A Tire in the Desert

7 February 2004

Transportation stories often etch themselves permanently into one’s memory—especially if they take place in Egypt’s Western Desert.

At least a dozen of my fellow American college students had journeyed with me into far western Egypt for several days. We visited the small, yet magical and lovely oasis called Siwa.

We returned to Cairo in three different groups. Mine took the boldest, longest, and most exciting route—an overnight desert safari!

The main bus route went north from Siwa and followed the Mediterranean to Alexandria, then it cut south along the Nile to Cairo. We, however, went straight east through the Sahara on a safari vehicle—a covered long-bed pickup truck—and we slept out under the stars.

During our 24-hour trip, our two Bedouin guides, who also served as drivers and cooks, allowed us to climb out the back of the truck and onto the roof—while we were still driving! We went up there two, three, even four at a time and just let the wind blow in our faces as the countless miles of sand flew by beneath us. At least one of us was up there half the time, hanging on for dear life.

We had a splendid evening with a fire, food, fellowship, and a full moon. Unwilling to sleep, my blanket worked its way over to the cute, shivering girls in my group. Then I strolled in and out of camp the rest of the night, praying, reading, and pondering. I also observed the sun set, the moon rise, the sun rise, and the moon set all on one night for the first time in my life.

Next morning, our escorts offered us hardboiled eggs. I made myself eat them, enjoying them for the first time in my life. Then we took off again.

After a while, four or five of us clambered up to the roof of the safari vehicle. We barely fit—but we barely cared. We were shouting over the wind, laughing whether we heard anyone or not, and enjoying to the fullest all that God had given us.

Suddenly, we heard a sound and felt the truck veer sharply off the “road,” which really was just a two-wheel track. By God’s grace, we were all gripping the roof rack tightly when this happened.

As we ground to a halt, we watched in disbelief as our whole rear left tire raced on ahead of us at top speed. After rolling a hundred yards or more, it finally plopped over along the desert floor. It had snapped off of the axle right through the bolts!

This pit stop cost us about two hours, but our guides said “Mafeesh mushkayla!” (“No problem!” in Arabic). They told us to relax and make some tea! Relax, right. We are stranded in the world’s largest desert!

But we really were put at ease because we were having a great time anyway, and we loved being where we were, and best of all, the skillful Bedouins immediately and cheerfully set to fixing the truck, whistling and joking with each other for the next hour or more! What could we do but just what they had told us? We sat down on a blanket, heated up some tea, and just hung out and had some great talks next to our wounded vehicle in the middle of the desert!