It all started when I decided to explore the lifestyle of a particular tribe in Ethiopia that I heard so much about. Their simple yet contented way of living intrigued me. After spending some time in a couple of these villages, I realized that my Ethiopian visa was ending soon and that I didn’t have time to reach the official border to Kenya. That’s when I made the decision to go to Kenya through the desert, despite knowing the risks.
The first incident on this road was witnessing an armed conflict between two tribes over a water source. I got stopped on the Ethiopian side, but all they wanted was water, so I let go of a couple of liters, even though I was heading towards the desert. Upon reaching the Kenyan side, I quickly removed the Ethiopian football jersey and played the Kenyan card. I spent the night with the border police, who were all very hospitable, and that’s when the more unfortunate part of the story began.
The next morning, my bike broke down and I had to drag it in the sand for the next five days. It was a grueling journey, with hallucinations hitting me hard. I was seeing water, people, cars, and sometimes even cold watermelon. I tried everything to remain alive, including finding small puddles full of hot water. But it was never enough.
After three days without water, I started giving up hope. I only had half a liter of water left, and I couldn’t stop anywhere to sleep as long as I didn’t find a water source. That’s the basic law of survival in dry and hot deserts: you have to keep moving, to avoid consuming resources without getting any closer to finding your way out.
At some point, I tried to get close to the water source that the conflict was about and lost the road I was on. It got to the point where I thought of leaving everything behind except for my camera and hard drive and walking away. That’s when I heard the sounds of a moving vehicle, not knowing whether it was real or whether I was hallucinating.
I remember seeing a huge truck far away, in the middle of sand dunes with the sign “clean water” and leaving my bike to run towards it. The truck driver was listening to music and couldn’t hear me screaming. It was like a movie. I remember hugging him when he finally noticed me and stopped. These few moments – as I drank the warm water, filled my bottles and apparently gave the guy my Facebook info – were pretty blurry.
But it wasn’t over yet. After finishing drinking, I couldn’t find my bike in the sand. It was like losing a part of me, but I didn’t give up. I kept looking for it and eventually found it. I was beyond relieved and grateful for being given a second chance. The truck driver told me to follow the truck path on the sand and it will eventually take me to the closest village which is around 10-15km ( 4 – 5 more hours of pushing the bicycle in sand ) He was heading to the military camp north and I was going south.
Reflecting on these experiences, I lost 5kgs in five days, but I gained so much more. I’ve learned that even in the toughest of situations, it’s important to keep pushing forward and never give up. As long as we’re alive and breathing, there’s always hope for a way out. It also taught me to appreciate the little things in life and to be grateful for every drop of water and morsel of food that I have. These memories will stay with me forever, reminding me of the resilience and strength of the human spirit. And who knows, maybe one day I’ll even venture out into the desert again, ready for whatever challenges come my way.