The Fearful Void

Geoffrey Moorhouse wanted to face his deepest, primeval fears by crossing the Sahara desert on camel-back accompanied only by a native guide. Without question, he accomplished this. In the process, he found insights with spiritual sustenance, but they came to him slowly, through a haze of suffering that nearly killed him. THE STORY OF AN ORDEAL Mr. Moorhouse was a journalist of some note (he died in 2009) when he decided, in 1971 at the age of 40, to cross the Sahara Desert from Nouakchott in Mauritania on the Atlantic Ocean, to Luxor on the Nile River in Egypt. In the opening pages of The Fearful Void, his account of his journey, he describes his motivation: "I would use this journey to examine the bases of my fear, to observe in the closet possible proximity how a human being copes with his most fundamental funk." Once decided to do this thing, he began studying the records of previous explorers who had accomplished the crossing (de Foucauld and Tielhard de Chardin) and in consulting with a couple who were still living (Wilfred Thesiger and Theodore Monod). He spent time learning the dominant Arabic dialect (Hassaniya) of the region he would cross. Then he bid goodbye to his wife, girlfriend, and children in England to begin his pilgrimage at winter’s onset in 1972 (because in the summer it would be impossible to travel by camel). Once in Africa, he began preparations for an October start, but had to delay until the end of the Ramadan celebration (because guides would not work until that Islamic holiday was over). In the meantime, he lived among the nomads in Mauritania, learning their ways and how to handle and ride camels. Then in November, when Ramadan was done, he borrowed camels and hired his first guide, and started out from the oasis of Chinguetti. Mr. Moorhouse recounts his journey chronologically, though the included pictures are only approximately so. The journey very soon becomes grueling for him. Not only because of the heat, cold, and general hardships of the desert, but also from the sometimes annoying and incomprehensible attitudes of the nomads (including his guides). At least some of this hardship was part of the “fish out of water” aspect of a European in Arabic Africa. He knew enough of their language to communicate, though he was ridiculed at times for his lack of linguistic command. But he seems to have quickly become adept enough at camel-handling to need little coaching. The first part of his journey was reaching Timbuktu (spelled properly in the text as “Tombouctou”). By that time, he was physically suffering and ready to give it up. Timbuktu refreshed him, however, and he continued. The second part of his journey was far worse. He encountered bureaucratic delays, threats from bandits and military, lice, blisters, dysentery, conning from his guides, and the death of three camels. Very often, only thoughts of his family in England sustained him. He ended up going only half as far as he had intended. Journey’s end for him was late February 1973 at the big oasis town of Tamanrasset in Algeria (rather than Luxor, Egypt). Still, that was two thousand miles of incredibly grueling terrain. By the book’s end, I was amazed that he made it as far as he did. LEARNING THROUGH TRYING AND SUFFERING I love pilgrimage stories where the protagonist undertakes an ordeal in search of enlightenment (usually these are “journey” stories such as walking the Camino or hiking the Pacific Crest Trail). That element is definitely here, but is expressed as a story of survival--physically and mentally. Mr. Moorhouse’s slant is how his insights were mitigated by the pain incurred in obtaining them. Where The Fearful Void also shines is in its elegant prose. Mr. Moorhouse’s account is factual and straightforward, but with nuance and layers evoked as well as in any novel. The narrative is compelling and driving. The author is presented as the protagonist fighting extreme hardships and complications to reach his goal. The narrative never dragged for me and my interest never waned. Most interesting also is Mr. Moorhouse’s relationship to the people and society of the region. He bounces between hating and loving both. In trying to “fit in with” the nomads, his Western upbringing often clashed with their culture. He stood out as European (“Nasrani” in the local dialect) even as he dressed and ate like the nomads. His attempt to “blend in” resulted in revulsion for their food, their clothing, and the harsh aspects of their culture. It seems to me that he would not have lost anything by retaining his Western clothes and food as much as he could. But then there are passages where he is moved by the native’s kindnesses, rescued by them, becoming acclimated to their food, and admiring their physical toughness along with their devotion to their religion (Islam). In a nutshell, he found the good, bad, and nuttiness among the nomads as is found among people everywhere. In reading The Fearful Void, I had little doubt of the author’s intelligence and erudition. For example, the distractions he brought with him for his journey included classic books and a chess set that facilitated his playing out matches in his mind. Such a mind launches easily into introspection, and Mr. Moorhouse does so with elegance. But it is not a contrived elegance. He tells of his journey as he experienced it, with all the inspirations and horrors. WELL-WRITTEN AND HONEST ACCOUNT I very much liked Mr. Moorhouse’s narrative prose and the linear structure of his story. His ruminations and his frankness regarding his sufferings lent an insightful reality to his. The narrative was engrossing; the maps and pictures interesting and helpful. Some readers may not care for the starkness of his descriptions of death, fear, and deprivation. Even the beauty he found was mitigated by pain. So be aware that Mr. Moorhouse’s story is not one of saccharine feel-goodness about an interesting trip. It does contain enlightening inspiration, but the reader must expend some effort to see it. A POWERFUL NEW FAVORITE I have added The Fearful Void to my canon of favorite “pilgrimage” stories. Though its graphic depiction of Mr. Moorhead’s suffering threatens to overshadow its inspiration at points, it remains a powerful account of the cost in pain of learning from an ordeal.

