practice of marrying one wife is still practiced and socially encouraged.

Among the men who migrate to the large urban centers in sub-Saharan Africa, the most obvious groups are the artisans. They too have undergone changes as the necklaces they sell are no longer used for promises of marriage in Tuareg society but for tourists who find the designs unusual and representative of the nomadic Saharan community. Their art has even diversified as silversmiths no longer dominate the ranks. It is easy to find men selling leather products (sometimes made by Tuareg women from the countryside but also produced and sold by the urban merchants) as well as miniatures carved out of mica or soapstone. A few of these artisans have also tapped into the market of making simple toys from tin cans, scraps of metal and wire like the children did in the past and still do. Once a means for African children to have toys that resemble the race cars, dump trucks and fire engines that European, North American and Japanese children played with, these metal creations are now sold to foreigners and sometimes Africans who have interest in supporting local craftsmen.

Clothing has changed dramatically, not only in the urban centers but also in the countryside. Tuareg who rely on tourists with their occupations often will wear the traditional white, blue or black turbans and robes, but the vivid greens, purples, oranges, reds, pinks, and blues of Sub-Saharan communities have definitely penetrated into the countryside. It is not uncommon to find the wax-patterned cloths with images of exotic birds and animals sown into the design of a Tuareg kaftan or boubou as well. Furthermore, the men who occupy manual labor positions like masonry, water delivery to homes, or motorcycle repair often wear occidental clothing (blue jeans and t-shirts) but often still wear their turbans around town.

Their change in diet is interesting as there are trade-offs from coming from the countryside and living in the big city. In the countryside, they were eating some of the best dairy products in the world. There are also foods that are gathered and used both in good seasons and times of food scarcity that at their worst act as ‘filler’ foods, but some are very nutritious and add variety to their diets. But they cannot subsist on these foods from nature and the products of their animals alone. Markets are limited in remote areas. Vegetables and fruits are uncommon and not available throughout the year and transporting grains to the countryside is costly and difficult in terms of preserving. In the city, they have greater access to fruits, vegetables and grains but those who have the means have also fallen into the trap of convenience buying instant drinks, powdered milk and processed foods which are not as rich or nutritious as raw or fresh foods. Another complexity of living in the city is the cost of foods. While villages around Abidjan, Cotonou and Lomé may charge a pittance for agricultural products, prices in the urban centers are often high due to transportation and storage costs.
One thing that has not changed because of urban living or influence from the interaction of different cultures is the pride that Tuaregs take in their culture. Their resistance to foreign domination in the past and their resilience in maintaining a distinct Tuareg identity, separate from their neighbors and appealing to foreign tourists is evident in their manners and conversations. The urban Tuareg may not wear the indigo turban, have married their childhood sweetheart from the contryside or even possess one camel to their name. In all likelihood, they are probably married to two women (living in different cities), wear Hawaiian t-shirts, drink instant coffee in the morning and speak French better than Kel Tamasheq. But in their minds, they do have an image of themselves mounted on a camel, wearing the robe and turban of noble rank, and their wife and children with the family tent and possessions riding not far behind. The legend of what a Tuareg is and represents is rooted firmly in place.

Clandestine, Controls and Crossing the Sahara

Can a White person be a clandestine? Is it possible? With so many Africans risking a small fortune, not including also their own personal safety to cross the Sahara and make their way to Europe, I imagine it is ironic that I did the reverse and traveled from Tunis to Niamey. Why? It is a matter of funds. And perhaps it is also to better understand the experience of crossing the paths that Black Africans move through illegally.

The route I ended up traveling was a bit illogical, but perhaps that is common experience. I initially planned on traveling first through the Tunisian cities of Gafsa, Tozeur and Nefta to cross into Algeria, but the authorities at the border refused to let me through without a guide. Since I was using forms of community transit, I had no choice but return to a border post further north, one called Bou Chebka and cross into Tébessa, Algeria. There, the authorities were surprised to see an American with an Algerian visa and on foot but after the stun of my presence, they allowed me to pass. From Tébessa, I moved on to Constantine where I was able to find frequent traffic for the south, first Ouargla, then El Goléa, In Salah and Tamanrasset. Travel from Constantine to Tamanrasset took approximately 33 hours directly. In Tamanrasset, I waited roughly 30 hours for my driver to find a sufficient number of clients; many who are illegal aliens who have run into difficulties with the Algerian authorities and are looking to cross through Libya.

