All language subtitles for Morocco to Timbuktu An Arabian Adventure BBC 1080p

The Sahara Desert, Mali,

home to one of Earth's most
mysterious and legendary places.

Africa's fabled city of gold.

Timbuktu.

My name's Alice Morrison.

I'm an Arabist and explorer.

I live in Morocco,

and since childhood I've dreamt of
making the gruelling journey

across the Sahara
to see this ancient city

before it's lost for
ever to sand and war.

I love touching history.

In this series, I'll track 2,000
miles following
ancient trade routes,

often known as salt roads,
across some of the world's
most hostile lands.

Timbuktu is at the centre of
all these trade routes,

and I want to follow them, and
find it, and see what's there.

'I'll pass through some magical
places that time has barely
touched.'

Oh, wow!

'Relying on the hospitality
of Berber nomads.'

He's just cutting up the heart.

'And I'll come face-to-face
with some frightening
modern-day realities.'

I'm beginning to feel quite nervous.

'Travelling deep beneath the veil

'into the heart of ancient
and modern North Africa,

'I'll discover
its incredible forgotten history...

'..en route to the legendary city
of gold, Timbuktu.'

The Mediterranean Sea,
Mare Nostrum.

'The basin of civilisation.

'My 2,000-mile journey begins here.

'Behind me, Europe,
ahead of me, Africa

'and an intoxicating mix
of new experiences,
danger and untold wealth.

'First up, the historic trading port
of Tangier,

'on the northernmost tip
of Morocco.'

I'm trying to imagine what it was
like hundreds of years ago,

when you had ships here in full
sail, stuffed to the gunwales
with spices,

with ostrich feathers, with metal,
with wool from Manchester.

I wonder what it would have been
like if you were a merchant in
those days,

coming across from cold,
rainy Europe,

and seeing Tangier glinting in the
distance, this promise of Africa.

For centuries, merchants
have crossed these waters

seeking the fantastic
riches of the African continent.

Tangier was founded
in the fifth century BC,

and has always attracted
adventurers, pirates and even spies.

It's where European merchants would
have encountered the flow of gold
from

the south for the first time.

And it's my first leg of the journey
on the original trade routes that

brought it all the way from
Timbuktu.

'This city is full of treasures,

'and in a small book shop I've found
a reproduction of the most important

'map of medieval times,
the Catalan atlas.

'It confirms Timbuktu's reputation
as the gold capital of Mali

'and of Africa.'

You can see, very clearly,

the king of the kingdom
of Mali sitting there,

on his throne with a great
big nugget of gold in his hand,

and a huge gold crown on his head.

This is Mansa Musa, king of Mali,

and stories of Timbuktu's fabled
gold began to spread

during his reign
in the 14th century.

Even today, he is said to be
the richest man in history.

There is an inscription on the
map...

"So abundant is the gold
found in his country,

"that he is the richest and most
noble king in the land."

800 years on, modern
gold traders still thrive here.

'I'm dying to touch the real thing
to find out why it was so prized.

'So I'm meeting an expert
in Moroccan antiquities.

'Much of the gold was used
to mint coins,

'and she has an ancient one
to show me.'

Here are some inscriptions saying

that it was from the Marinid
dynasty of the 15th century.

Gold came from the sub-Saharan
Africa through the
trans-Saharan trade.

And this is evidence of that,
it landed in Morocco.

Do you think this coin might have
come through Timbuktu?

Yes, of course, most likely it did
come from Timbuktu.

Yes. I would say that it was
probably the most important
crossroads for gold.

It's very exciting for me,
I feel like I'm touching history.

You are! Yes! You are touching
history.

It's in your hands.

I've got gold fever.

I can feel how its allure drew the
merchants of old to make the journey

south to Mali,
and the city of Timbuktu.

The roads they forged are the
very ones I'm going to travel, too.

This is going to be my Bible.

Absolutely invaluable.

It is a map of all the major trade
routes across the Sahara.

But I think the journey's
going to take some doing.

I think we're going to have a lot
of fun in the Atlas Mountains,

because that is a big,
big natural barrier.

And each of those mountains is three
times higher than Ben Nevis.

So it's quite a difficult thing
to get across.

And, of course, then,
that is all the Sahara Desert,
all the way along.

That is going to be another major
thing for us to cross.

And then the routes, all routes,
lead to Timbuktu.

'It's not difficult to see why
Timbuktu became a mecca
for gold traders.

'It was surrounded by gold mines.

'But the merchants
didn't just deal in gold.

'There was a huge trade in slaves,
leather goods,
ivory and also in salt.

'Back then it was the only way
to preserve food.

