Travelling Tim

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June 21, 2006

An Adventure in Morocco

An Adventure in Morocco,and how I was helped by the Royal Family of Saudi Arabia

I am writing this account to coincide with an interview about this adventure, that was broadcast, though cut rather drastically, on the last-ever (24 Jun 2006) programme in the long-running BBC Radio 4 series 'Home Truths'. I have been a long-time fan of the programme, and was apalled to hear that it has been axed by the current controller of Radio 4, Mark Damazer. Quite why he would do this to what is such a popular and much loved programme is beyond my understanding, and I hope that the decision will quickly be reversed. The next controller of Radio 4 - please take note !!

Anyway, back to my story. It took place in November 1992. I was travelling with a group of 20 others in an old Bedford ex-army truck on an Exodus Overland expedition from London to Harare. In the middle of the Moroccan desert, the truck broke part of its back-axle - a major item that couldn't be replaced or repaired locally. There was no option but to sit and wait whilst a replacement was flown out from England. We were not too far away from the Todra mountains, and the Todra Gorge, which has accommodation and things to do, so Ian, the trip leader walked to the road, got a lift into the nearest town of Errachidia, and organised some taxis to take most of the people there. The truck, with its canvas sides, couldn't be left by itself in the middle of the desert though, so I volunteered to stay and look after it with 3 others.

I love the desert, with its ever-changing moods and colours, so staying behind in the middle of a sea of sand was no problem to me. Actually, in that area it was more gravel than sand, miles and miles of it, with low mountains in the distance, occasional scrub or thorn-bush, and big blue skies. Its really quiet, such that in the night you really could hear a pin drop, but what you do hear are the tiny clicking sounds that the rocks make as they cool after the heat of the day. And then there's the stars, of course. No one who has slept in the desert could possibly forget how black the night sky is, and the billions of stars that are so bright and close it seems you could almost touch them.

The time passed surprisingly quickly. We had all the usual cooking facilities on the truck, and a bit of firewood to make a bonfire in the evenings. There were mountains to look at, and occasional goat herders would come by out of curiosity. One showed us a tiny well not far away, used to water their flocks of goats. Luckily we had a long enough rope, so could lower a bucket into it and have a welcome shower in the luke-warm water. The rest of the time was spent cleaning the trucks, repairing the camping equipment, and other small tasks that occurred to us. Lots of reading, letter-writing, playing backgammon with Andy, who usually won.

The 6th day dawned bright and chilly as usual. We were awakened by a convoy of trucks, 4 wheel drives, and other vehicles racing across the desert not far off. The strange thing was that most of the occupants were wearing Arab head-dresses, not something the locals do. We watched them drive by, speculating who they might be. A bit later, a jeep stopped to ask us if we'd seen which way the convoy had gone. It had Saudi plates, and a falcon in the back, but they wouldn't tell us what was going on. We had breakfast, and after that, two of our guys, Mark and Mike, walked to the road and hitched into town to do some shopping, leaving the Andy and myself behind to guard the truck. I decided to write some letters, and climbed up to the 'dog-box', a seating area above the cab that was usually used to watch the countryside whilst the truck was driving off-road.

I climbed on to the mud-guard next to the driver's door, then pulled myself up on to the roof. But just as I reached the top, my grip slipped on the dew-coated railing, and I fell backwards to the ground. Normally, this wouldn't have been a problem - a fall from 10 feet or so on to the soft sand, but as luck would have it, just next to the driver's door was a large log of wood that we had been meaning to chop up for firewood. I hit the log in the middle of my back, and was immediately in incredible agony, unable to move. Andy heard my cries and came out to help. We had no idea what the problem was, and could do little by ourselves anyway. Somehow, he managed to get me inside the truck, and we waited for the two other guys to come back from town. This took about 4 hours, which I passed by reading a book, trying to take my mind off the constant agonising pain.

Eventually they returned, and we decided that I should be got to hospital straight away. They went back to the road and managed to flag down an old truck that was passing. Incredibly, it had a dirty old mattress in the back, and I was carried as carefully as possible on it, and we drove to Errachidia, and its ramshackle hospital. They did their best to help, but the facilities were extremely limited. There was an X-Ray machine, that looked like something left over from WWII. The only person who spoke English was a Chinese doctor on assignment here. He thought I had a possible fracture of the spine.

I was placed face-down on a bare hospital trolley, and remember trying to keep my face from touching the metal surface, which was covered in dried blood from some previous patient. Someone found me an old blanket, and there I stayed for some hours, in the corridor outside the ward, wondering what would become of me. Darkness came, and I was dozing between the bouts of pain, when all of a sudden a voice behind said, in a perfect Oxford English accent, "Oh you must be the British gentleman. The Prince wondered if you would like some help." Turning my head round, I saw two men in immaculate Arab robes standing next to my trolley. One of them explained that he was with an Arab hunting party, led by Prince Sultan Bin Abdul Aziz, brother of the King of Saudi Arabia. They had heard of my accident, and wondered if I would like to use their own private medical facilities, kept for the Prince, some distance off in the desert. The man who was talking to me was the Prince's private orthopaedic surgeon, come to see if he could help.

