Peeing In The Desert

Here's the thing about the desert: there's a lot of it. Seriously. It stretches out as far as the eye can see- in fact it keeps going till it turns into Libya then Tunisia, Algeria and then into Morocco before it is stopped in it's sandy tracks by the Atlantic Ocean. You see what I'm saying; it's big.

You can drive for hours in the desert, along straight black bitumen roads struggling to peek out from under the swiftly moving sands, and that's what we're doing today. Driving. For eight hours.

There's not a lot to see in this part of the desert. Sand, rocks and the occasional oasis, appearing like a mirage on the horizon, then disappearing as you speed through dusty deserted towns.

It's tiring, sitting in a car all day, and we've all had hearty breakfasts and filled ourselves up with chai (tea) and ahway (coffee) to stay alert and discuss favourite films and books and gasp in horror when our beloved narratives are unknown by our travel companions. We're jacked up on caffeine. And that's where our problem starts.

Roadhouses are few and far between on the desert roads, and if nature calls, the chances of being anywhere near anything that even vaguely (and let me tell you, it can be pretty vague) resembles a toilet, are pretty slim.

That's no big deal, I hear you say. We've been out bush before. Just pull up on the side of the road, get behind a bush and do your business. End of story.

Well, my friends, the story doesn't end like that in this kind of desert. Because there are no bushes. None. Not even spinifex that one could, theoretically, pile up and use for modest cover.

So when the need arises, and the driver has been warned, you keep your eyes peeled for any undulation in the sandscape that could provide some barrier between minibus and squat space.

You pile out and duck behind the slight rise in said sandscape and hope like hell that no cars are arriving in either direction to witness the line of ladies squatting in the sand with their pants around their ankles, buttocks bared to the blazing sun.

I'm not going to pretend that there isn't something exhilarating about getting down to business out in the elements. Something primal. Because there is- and its a little bit thrilling.

But as we pile back in and pass the hand sanitiser I'm hoping I can hold out until
we reach the hotel, and I can sit back behind closed doors without my heart racing. And when the time comes, it's a relief to have four walls around me.

Tomorrow brings another long drive. Might skip the coffee!