'It was almost as valuable as gold,

'and that's why many of these routes
were called salt roads.'

So, the gold went north,
and then the salt came south.

And they met in El Dorado,
they met in Timbuktu.

It makes perfect sense,
when you look at the map.

The next place I'm heading
on my desert odyssey is Fes.

Five hours' drive away,

it's where many merchants
started the long trek to Timbuktu.

To get to Fes, I'm going to use one
of Morocco's most popular forms of

transport, the grand taxi.

There's a taxi rank in every city,

with old Mercedes
going in all directions.

And it's one of the cheapest ways
to get around,

IF you know the tricks of the trade.

'First, you have to find one going
your way.

'Then you negotiate your fare.

'But if you can find another
traveller to share the back seat,

'you can split the fare.

'Having found a travel buddy
to share the cost,

'we're whisked out of town
towards the coast road.

'It turns out my fellow passenger,
Driss, is a trader himself.

'He's going to Fes to buy
artefacts to sell to tourists.'

Say you buy a dagger
for 150 dirhams.

Daggers for 150 dirhams, no.

How much would you sell it for?

Maybe a profit, five euros, maybe
a profit some day of ten euros.

Some days no profit.

That's my business.

And which country
spends the most money?

American people. Oh!
We love those dollars!

Profit. They have plenty
of grand bucks!

We're travelling south along
the Atlantic coast,

and I'm enjoying a comfortable
ride with Driss.

But on such a long journey,

it's customary to
pick up other passengers

along the way.

THEY SPEAK ARABIC

And just when I'm thinking
three's company...

It's getting a bit cosy in here.

I'm in here with two Drisses
and Akram.

'My fellow passengers make for
charming company on the long drive,

'and ahead of me lies a city with a
charm all of its own

'and a history of welcoming
travelling merchants
through its gates.'

Fes, the ancient capital of Morocco,
dating from the eighth century,

and the oldest of its
four imperial cities.

It's said to
be surrounded by springs,

providing travellers
with the supply of precious water.

And between the 8th
and 16th centuries,

Fes grew rich from the gold and
salt traffic coming
across the Sahara.

Its old medina, or walled city,

is the biggest pedestrian zone in
the world.

And it's full of narrow streets
where life remains seemingly

untouched by modern times.

Once traders finally got here from
Timbuktu,

they needed a sanctuary where they
could rest, wash,

feast and store their goods.

'They would stay in a caravanserai,
a motel with camel and mule
parking.'

So this is a caravanserai.

I guess you'd have put
your camel or your donkey

in these little rooms, in the past.

And then kipped down in your B & B.

The space is still occupied
by traders.

The building was last used
as a caravanserai
more than 80 years ago,

but there are tantalising bits
of evidence of its original use.

Upstairs was a safe place for weary
merchant travellers to rest,

luxurious in comparison
to where they'd been.

Berbers, Arabs and West Africans
all would have stayed together,

vying for the best traveller's tale.

The atmosphere here is absolutely
fantastic.

You can actually feel the history.

600 years old, relatively unchanged.

OK, it's different downstairs,

because that's where the animals
would have been,

and now there's trading goods,

but up here you've got little girls
sitting there drinking tea,

you've got their mothers
doing the washing.

It feels like I've gone back
in time.

'I've decided I'm going to bed down
here for the night to get a feel for

'what it was like centuries ago.'

Just a sleeping bag.

'I've brought with me some writings
from travellers and adventurers
who've

'trodden this perilous path
before me,

'to help bring these ancient
journeys to life.'

"It is more profitable and
advantageous for the trader

"to export his product to a distant
land,

"and take a dangerous route.

"In this way, the distance
and the risk incurred
will give a rare quality to

"his merchandise and thereby
increase its value.

"This is why the wealthiest
and the most prosperous merchants

"are those who dare to go."

I've just woken up. Five o'clock,
the alarm's gone off,

because I want to get up
and see the dawn rising over Fes,

and hear the call to prayer.

It's very, very, very cold.

But I think my first night in
a caravanserai, I would say,

it's not been at all bad.

Fes is known as the spiritual
capital of Morocco,

and Islam was first brought to the
country by the Arab invasion
in 682 AD.

It spread to the native Berber
tribes,

who went on to form
Islamic kingdoms.

CALL TO PRAYER

I always find the early-morning call
to prayer very moving.

Prayer is better than sleep, the
muezzin says,

in the Adhan al-Fajr, the dawn call.

The five calls a day frame
life in Morocco.

Hasten to prayer,
hasten to salvation.

Dawn reveals ancient tombs
left behind by the Marinid empire,

which flourished in the early
Middle Ages.

