Sididi Ag Inaka has never used a television, toilet or telephone. He has never read a newspaper. He has never heard of a facsimile machine. He has never seen an American dollar.
He is entirely disconnected from the global economy and its ever-rippling waves. And he does not care.
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Mali nomad Sididi Ag Inaka.
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"My father was a nomad, his father was a nomad, I am a nomad, my children will be nomads," said Inaka, who was not sure of his age but looked to be in his fifties. "This is the life of my ancestors. This is the life that we know. We like it."
Thousands of nomads pepper this western tip of the Sahara desert and most share Inaka's perspective. For centuries, they have subjected themselves to the oft-bitter whims of nature, without real connections to society. They have lived off their camels, goats and sheep, depending upon them for everything from food to transportation. And they have survived.
But they have paid a price for their conscious disconnection from the modern world. They are among the world's poorest people, unable to educate and provide health care for their children, continually scratching to make it through one more day, always one drought away from seeing their animals and families wiped out.
In many ways, their lives mirror those of Africans who live in the villages, towns and cities of the world's poorest continent. The difference is that many of those Africans long for an economic escape from a torturous existence. Most nomads say they do not.
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The family of Sididi Ag Inaka , like other nomadic people of Mali, live traditional ways, isolated from society and unaffected by globalization and world economies.
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They are content in this land of thorn trees and murderous heat, where the ground is sprinkled with the bones of burros. Brutal sandstorms rise up in seconds. Squealing children, hungry for play, tumble over sand dunes at sunset.
They follow water and grass, sometimes travel with another family member, and generally move every couple of weeks. A month in one area is an eternity.
Years ago these nomads--most of whom come from an ethnic group known as the Tuaregs--were wealthy by African standards. Many piled up hundreds of camels for annual caravans to the salt mines in Mali's far north. Many owned thousands of goats and sheep. They owned slaves.
But over decades, annual rainfall has diminished, drying precious lakes, reducing grazing area for animals, decimating grain-rich areas and ultimately squeezing the livable territory available for nomads. Historically, the Tuaregs have ranged principally across the northern deserts of Mali and Niger.
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The family of Ibrahim Ag Mohamed sit near camels at sunrise as they prepare to leave for a watering hole.
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A failed rebellion by the Tuaregs also wrought havoc with their economic lives since 1990. The fighting, which killed thousands before a peace agreement was reached last year, has forced at least 100,000 nomads to flee to Algeria, Burkina Faso and Mauritania.
"Today a nomad is considered very lucky if he has 300 camels," said McKinley Posely, Mali director of Africare, an aid group that has worked extensively with nomads. "They are a lot poorer than they used to be."
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Necessities of life in the desert.
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He pulled a map from his office wall and pointed to several lakes in northern Mali. "You can now drive across what used to be the middle of this lake," he said, noting Lake Faguibine, one of Mali's largest. Gesturing to others, he continued: "This one is totally dry, and this one here has lost at least 80 percent of its water."
Part One | Part Two | Part Three
© Copyright 1996 The Washington Post Company
