Long After The Sahara Was Green

Crossing Africa: An Unexpected Route

This passage over Africa was different, as the plane veered east, deviating from the typical western route over France and Spain. We headed towards Germany, Switzerland, and Italy, leaving Genoa to the east to cross the Ligurian Sea, with the islands of Corsica, France and Sardinia (Sardegna), Italy, also to the east, before making landfall over Africa at Skikda, Algeria, a coastal city whose port has been a gateway between Europe and Africa for centuries. Constantine, the dramatic "City of Bridges" perched on a limestone plateau, shows prominently on my map, but it lies much further west of our route.

Pretensions to slumber never came, and one feature of the in-flight maps was missing: the detailed "Flying over..." section that leaves me mesmerised for hours on end. It offers snippets about places up to 250 kilometres away that I may never visit, yet I remain intrigued by their histories, geography, culture, and the people who have made those places their homes.

Above the Sahara

Soon, about four hours into the flight, we were already over the Sahara Desert. I expected to see an ocean of sand without form, stretching into the horizon, but I was in for a surprise.

This place looked as if it were once verdant, the land carved through as rivers sculpt landscapes, as if Eden decided to relocate to the Amazon, took its goods, but left the house bare. I have since learnt that this intuition was remarkably accurate: the Sahara was indeed a green, fertile landscape during the African Humid Period (approximately 11,000 to 5,000 years ago), supporting rivers, lakes, forests, and diverse wildlife before orbital shifts and climate feedback mechanisms transformed it into the desert we see today.

Yet a barren landscape it is not. The circles that resembled cylindrical containers, arranged in patterns clearly indicating human intervention, were in fact irrigation systems in the desert, humanity's ingenious attempt to recreate what nature once provided across the entire region.

I did not spot an oasis from above anywhere from Algeria into Niger. This is a harsh place, where daytime temperatures can soar to totally uninhabitable levels.

Settlements and Landforms

My map showed named settlements within 50 kilometres of our flight path: Djanet, known for its proximity to the UNESCO-listed Tassili n'Ajjer plateau with its ancient rock art; Ghat, a Tuareg town near the Libyan border that has served as a trans-Saharan trade post for centuries; and Tamanrasset, the largest city in southern Algeria, as we flew towards Agadez in Niger, once a crucial caravan centre and sultanate on the trans-Saharan trade routes.

I see alpine landforms, but not of ice. These are gullies eroded by winds rather than water, dunes drawn by the hand of nature, moving as if alive, and they surely are.

A Desert Redefined

A desert is more than its definition. It offers another perspective: the presence of hardy species of flora, fauna, and animal life that thrive in what we might consider impossible conditions.

As we continued south, the landscape gradually shifted. Flying over Nigeria, I caught sight of place names that stirred something deep within me: Jos, the highland city built by tin miners; Bukuru, where I attended primary school; Rayfield, where we lived; and Vom, the veterinary centre where we took a school trip. These are places emblematic of my childhood, each one a marker of memory suspended between earth and sky.

Now, flying past Douala, Cameroon, to catch a sight of the Gulf of Guinea, I realised something striking: from over 30,000 feet, some nine kilometres in the sky, there had been no clouds above the Sahara. Not a single wisp dipping its toes in that vast expanse. I suspect I need a deeper understanding of the ecology of that extraordinary place.

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