They shaped Fes's religious
and academic reputation.

The city has 14 theological schools
and the world's oldest university,

the Qarawiyyin, founded in the ninth
century by a woman, Fatima al-Fihri.

It's amazing to think that while
Europe was languishing
in the Dark Ages,

this was a centre of learning.

Philosophy, mathematics, religion
and law were all being taught here.

And then, years later,

all that knowledge went back across
the Mediterranean Sea, into Europe,

and informed the Renaissance.

There's an old Moroccan saying,

"manage with bread and butter
until God brings you honey".

Every neighbourhood has a communal
bread oven where people take their

dough to be baked, and it's hardly
changed since the Middle Ages.

'I'm meeting a friend at one of
them.'

Oh, my God!

How are you?

'Najat Kaanache is a Michelin-
starred chef,

'a Berber from the Moroccan
mountains.'

How are you? I'm good.

How does it make you feel?

The smell, it reminds me of home.

It reminds to childhood, for me.

Like, when I was little.

Yeah?

Look. Amazing.

Warm.

This, it just happens here.

Let me cut it. The power of bread.

Wow!

'Najat is one of the world's
top chefs.

'She worked in Spain's famous
elBulli restaurant.

'She's come back to Fes to open one
of her own.'

Look at all the sausages, dried.

That's like haggis. Look at this.

Beautiful.

'And she's bringing back the kind
of food that merchants
in the Middle Ages

'would have eaten, but with a modern
twist.'

Here we are!

This is the one.
OK. Here we go. Oh, my goodness.

Our friend Camel has a little grin
in the face.

Wow!

So this is... Look at the meat.

It's really super beautiful.

It's really, really lean.

You wouldn't think this.

You would not think
this meat is like that.

People think of a camel
being very dry, but, no...

It's very soft. Look at the fat.

Amazing, from the back.

Oh, my goodness.

It's very unique, this.

That is the camel hump?

Yes. Very, very unique.

'Apparently, camel's milk
was a popular drink
for trans-Saharan traders too.

'So, of course, I have to try it.'

Bismillah.

It's delicious.

It's absolutely delicious.

SHE SPEAKS ARABIC

It has medicine, people believe.

They have been using for
a long time.

The camel meat, camel fat,
camel belly.

It's medicinal.

And that
we're going to use like

the fat that you use
when you cook some meat.

It's going to get
a little brown, magically.

Yeah?

'And with two kilos of prime camel,

'it's off to Najat's newly opened
restaurant, Nur,

'to cook up a trans-Saharan feast.'

So, here we are.

Home sweet home. Very incognito!

Be careful. OK, thank you.

'It's my very own MasterChef.

'I'm helping Najat
to prepare today's special,

'camel meatballs.'

I thought it was going to smell
horrible...

No! But actually, it certainly
smells nice.

Now that we're doing this,
look here.

I have my fermenting...

er...camel milk,

that is already a week.

It smells... That smells...

But this is going to make
a beautiful, magical...

Oh, my God, look at your face!
Everything good smells horrible

at some point.
Yes. That's true.

Yes, or no? Even me.

Even human beings. So,

in the times of the great trade
across the Sahara from Africa
to Fes,

when the merchants arrived at Fes,
would they have a feast of camel?

Because that's a special meat,
isn't it?

I think camel was very important
in their menu, because it meant,

like, wealth, you know?

Now, you see people, they try
to buy camel, camel milk,

just for health benefits.

Still it's a little bit pricey.

But, in that time, it was festivity.

OK.

'Najat's ultramodern restaurant

'is one of several
springing up in the city

'catering to tourists and
the young, emerging middle class.'

I'm just going to try
one of these meatballs.

'With growing prosperity, Morocco
is evolving into a modern,

'global player,
and Fes, like most of its cities,

'is embracing the change whilst
still holding on to
its cultural history.'

Michelin-starred camel meatballs.

I'm leaving Fes
and heading for Marrakech,

'the other great terminus at the
northern end of the trans-Saharan
trade route.

'Both were places where merchants
gathered money, provisions
and goods

'for the long trek
south to Timbuktu.

'But I'm exchanging Fes's spiritual
calm for the buzz of Marrakech,

'where everything is for sale.'

The weather's really changed, so
it's time now for the winter
woollies.

It's very, very chilly.

'I was born in the '60s, so there's
only one way to go to Marrakech.

'And that's on the Marrakech
Express.'

MUSIC: Marrakesh Express
by Crosby, Stills and Nash

# Looking at the world
through the sunset in your eyes

# Travelling the train
through clear Moroccan skies... #

'Today the train isn't the
sun-filled hippie experience
of my imagination,

'just modern Moroccans
commuting between cities.