The title says, "This book had a profound effect on my life." And you're thinking, "Oh, really?...Pray tell" OK... I read it as an armchair traveler in 1976. I dreamed of going to someplace so utterly, utterly "other". Fast forward, ten years, I'm living and working in the Mideast and was there for the better part of 20 years." I lack Moorhouse's courage, and, speaking from experience, his fool-hardiness. And I like my creature comforts.Sadly, the fearful void he describes has probably by now disappeared. Modernity is everywhere. Rather than traveling with a sextent, today he could use satellite GPS to locate waterholes. Is there a Starbucks in Timbuktu? Wouldn't be surprised. I remember a Bedouin singing a song "Wadi sheeda yatoolayayi..." or something like that about winter in the desert. Between his broken English and my broken Arabic he tried to explain, "Fire, circle, my brother, like this: (he put his arm around me: this is warmth and closeness), night cold..." Finally he just gave an expression of disgust as if to say " this tribal closeness in a wilderness is something a modern person could never understand." No. Not the way he did. But at the time, I thought about "The Fearful Void" and it did give me a bit of an inkling of the importance of courage, and trust, and loyalty so necessary for survival. I am so glad I found it on Amazon to re-read and keep on my shelf.

In 1972 Geoffrey Moorhouse set out to cross the Sahara desert, from west to east, from the Atlantic to the Nile River, some 3,600 miles. He had never ridden a camel before, yet this was his chosen mode of transportation. No other Westerner was to accompany him, only native guides. Moorhouse's title is a double entendre. There is the immense emptiness of the Sahara Desert, which he calls the "Empty Quarter," usually a term used for a desert area in Saudi Arabia. There is also a void within himself; an unspecified fear that he needs to come to terms with, and "prove himself." Individuals who take long journeys to resolve "personal issues" are often not good travel companions, so it was at least encouraging that he brought no other Westerners along. Although a novice, he decided to listen to the "experts" in desert travel. In England he visited Wilfred Thesiger, famous for his camel trip across the "real" Empty Quarter of the Arabian peninsula, in 1947, which he chronicled in Arabian Sands (Penguin Classics) . Then he journeyed across the Channel, to see the man whose career involved the exploration of the Sahara, and called Mauritania his "parish," Theodore Monod. Two of his most famous books on desert travel are L'emeraude des garamantes and Méharées . Thesiger outlined some significant problems; namely Moorhouse would have to travel 20 miles a day in order to cross during the relatively cool winter six months, a pace virtually impossible to consistently maintain. Monod was far more encouraging, of the "where there is a will, there is a way" school. Moorhouse also took Arabic lessons in order to better communicate with his guides. Moorhouse "only" completed half the proposed itinerary, roughly 1800 miles, during the best weather. He start at Atar, in Mauritania, crossed Mali, stopping in Timbouctou, and ended in Tamanrasset, in southern Algeria. He is traveling in an area that was primarily part of French West Africa, only a decade after the countries are independent. Officialdom in these newly independent countries proved to be a bit "touchy" towards such casual wanderings, but as is so often the case, with tact, and persistence, he was able to prevail. The author tends to focus on the mechanics of the journey, dealing with the guides of variable quality, the campsites, and the camels. Rarely does he wax eloquent on the desert's beauty. As he says: "For over three months I had labored across the Sahara, and there had been few moments when I had experience the magnetism of the desert to which so many men before me had succumbed. But now, in its utmost desolation, I began at least to understand its attraction. It was the awful scale of the thing, the