I am constantly on a search.
That week in Tunisia I was in search of the invisible. Also I wanted to escape. Escape the city, escape the elections. I decided I was far to sensitive for such turmoil and the desert would provide a safe refuge.
I crossed 2216 km to find him. Funny thing is that I didn't even know that I was looking for him. Maybe I didn't find him but he found me? The voyage through Tunisia was more difficult and tedious than I thought it would be and I probably didn't prepare for it well. The fact I can't speak the language meant I experienced the world only through my eyes. Whatever anybody said to me was bounced of by my invisible shield of linguistic ignorance. In this isolated state I still found it difficult to find the invisible, to consciously focus on finding something that in it's definition can't be found. But what was happening to my subconscious? My antennas have been picking up signals and my body followed in synchronic inertia. I was making choices to go Tozeur, Douz, Ksar Ghilane… places I have never heard of but still I felt drawn to them. The signal lured me from the relative safety of Tunis into the desert. First into the oasis and then slowly into the great desert. Each place giving me yet another clue and pushing and pulling to him. I found the card in Douz. The ugliest souvenir shop in the street. The card itself is dusty, aged by the sun and sand. The unforgiving contenders of concrete matter. From the moment I held the card I didn't let go of it. The next day I asked the two local kids if they knew someone who could perform that. Not only did they know someone they knew the exact name of the person on the card: Abdul Karinne. My whole brain activity switching to calculating mode… I have three days left, we are leaving to Tatouine tomorrow how can I squeeze enough minutes to go find this man? But like a Pavlov dog I snapped out of it as soon as our guide showed up discussing tomorrow's itinerary with us. I don't know why but I couldn't bring myself to ask, to fight for my search. I just froze, I continued following the already set inertia of the trip. Catching scraps of thoughts along the way I was trying really hard to believe in the process. In the midst of this frustration, this inability to speak up and fight for my project, this complete and utter mind block we reached the Sahara… We reached the big desert… And my heart that longed for clarity, for something concrete suddenly felt free. I took of my shoes off and jumped out of the jeep and hugged my two travel companions, only to run into the endless sea of sand. The great desert, in all her glory, she is just the same as the day before and just the same she will be for many days to come. The fine powder entering every crease of my clothes and body. Wearing a big shiny, metal smile on my face (I have braces) I was jumping from dune to dune. Totally immersing myself into a child like joy. First running without any particular goal, just because I could and then toward the gentle bobbing camels. I ran all the way until I spot them… The horseman. Our guide specifically told us not to speak to the horsemen.
So far, nowhere else in Tunisia have people spoken English. NOWHERE. But this arab does. In the middle of the desert I speak for the first time. Ignoring the specific instruction not to do so. We talk for a while and then a sound distracts my attention. First soft and modest and then harder and more audible. He appeared, the second horseman. He appeared literally out of nowhere. Out of the nothing of the desert. I didn't have time to think, to react, to take my camera, the blue Arab was on is horse. I violently ripped the light meter and my camera out of the bag. I dropped the bag, I didn't care about sand damaging the rest of equipment, phone, stuff. Everything was irrelevant at that moment. I measured the light, I think I even just dropped the meter and picked up the camera and focused the lens. Snap! And that was it. The last slot on the film. Like a war hero I drop my big riffle, the mamiya and reach for my smaller weapon. I snap, snap, snap three more times. And he is gone. I never saw his face. In the day and age when everything is photographed I'm in search of something that can't be photographed. Most of the time a very frustrating process. Mainly because I deploy the wrong senses. But the invisible is there! The fantastic, the fairy tail, the adventure, the extraordinary, something more than the daily slur. Something more than the blood, guts and the failing economy. Something that in order to be seen you need to trust your instincts. Those rusty instincts we forgot about in the age of microwave ovens and navigation systems. The desert really doesn't care about elections.
I crossed 2216 km to find him. Funny thing is that I didn't even know that I was looking for him. Maybe I didn't find him but he found me? The voyage through Tunisia was more difficult and tedious than I thought it would be and I probably didn't prepare for it well. The fact I can't speak the language meant I experienced the world only through my eyes. Whatever anybody said to me was bounced of by my invisible shield of linguistic ignorance. In this isolated state I still found it difficult to find the invisible, to consciously focus on finding something that in it's definition can't be found. But what was happening to my subconscious? My antennas have been picking up signals and my body followed in synchronic inertia. I was making choices to go Tozeur, Douz, Ksar Ghilane… places I have never heard of but still I felt drawn to them. The signal lured me from the relative safety of Tunis into the desert. First into the oasis and then slowly into the great desert. Each place giving me yet another clue and pushing and pulling to him. I found the card in Douz. The ugliest souvenir shop in the street. The card itself is dusty, aged by the sun and sand. The unforgiving contenders of concrete matter. From the moment I held the card I didn't let go of it. The next day I asked the two local kids if they knew someone who could perform that. Not only did they know someone they knew the exact name of the person on the card: Abdul Karinne. My whole brain activity switching to calculating mode… I have three days left, we are leaving to Tatouine tomorrow how can I squeeze enough minutes to go find this man? But like a Pavlov dog I snapped out of it as soon as our guide showed up discussing tomorrow's itinerary with us. I don't know why but I couldn't bring myself to ask, to fight for my search. I just froze, I continued following the already set inertia of the trip. Catching scraps of thoughts along the way I was trying really hard to believe in the process. In the midst of this frustration, this inability to speak up and fight for my project, this complete and utter mind block we reached the Sahara… We reached the big desert… And my heart that longed for clarity, for something concrete suddenly felt free. I took of my shoes off and jumped out of the jeep and hugged my two travel companions, only to run into the endless sea of sand. The great desert, in all her glory, she is just the same as the day before and just the same she will be for many days to come. The fine powder entering every crease of my clothes and body. Wearing a big shiny, metal smile on my face (I have braces) I was jumping from dune to dune. Totally immersing myself into a child like joy. First running without any particular goal, just because I could and then toward the gentle bobbing camels. I ran all the way until I spot them… The horseman. Our guide specifically told us not to speak to the horsemen.
So far, nowhere else in Tunisia have people spoken English. NOWHERE. But this arab does. In the middle of the desert I speak for the first time. Ignoring the specific instruction not to do so. We talk for a while and then a sound distracts my attention. First soft and modest and then harder and more audible. He appeared, the second horseman. He appeared literally out of nowhere. Out of the nothing of the desert. I didn't have time to think, to react, to take my camera, the blue Arab was on is horse. I violently ripped the light meter and my camera out of the bag. I dropped the bag, I didn't care about sand damaging the rest of equipment, phone, stuff. Everything was irrelevant at that moment. I measured the light, I think I even just dropped the meter and picked up the camera and focused the lens. Snap! And that was it. The last slot on the film. Like a war hero I drop my big riffle, the mamiya and reach for my smaller weapon. I snap, snap, snap three more times. And he is gone. I never saw his face. In the day and age when everything is photographed I'm in search of something that can't be photographed. Most of the time a very frustrating process. Mainly because I deploy the wrong senses. But the invisible is there! The fantastic, the fairy tail, the adventure, the extraordinary, something more than the daily slur. Something more than the blood, guts and the failing economy. Something that in order to be seen you need to trust your instincts. Those rusty instincts we forgot about in the age of microwave ovens and navigation systems. The desert really doesn't care about elections.