'It's an eight-hour train journey
to Marrakech,

'but for a trader in the Middle
Ages, it would have been
a gruelling trek,

'lasting several days.'

"The distance and the hardship
of the road they travel are great.

"They have to cross
a difficult desert

"that is made almost inaccessible
by fear and beset by thirst.

"Water is found there
only in a few well-known spots,

"to which caravan guides
lead the way.

"The distance of this ordeal
is braved only by very few people."

'The explorers of old
all say the same thing,

'that this was the toughest
of journeys.'

Marrakech - it's called the Rose
City, Daughter of the Desert,

and it's always been a place where
traders picked up

high-quality goods
to take with them on their journey.

It was founded in the 11th century
by the powerful Almoravid Berber
dynasty,

who made it the capital of a huge
empire stretching right through
North Africa

and into southern Spain.

50 miles to the east,
the Atlas Mountains provide
a spectacular backdrop.

Moroccan porridge.

Some of the most popular merchandise

on the trans-Saharan
trade routes were

leather goods. And some of the best-
quality leather was produced here at

Marrakech's oldest tannery.

It's as ancient
as the salt roads themselves.

And I'm surprised to find
it's still in full swing.

'Najib is one of the tannery's
oldest workers.

'He's been here for 48 years.'

This is a cow.

'It takes 20 days to turn an animal
hide into the leather used for the

'world-famous bags, shoes and belts
sold in the local markets.

'It's dirty work.'

I'm primed, ready for action.

OK, so this tank
is full of gypsum.

It smells totally
and utterly disgusting.

And I can't believe this guy's doing
it with his bare hands,

because I reckon this stuff burns.

'This potent cocktail
removes the hair from the hide.'

That actually comes off
really, really easily.

'But there's worse to come.'

Smells fantastic.

Excited to get in.

'Pigeon excrement contains ammonia,

'which acts as a softening agent to
make the hides more malleable.'

This is harder than it looks.

We're trampling on the animals
in, like,

a circle but I can't keep up
with them.

It's like being in a whirlpool.

A whirlpool of pigeon shit.

'Finally, we move the hides
into a vat of water for rinsing.

'Is this what would have been
happening 1,000 years ago?'

So, the process is exactly
the same, passed down
from father to son,

so basically what I'm doing now,

apart from the fact
I've got new waders on,

is the same exactly as they'd
have done in the 11th century.

This labour-intensive process
was a highly skilled craft,

which back then ensured the global
reputation of Moroccan leather.

And it's amazing that this tannery
is still providing
fine-quality hides

for the shoes, bags and belts in the
souks of Marrakech

and markets all over the world.

At night, Marrakech,
the party town, comes to life.

In the main square,
Jemaa el-Fnaa,

you're transported back in time
to a more exotic world.

The air is rife with hawkers' cries,
wandering minstrels and magicians.

You could end up with a monkey on
your shoulder or eating a bowl
of snails.

And I can't help noticing how many
more West African faces
there are here,

echoes of traders from the past who
would have arrived

from across the Sahara
with their wares.

But the performer who is attracting
the biggest crowd is offering
perhaps

the simplest and oldest form
of entertainment.

'Storytelling.'

This is the most interesting history
lesson in the history
of the world.

He's talking about the trans-Saharan
trade and about crossing the Sahara

and he's got this line
where he says,

"The sun was beating down from above
and the sun was burning up
from below.

"The camels were dying,
the men were dying,

"they were loaded with skins
and hides from the south,

"coming north and they were
searching for gold and for salt."

Many years ago, these stories would
have been the only way for people to

learn about life in faraway lands.

Now they're opening a door
into the past

for us and it's thrilling to hear

1,000 years of history, and the
journey I'm making, come alive.

In this magical world,

I feel like Timbuktu
could be just around the corner.

But I've still got 1,500 miles
to travel.

Time for me to get some sleep,

as North Africa's largest mountain
range awaits me.

For this next leg of my journey,

I've left Morocco's cities behind
me and I'm continuing on foot

through the Atlas Mountains.

They stretch right
across the country,

forming a massive natural barrier,
and climb to over 4,000 metres.

I'm no stranger
to endurance treks,

having completed the gruelling
Marathon Des Sables
across the Sahara and

run races through these mountains.

But this will be a different kind
of challenge,

as the snows have come early, making
it cold and treacherous underfoot.

Up here, it's Berber country.

There are around 14 million of them
in Morocco and many of them live in

these mountains.

