CHAPTER 



DAHLAK KEBIR, DESERT IN THE SEA 



I WAS asleep when, at nine in the morning, we arrived at 

 Dahlak. We had had an exhausting time packing up, re- 

 fuelling (we had been told that Dahlak lacked everything, 

 and it was true), checking our supplies, and finally loading 

 aboard a Land Rover lent to us by our temporary guest, 

 Phillip Casciani, one of the most dynamic Italians in 

 Eritrea; this was to help us with our reconnaissance into 

 Dahlak's interior. Work had gone on until dawn and then on 

 top of that we had taken turns with watches. We were now 

 all pretty well exhausted. 



Stretched at full length in the bows, lulled by the gentle 

 roll of the boat, I slept. The early morning sun was still 

 bearable. When I awoke and looked around I was surprised 

 to find there was land ahead and on all sides. Evidently we 

 had already entered the channel of Nocra. The land was 

 bleak; I had never seen or imagined such bleakness. Rubbing 

 my eyes I sat up. Could it be true that this was 'my' 

 Dahlak? ... I had imagined palms, iridescent lagoons, 

 Hawaiian-like beaches and possibly a canoe or two which, 

 bedecked with fiowers and filled with festive natives, would 

 come out to meet us over the billowing surge. Don't we all 

 imagine our tropical islands like this? 



Gruel disillusion? A length of yellow land lay flat on the 