I didn't need to think for a moment, but welcomed the offer immediately. Placed on a stretcher, I was taken out to a waiting 4-wheel drive ambulance, that was clean and warm - like a gift from the Gods. We drove out of town and across the darkened desert for about half an hour, before heading for a large tented encampment, as you would see in the story books, but with many modern mobile facilities in addition to the tents, including 3 large Mercedes articulated trucks, German-made, that joined together to make a mobile medical facility complete with operating theatre, intensive care, X-ray, dispensary - even a dental surgery! I was placed on a hydraulic lift and taken into the X-ray room, where the doctors decided that although there may be a slight fracture to my back, the main problem was that I had ripped a lot of my back muscles. I spent the night in the tiny intensive care ward, looked after by an Australian male nurse.

Mark, a Canadian guy from the truck who had stayed with me, spent the night in one of the tents, which were very luxurious, with electric fires and hot showers! In the morning he was summoned to see Prince Sultan. Mark was rather nervous meeting him, but the Prince was easy to talk to, and put Mark at his ease. He thanked the Prince for all his help, and then they talked briefly about falconing, which was the reason that they were in the area. It turned out that it was the Prince's hunting party we had seen driving by the truck yesterday morning. On their way back after the day's falconing, they had seen that our truck was still in the same place, and guessing it had broken down, stopped to see if their mechanics could be of any help. Our guys said no, they were OK, but that one of their people, me, had had an accident and was now in the local hospital. Prince Sultan was concerned to hear this, as he had had one of his own staff die there the previous week, so sent me his personal doctors, to my great good fortune.

I spent the next few days in the mobile hospital, and was looked after very well, but eventually they began to be concerned as to what I should do next. Ian, the trip leader had contacted Exodus head office via the Prince's mobile satellite communications truck, and it was agreed that I should be sent back to the UK, but the question was how to do it. My insurance company would pay for me to be flown home from one of the main international airports, if I could be got there. The doctors all said that there was no way I could survive the long journey over the bumpy desert roads, so an alternative was needed. The nearby town had a small airstrip, and the Saudis had a Hercules transporter-plane that took supplies to and from Saudi Arabia. Perhaps I could go home that way, via Riyadh? Unfortunately, the logistics didn't work out, and the plane went without me. Time was pressing - the Saudis needed to move camp to their next hunting grounds, but couldn't do that whilst I was still there. Conferences were held, various options looked at, and eventually the Prince offered me the use of his own private 16 seater jet, a G3 Gulfstream, to fly me to Cassablanca.

This took place the next morning, and after a half hour drive over the desert, strapped to a stretcher, we got to the tiny airstrip, where the plane was waiting. My stretcher was taken out of the ambulance and carried up the steps by two orderlies. They then found that the passage behind the doorway was too narrow for the stretcher, and they couldn't get me in. There was some debate as to whether to take me back to the camp, or perhaps even the hospital in Errachidia, but I wasn't going to let this chance of getting home slip away, so told two of the guys to carry me in a foetal position, holding on to my shoulders and knees. It was painful, but they did it at last, and I was placed on one of the plush sofas in the plane. I was to be the only passenger, and the cabin staff brought me orange juice as we prepared for takeoff. The plane's interior was amazing - every metal surface was gold-plated. The walls and seats were beautifully furnished with exotic woods and rich damasks. The glass partitions were etched with Arab hunting scenes - one of a falcon on a rock, and one of an Arab Prince on a camel, with a falcon on his arm. They were lit from above, and it looked like moonlight.

After a short flight, we reached Cassablanca, where I was placed on a stretcher in a normal Air Maroc jet, on its way back to London, in the charge of an Irish nurse who had flown out from the UK to accompany me back. The stretcher was mounted on top of 6 normal seats, which should be a warning to anyone travelling without travel-insurance! I'm glad the insurance company picked up the bill! At Heathrow, an ambulance came right to the door of the plane, and took me North to Yorkshire, and the town of Malton, where I recovered in the wonderful local hospital there, close to my parents.

I want to stress how amazingly kind and generous the Saudis were, and especially Prince Sultan Bin Abdul Aziz. The use of his private medical facilities for a number of days, the services of his staff, and of course the loan of his private jet. All for someone he'd never even met.

I wanted to send a letter of thanks, and a gift, to the Prince for helping me so generously. But what do you give to the man who has everything? In the end, I chose some water-colour paintings of Yorkshire, and sent them off via the Saudi Embassy in London. I hope he got them, and liked them - I never did find out. I like to think that they are hanging in some guest-bedroom in one of the palaces in Riyadh...

Posted by travellingtim at June 21, 2006 10:18 PM