I'm starting my trek in the Berber
village of Afra.

'In these villages, traditions
are part of everyday life.'

This lady's been explaining to me
about her henna.

So she... I asked if it was
for a wedding and she said no,

but apparently she just wanted
to look nice for her family,

so she went and got it done. And it
doesn't last as long as you think.

I thought it would last a couple of
weeks but she says it goes quickly

because, of course, she's working
hard here, using her hands.

'I'm meeting my friend Saaid Naanaa,
who's a mountain guide.'

Saaid, la bas! And you? Good!

'We've taken on these mountains
together before,
but never in the snow.'

OK, so...

'If anyone can get me across these
steep peaks in one piece, it's him.

'We're heading for Tizi n'Tichka,
the highest major pass
in North Africa,

'a gratifyingly tough
half-day hike away.

'Trans-Saharan merchants
would have made this journey by mule

'or, like us, on foot.'

How high are we up here?

We are here about 2,100 metres.

I can feel it already on my chest.

Yeah, me too. It's normal.
Really? Yeah.

'Up here, the air is thin, making it
harder to breathe, even for Saaid,

'who has spent most of his life here
in the mountains.'

Saaid, my friend? Yes.
You're a Berber?

Yes, I'm a Berber.

What does that mean?

Berber is... They say this is
a nickname given by the Romans

when they occupied
the north of Africa. Yeah.

But the original name is Amazighen.

It means free people or
noble people, if you want. Yeah.

'The Berbers, or Amazigha, are the
indigenous people of North Africa

'and can trace their heritage
back to 3000 BC.'

Does Berber have its own language?

The Berber, they have
their language,

which is totally different
than Arabic.

So, Arabic you write from right to
left and the Berber is the opposite,

from left to right, or you can write
like Chinese, down.

The weather is closing in,
which is worrying,

because the paths ahead are
getting seriously precarious.

You see, the path is going down
from here. Yeah.

Then you see that rock ledge. Whoa!

Then you go uphill to the path.

So we've done the easy bit. This is
the hard bit, isn't it? Yeah.

We've still got four miles to go and
the light will soon be disappearing.

SHE PANTS

I really like Saaid, but right
at the moment I actually hate him.

He's making me go fast
and we're uphill because
we're worried about the dark.

I don't really want to go
fast uphill, frankly.

He's all chirpy.
I'm not the least bit chirpy.

And how they ever did this with
donkeys and mules laden with goods -

totally beyond me.

It's zero degrees and plummeting
as the afternoon draws on

and I'm cold and wet.

Have we got long to go, Saaid?

Nearly. This is the Tichka Pass.

Yeah? And there we go. Good.
Nearly there.

Well done.
I'm beginning to feel it a bit.

'It's one last push to reach the top

'and we make the Tichka summit
just in the nick of time,

'before the bad weather
really rolls in.'

Is this it, Saaid?

We made it. Yeah, you did it.

Woo-hoo-hoo-hoo!

Good job.

Well done.

We spend the night in
the tiny village of Tazga,

where we're lucky enough
to find rooms.

For the merchants centuries ago,

it might have meant
a cold night under canvas.

In the morning, with the toughest
part of this leg behind me,

I set off alone.

It's refreshing! Whew!

I'm following an old trade route
south along the Ounila Valley.

The mountains here are rich in
natural deposits - copper, silver,

iron ore and a commodity much
favoured by the traders - salt.

The salt mines marked on my map
are all in the desert,

so I didn't expect to find one
this far north.

The track is dusted with the stuff,

the first evidence I've come across

of why these routes
are named salt roads.

The place seems deserted,
but as if from nowhere,

someone arrives to open the mine up.

It looks pretty old and
I'm wondering whether it was around

in the days of the ancient
salt roads themselves.

One of the men, Zakaria Aboelkassem,

is a co-owner of the mine
and knows its history well.

Oh, wow.

Wow.

'Parts of the mine
date back to the 13th century,

'which puts it right at the peak
of trans-Saharan trade.'

ALICE LAUGHS

A flower of salt.

There were salt mines
all along the routes to Timbuktu.

Until paper money was introduced
by French colonisers

in the early 20th century,
it was used as a form of currency,

and it's where our word "salary"
comes from.

Some say that at the height of
the trade across the desert,

salt was as valuable as gold
by weight.

I feel like Indiana Jones. I've just
been down this incredible salt mine,

and this is where they'd have come,
the traders,

with their mules and their donkeys,

which they'd just brought
over that snowy pass,

and load up with the salt
to take to Timbuktu.

As I continue my journey southwards,

I'm finding evidence
all along the way

that travelling merchants
used this route.