suggestion of virginity, the fusion of pure elements from the heavens and the earth beneath which were untrammeled and untouched by anything contrived by man." One of the most significant "takeaways" for me was his consideration of the Bedouin's ability to navigate in the desert. Were they truly able to find their way in areas they had never been before, or were they only able to navigate based on a familiar topography? His conclusion was not definitive, but he leaned towards the latter, which was also my experience... at least before the GPS really changed things. His abrupt decision to end the journey in Tamanrasset was given only a cursory explanation. Perhaps simple exhaustion with the trip should suffice, but I could have used more. Moorhouse in his later career wrote a number of historical books. He died in 2009. Overall, just the 1800 miles is a remarkable achievement. His account of it rates 4-stars.

I won't go into the specifics of the book, because the reviewer before me explained it so well. I liked the way the book started out, with the author deciding to make the perilous journey across the Sahara, up to the source of the Nile. However, as the book progressed, it took on a tone of complaining and whining about everything. He is told(with good intent) that he cannot cross the desert alone and must have a local guide/companion at all times. That's where the problems begin. He dislikes pretty much everyone whom he hires(so why hire them in the first place) and constantly blames his guide for getting lost/running out of water. He fails to understand the complexity of social interactions in ancient cultures, which results in him judging everyone by a very harsh standard. Towards the end of the book, I was possibly more eager than Mr. Moorehouse to end this torturous journey.

This has easily become one of my favorite books I have ever read. I have now started making plans to visit Morocco myself!

I read this book as a young man, shortly after it was published, and over the decades I would come back to re-read it from time to time. The charm of this book is the courage and adventuresome spirit of the author in facing a journey that he was terrified to undertake. This is both an adventure story and a psychological exploration of the author's inner being. As Moorhouse explains, he tried to cross the desert because he saw it as a terrifying challenge. He hoped to use this as a means to confront his fears and l think that is something all of us could be reminded of.

I first came across this book after being entranced by the burning desert of the film Lawrence of Arabia. Many years later while at a study group in Claremont-McKenna College, I was hugely disappointed by the nearby desert in Southern California and was only mildly struck while visiting Las Vegas. But that is another story. My younger son brought my attention back to this book while researching a project for social studies. Taking it back off my library shelves after so many years, I found myself becoming completely transfixed as I reacquainted myself with his travels across the Sahara. This certainly is a compelling book not only to a young reader but also to someone treading nervously into middle age. You can almost feel the wind in your face, the sand in your mouth and the smell of the camel as you share the author's arduous journey across most of a continent. Even now I find the text easy to read and the empathy one develops with the author is a marvellous testament to his powers of communication. At the end of one evening when I finally laid the book to rest, I applauded Moorhouse for his guts and tenacity and his sheer vision required to begin a project like this. I would highly recommend this book to everyone as one book they should certainly consider reading at least once in their life.

Moorhouse is masterful in describing his travails traveling across North Africa in the mid-1970's. Reading this, you share his frustrations and occasional joys, see "Timbucktu" thru the eyes of a westerner arriving from the desert on camelback. Highly recommended.