So what is it like? There is the initial challenge of finding someone to trust to take you where you need to go. That in itself is difficult as people are abandoned frequently by their chauffeurs, particularly in the Sahara desert. After that, it is a matter of negotiating the fare for passage. As one can imagine, if one offers too little the chauffeur will refuse and if one offers too much, there is the concern that they will not have enough to offer the next driver for the next leg of travels.

Insecurity and harassment from authorities is a constant concern. For me, northern Algeria was a danger zone as there have been terrorist attacks aimed at foreigners recently. The authorities constantly asked for my papers: at road blocks, bus stations and along the streets. Furthermore, the looks I was receiving from young, unemployed men on the streets in Tébessa and Constantine where enough to push me further towards my goal of returning to Niger. I was a target there.

For Black Africans, the Sahara (southern Algeria) is problematic. Starting in Biskra, Algeria (the northern frontier of the Sahara) the authorities began to ask for the papers of anyone resembling Black Africans on the buses and other forms of transportation. In most cases, those who do not have their papers in order are pulled off the bus. In rare cases, a few have the chance to pay a small gift to avoid being deported. At the frontier town of In Guezzam as I was going through the formalities of crossing into Niger, I witnessed the scale of this operation. Large Mercedes freight trucks rolled by with hundreds of illegal aliens standing up in the truck beds to be dropped off in Assamakka, Niger. I estimated around 250-300 per truck from the way people were lined up.

Assamakka is a Kel Tamasheq name and actually a famous water source for their animals. There is a legend around it where in the past; a traveler who had been suffering from thirst for days arrived here at night and saw the well thanks to the moonlight reflecting off the surface of the water (the definition of Assamakka). So excited he was, that he rushed over to quench his thirst and tragically fell into the well and drowned. There is of course, a moral here and any Tamasheq who suffers from thirst or hunger will only take a small amount of water or food to begin with once they have arrived to safety.

Assamakka has transformed considerably since its days as a source of water for caravans and legend for practicing patience. There are small restaurants opened by Black African women, little ‘informal’ markets selling cheap goods from Algeria and furthermore the village is swollen with Africans from Nigeria, Burkina Faso, Ghana, Togo, Benin and other countries in sub-Saharan Africa. There is ongoing theft, hustles and cons. But more overwhelming than the crimes that take place in the corners of the town are the rows of illegal aliens from Algeria. It was intimidating when I arrived to the control. They looked like army divisions standing in formation, thanks to their Algerian overseers.

If the large Mercedes trucks and the way Africans were lined up in them is not enough to recall the diagrams of slave ships from the 17th-19th centuries, perhaps the collective transport between Assamakka and Arlit will recall the image. The transport is a Toyota Land Cruiser, from the early 1990s, with the back seats removed in order to fit as many people as possible into the vehicle. The driver and the front seats remain, but the cost is double to sit up in front with the driver (which most Africans cannot afford, especially if they have just been deported from Algeria). The ‘back’ becomes full at about 14 or 15 people. Exhaust from the vehicle and dust kicked up from the tires enters through the back window. The distance between the two towns is about 210 km and the road is sometimes sand, sometimes rock. Ideally, the voyage should take 4 to 5 hours but the vehicle I was in had flat tires constantly and since there is a rebellion on hold in the region, a curfew in Arlit prevented my arrival into town the same day I left Assamakka. We slept about 40 km from the town, which was actually refreshing considering the lack of leg room. I arrived in Arlit the next day: dirty, unshaven, bruised from the transport and my companions had to carry me out of the back of the cab for a 20 minute rest in orer for the blood to return to my legs (I had lost feeling of my legs several times during the travel).