It became known as
the Valley of the Kasbahs

because it's dotted with ancient
buildings where the traders stayed.

Proof of the sheer volume
of trade crossing the desert.

Kasbahs, like this beautiful one
in the small village of Tamatert,

were built by rich
and powerful families

as fortresses for themselves

but also for the many merchants
who passed through the area.

This is a fortified village,

absolutely typical along this route
where all the merchants travelled.

You've got every single thing
you would need in it for a stay -

somewhere to put your animals,
a water supply, a granary,

somewhere to store your goods and to
sleep, and also things like a mosque

and even in some of them
they had two cemeteries,

one for the Jews
and one for the Muslims,

in case you were unlucky enough
to die on the route.

But really the main reason that
the merchants wanted to come here...

..was for the kasbah.
The kasbah was the fortress,

and typically had four big towers,
one on each corner,

tiny little windows and each one of
those towers would have soldiers

guarding it. So once you got
yourself into a fortified area,

into a kasbah, you knew that
your goods were safe

and that you weren't going
to get robbed,

because there were a load of robbers
and thieves on this highway,

and the only downside,
I guess, is that, of course,

you had to pay for it. So the guy
who owned this would take a tax

and there were really quite
rich pickings from those caravans.

A safe and secure place to rest
for the night was something

sensible merchants
would gladly pay for.

After all, most were carrying
a precious cargo.

"Six days past, a nobleman arrived
here from Gago called Jordabasha.

"He brought with him 30 camels laden
with tibar, which is unrefined gold,

"also a great store of pepper,
unicorn horns

"and a great quantity of eunuchs,
dwarves and men and women slaves,

"besides 15 virgins."

This must have made extraordinary
reading for 16th-century Europeans.

Tales of this kind of cargo on
the salt roads would only have added

to Timbuktu's already glittering
reputation.

This morning, I've left
the Valley of the Kasbahs

and I'm heading into the mountains
and plains of the Jbel Saghro.

I'm trying to reach
the ancient city of Sijilmasa,

the great northern crossroads
of the old trade routes.

But first, I have to cross

some of the most barren terrain
in the world.

Jbel Saghro means
"mountains of drought".

This area of the Atlas gets
a mere 10cm of rain a year,

the same as parts of
the neighbouring Sahara Desert.

This landscape feels completely
prehistoric, it's so rugged,

it's so violent in some way
and yet it is completely beautiful,

and very, very few outsiders,

very, very few Westerners
get to come here,

so it's unchanged.

I have some help to navigate
this vast territory.

This is home to the Ait Atta tribe
of Berber nomads,

who for centuries have guided
traders across these mountains.

I'm lucky enough to count one of the
last surviving nomad families

as friends.

I was saying I can see the whole
family waiting for me.

Alice, la vas. La vas!

THEY SPEAK ARABIC

'Zaid is the head of
a large family.

'He and his wife, Izza,
have six children,

'including a little one, Brahim,
who I haven't met before.

'Zaid's mother, Aisha, is 77.'

Mama.

'Berbers venerate their elders
and she commands a certain respect.'

Zaid and his family have 250 goats,
which are the main source of income.

To find grazing for them,
they have to keep on the move.

Every day in summer,

they pack up the tent they live in
and all their belongings

to find new pastures.

All the family,
young and old, help out.

Traversing this rocky landscape
is no mean feat

with all the animals, goods
and people in tow.

We have six miles to cover
before we stop for the night

and there are few paths
or landmarks to navigate by.

Their knowledge of the area made
these Berber tribes invaluable

to the merchants, who needed to get
their goods across the terrain.

Centuries ago, these Berbers
were doing exactly this.

They were transporting goods
across these treacherous mountains,

down these difficult paths
that they know so well,

and still today it's the Berbers,
with their mules and donkeys,

who get things to
the very remote villages

that aren't accessible by vehicle.
So nothing has changed.

Zaid's family come from
the Ait Atta tribe of Berbers,

whose history dates back to before
the arrival of Arabs and Islam

in the seventh century.

At the height of
trans-Saharan trade,

they were the leading Berber tribe.

But now, nomad numbers
are dwindling.

So Zaid's just been telling me
about how he came into this life

and his father was a nomad
before him.

And his father used to migrate
between here and Ait Bougmez,

which is a three-week trek,
and he did that all his life.

Then when he got older
and a bit more tired,

he bought a very small piece of land
down in the valley

and Zaid is carrying on
the tradition with his family,

which he will pass on
to his sons, probably.

After five hours, our entourage
finally comes to a halt.

It doesn't look much to my eye,

but this is going to be home
for the night.

