I have for a long time been fascinated by the history, cultures and landscapes of North Africa. It’s a part of the world I have always dreamt of visiting, especially the Sahara desert, the Ahagaar and the Tassili N’Ajjer National Parks. Sadly I’ve never had the chance to travel there, so whilst researching the background to my historical romance QUEEN OF THE DESERT, I tried to get a ‘feel’ for this incredible place and its people, the Tuaregs in particular, also sometimes called “Kel Tamasheq” (those who speak Tamashek) or ‘The People of the Veil’ because of the indigo veil men wear from around the age of fifteen.

I read Tuareg poems and folk tales and watched documentaries, but what gave me the greatest joy was the music I discovered. Music really brings people and heart together… I listened to so many incredible artists – Bombino, Tinariwen or Tarwa N-Tiniri to name but a few – and also to more traditional music featuring the imzad.

The imzad is a traditional string instrument played only by Tuareg women, who according to folk tales invented the imzad to distract men from their constant fighting. Here is a link to a documentary about the importance of the imzad for Tuareg culture. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J_0EdwuC9og

As they travel across the Sahara, the main characters from QUEEN OF THE DESERT, Lucas Saintclair and Harriet Montague spend a few days with a Tuareg caravan.

A strange landscape appeared in the distance, so strange she thought she was seeing another mirage, but they were only rock formations that the wind and the sand had eroded and moulded into weird, nightmarish shapes. Tents were pitched around them. Two dozen blue tents at least. Then she saw white mehari camels and the tall silhouette of a man outlined against the sunset. He resembled a spectre, still and gaunt, his face covered with a cheche and his long tunic floating around him.

Every evening, Lucas and Harriet listen to poems and stories.

Like every evening, they sat under a dark velvet sky studded with stars in front of the chief’s tent. Tonight was their last night with the caravan before reaching In Salah.

Lucas said a few words to the chief, who searched his leather bag and produced a smooth green stone shaped like an egg. Each stone in the story telling bag was unique, and prompted a different story by the chief. Tonight was no exception.

‘Tin Hinan,’ he announced.

‘An emerald,’ Lucas finished, his eyes shining. He stared at the sparkly green pebble the chief held in his hand as he started talking in his low, chanting voice.

‘Tin Hinan came from the Western lands beyond the great desert,’ Lucas translated. ‘She followed the stars and the ancient roads to Abalessa, the blessed.’

And after the stories there is music with women playing the imzad…

One of the women musicians picked up her imzad and started drawing long, intricate and soulful sounds. Her heart heavy, Harriet locked her fingers together and blinked the tears away. How she would miss the Tuareg caravan – setting off at sunrise in the transparent, purple dawn, camping out in sheltered gorges and lost valleys, and listening to Lucas’ voice as he translated the chief’s stories in the evenings. Most of all, she would miss the passion, the heat of Lucas’ arms every night. They had become as essential as air, water and fire.

I hope you enjoyed your imaginary journey to the Sahara desert. Thank you for travelling with me today…