In all fairness to Algerian authorities and those who have created enterprises around clandestine operations, no one forces Africans from Nigeria, Burkina Faso, Ghana, Togo, Benin and other countries in sub-Saharan Africa to make this crossing, unless one wishes to personify poverty. Ask any illegal alien in Europe/North Africa or those deported back to Mali or Niger why they cross the Sahara and they will tell you, "There is nothing for me back in -choose a sub-Saharan African country and place here-" The conditions one experiences in traveling through the Sahara illegally are miserable and geared to maximize the returns for entrepreneurs running transport. It is an abuse of human rights, but one that Black Africans choose to enter considering their lack of opportunities at home.

Cultural Misunderstandings and Theft

I am in Tunisia right now making my way gradually down to Algeria, and back into Niger. Part of the reason why I ended up here has to do with modest means for transport. I don’t mean to be cryptic, this is just a polite way of saying I am doing my best to budget and stretch out my finances.

Whenever I have the chance to meet up with a family of herders, though, I do my best to visit and communicate with them. They are, after all, the subjects of my study and I am always interested in hearing what they have to say about their lives and other information they wish to share. I met up with a family just outside of Gaafour, Tunisia. And at first, I did not even know that they were herders but the son and the father who talked to me first were very welcoming and invited me to stay at their tent for the night, the night before Ramadan started. I figured why not?

They were nice but I had noticed one of the sons was a little too nice. When I left the camp the next morning, he followed me to the road and was playing with things on my sack, like a map I had tacked away in a pocket and my 5-liter water container that was hanging on a belt clip (empty, but as I go farther south, it will be filled and used). This experience would haunt me later.

I made it to this town called El Aroussa. There, I was befriended by three Tunisians by the names of Mohammed, Brahim and Hassan. They are a little more older than I, but Brahim lived and worked in France for 5 years and Hassan is well-educated so this gave me a chance to learn more about Tunisia. It was the first night of Ramadan so they insisted that I stay and break it with them. I couldn’t refuse and why would I? The food was phenomenal!

The next day, I had plans to move on but when I prepared I noticed my GPS was missing. I thought, where did I leave it? I retraced all my actions from Gaafour to here. And this is when I thought of the son of the pastoral family. Could he really have taken it? I remember when I shook his hand before he left me to continue my walk, he wouldn’t even look me in the face. The more I thought about it, the more I realized, he took it.

So I went back to the camp. He had left with his father to Tunis, but the mother and sisters explained that they were going to return the next day. I gave the kid the benefit of the doubt at first, looking around the trail where I was walking the day before and telling the family, it is likely, it dropped from my sack. The mother and girls of the camp said they did not know if their brother had found anything and the other brother said he did not know either. I wasn’t ready to give up.

When I went back, I explained things to Mohammed, Brahim and Hassan. They were very, very suspicious and Mohammed told me to wait another day so we could go back and investigate. The next day, Hassan drove Mohammed and I to the camp. We arrived there right when the father and son had returned, though I did not see the younger son, the one who was playing with my sack a couple of days before. Mohammed talked to the father and when we went back the paved road, Mohammed saw someone he knew driving the way towards El Aroussa and asked that he drive me back there while Mohammed continued ‘the investigation.’ I went back and waited. A couple of hours later, Mohammed shows up with my GPS unit in his hand, the batteries drained, but in good shape. He had to call on the police as the family was denying having it but once police show up at the tent, the device became ‘found.’

I am not angry at the events that passed because it has only made more cautious of my possessions but there is a cultural misunderstanding between both the family and I. They, for the most part, saw me as a tourist without the time to wait and retrieve my device and hence denied having possession of it. I like to believe that I can simply walk into a camp of pastoralists, explain my mission and walk out with the information I am inquiring about. But that is not reality. Even if I only walked into the camp with some pens and paper that is more than what they posses and some, by temptation, will try to beg, borrow or steal that possession from me. I offer a word of warning to those doing research in developing nations. Even though they know it is wrong, the temptation to take what you carry into their tent is there and must be discouraged in a diplomatic fashion or in cases such as this one, met with force.