But first, there's some work to do.

The first thing the women did when
they got into camp was to go and

collect the kind of dry scrub

and then they've just put
it straight onto the fire

because it burns immediately and
they put the tea on, first thing.

This is an azib, left behind by
other nomads passing through.

Experienced hands quickly turn
the tumbledown walls into

a robust enclosure and shelter.

Once the goatherd tent is up,
it's time to think about dinner.

With typical Berber hospitality,

they're preparing a meal
in my honour,

and with no supermarket for miles,
there's only one thing on the menu.

Fahid and Zaid...the two Zaids
are taking a goat up here to kill it

for a celebration for my arrival,
and of course for me

it's really difficult to watch
an animal being killed,

even though I do eat meat,
so I'm not looking forward to this

but I have to do it,
so I'm going to.

GOAT CRIES

SLICING

It's hard to watch,
but it's a great honour.

Goats represent the family's wealth,
so it's a big deal to eat one.

They immediately set to work
to skin the carcass.

As night falls in
the Jbel Saghro mountains,

Zaid is preparing skewers

to put the best bits of goat
on the open fire.

Nothing of this animal
will be wasted.

He's just cutting up the heart.

Got the livers cooking already

and the kidneys are somewhere
in the middle.

The smell of the meat and Izza's
bread cooking on the fire

is making everybody hungry
after a long and active day.

But I'm not sure whether hearts,
livers and kidneys are going to be

as much of a treat for me
as they clearly are for them.

Tastes really, really good.

Salty and really savoury
but it's a little bit crunchy.

BOTH: Mmm!

By 8:30, I'm ready for bed.

The family all sleep together
under rugs and blankets in the tent,

much as their ancestors
would have done,

and I'm bedding down with them.

THEY LAUGH

It's just after six in the morning
and everyone's starting to wake up.

The mother's got up
and has put on the fire.

The kids are awake.

I'm beginning to get a feel for what
the caravans must have been like,

loading up the animals,
unloading them,

living in a big tent all together,

eating together and everyone having
their job to do and doing it quickly

and efficiently as they can,

but I still haven't experienced
the burning sands of the desert

and I'm beginning to look forward to
that because it's been so cold.

The morning fire takes a little
chill off the mountain air

and the hot, sweet tea
helps as well.

THEY SPEAK ARABIC

Zaid's just telling me that life
here in the mountains is too hard,

that it's too cold, that every day
packing up the tent,

putting up the tent, trying to
find food for the animals,

the children always,
always being cold,

the children getting sick
because there's no medicines here,

that it's too much and what he
really wants within the next ten
years is to settle in the village

and what he wants for his children
is that they go to school

and that they get jobs,
things like drivers.

Which of course,
to us seems, you know,

it's such a romantic lifestyle,
this, when you see it,

when you see the family
all together,

when you see how happy they are,

when you see how hard
they're working.

But having spent the night under
canvas, it is absolutely freezing

and seeing how hard they have
to work even to get a fire going,

it makes you think,
would you want to do this?

And I have to say, the answer
is no, I wouldn't. It is too hard.

So I can completely understand

why he would want something
different for his children.

It's sad to say goodbye to
Zaid and his family.

There are few nomads left in these
mountains, and in a few years' time,

this way of life may have
disappeared altogether.

I'm leaving the rocky mountain
terrain of the Jbel Saghro

and travelling east.

100 miles away is
my next destination, Sijilmasa,

an ancient city which was a mecca
for trans-Saharan traders due to its

position on the edge of the Sahara.

Strangely, it's not marked
on any modern maps,

but I do know that it's next to
the modern town of Rissani.

Rissani seems typical of
so many towns in Morocco.

A bustling market
in the centre of town

and a lot of new houses
going up on the outskirts.

And so far, there's nothing
to give me a clue

as to where
the ancient city might be.

It's proving very difficult to find
- no signs, no blue plaques

and at the moment
I'm in what appears to be

a great big building site.

Then, something begins to show
itself above the skyline.

A vast, lost city in the sand.

Sijilmasa was founded
at the end of the eighth century

and became the most important city

on the trade routes
north of the Sahara.

Its position on the northern edge
of the desert meant

it could control the gold supply
coming up from the south.

It boasted a mosque, a palace

and probably barracks for soldiers.

And on its fringes, a huge oasis

meant there was one thing
in abundance - water,

a lifeline for travellers

arriving after a gruelling journey
through the desert.

'I've arranged to meet Chloe Capel,
a French archaeologist

'and one of very few
who have worked on this site.'

It's about 2km long,

800 metres wide and there are so
many things to know about it.

It's not done, not yet.

There's lots of work for
archaeologists here on this site.

The site has remained
a well-kept secret

and no-one has excavated here
for several years.

There are still pieces of history
lying all over the place.

Here, as you can see...

..there is a lid. Uh-huh?

You take it this way
on the top of a...

a cup or a little jar, something
like that, and it's medieval.

How do you know? Because of
the shape, because of the paste.

Maybe it's 12th century
or 14th century.

And it's just lying here
on the site?

It's everywhere, all around you,
on the 2km wide of the site. Wow.

And if I were here at the height
of the trans-Saharan trade,

what would I have seen?

Probably a very rich city
with many houses,

gardens, numerous gardens,

because medieval texts tell us
that there were many gardens

inside the city and it was
spectacular for travellers

because they were just emerging
from the desert

and they found this oasis,
it was impressive for them.

The oasis was large enough to cater
not only for the townsfolk

but visiting traders
and caravans too.

And Chloe believes
it was planned that way,

to attract the burgeoning
trans-Saharan traffic of the time.

People, travellers,
merchants were aware that

when you stop in Sijilmasa,

whenever you stop here, whenever it
is in the season, you can find food,

water, camels, numerous
camels to travel, dates, fodder,

everything to be sure to go safe
until Timbuktu,

until the sub-Saharan Africa.

It seems to me that in its way, this
was the Timbuktu of the north,

a vital refuelling stop
for traders coming out of

or heading into the Sahara.

How sad, then, that this great city

was destroyed in the early 19th
century by invading Berber nomads.

In fact, the same tribe as the nomad
family I've just stayed with.

It's less than a mile back into the
centre of Rissani and I'm travelling

in the way of most traders here,
by donkey cart.

We park up at the town's answer
to pay and display.

SHE SPEAKS ARABIC

In Rissani's bustling market,

you can buy just about anything and
there are stalls laden with the same

fresh produce that would have
gladdened the hearts of weary desert

travellers of the Middle Ages.

Hafida? Hi! Hey! How are you?
I'm good.

'I've come here
to meet Hafida H'douban,

'Morocco's first-ever
female trekking guide.'

Are you looking for some dates?

'Hafida's taking me on the next,
most dangerous leg of the journey,

'into the Sahara Desert, and she's
stocking up with provisions.'

Taste it, if it's OK.

That's nice? Yeah.

I think the best one is that,
so I will take from there.

'Dates were a staple food for
people crossing the Sahara.

'They say you can survive
on just seven a day

'and their high-sugar content
means they last for ages.'

Very energetic and very nice

and now we are lucky
because it's a time for the dates.

Perfect! It's for this year,
it's the new one,

because in October we have dates.

Yeah. So it's OK.

Tomorrow, Hafida and I will be
embarking on the most challenging
part of my journey so far,

one which many a trans-Saharan
trader didn't survive.

Next time,

we trek into 3.5 million
square miles of desert...

..and some of the most extreme
temperatures on the planet -

the great Sahara.

It was incredibly perilous.

This is why the goods, when they got
to the other end, cost so much,

it was the danger factor.

Modern life takes an ugly turn...

My security contingent
has got extremely nervous

and they won't let me go
any further.

..and I finally make it to
the city of my dreams, Timbuktu.

Now I get it, my first glimpse of
the icon of Timbuktu.

The Sahara Desert, Mali,

home to one of Earth's most
mysterious and legendary places.

Africa's fabled city of gold,
Timbuktu.

My name's Alice Morrison.

I'm an Arabist and explorer.

I live in Morocco,

and since childhood I've dreamt of
making the gruelling journey

across the Sahara to see
this ancient city

before it's lost forever
to sand and war.

I love touching history.

In this series I'll trek 2,000 miles
following ancient trade routes,

often known as salt roads,
across some of the world's
most hostile lands.

Timbuktu is at the centre of
all these trade routes

and I want to follow them
and find it and see what's there.

I'll pass through some magical
places that time has barely touched.

Oh, wow!

Relying on the hospitality
of Berber nomads.

THEY SPEAK OWN LANGUAGE

He's just cutting up the heart.

And I'll come face-to-face with some
frightening modern-day realities.

I'm beginning to feel quite nervous.

Travelling deep beneath the veil

into the heart of ancient
and modern North Africa

I'll discover
its incredible forgotten history

en route to the legendary
city of gold, Timbuktu.

I've already trekked 800 miles

from the top of Morocco

to the edge of the Sahara Desert.

Scaling the high Atlas
and Jbel Saghro mountains

to reach the market town of Rissani.

Along the way I've experienced
first-hand how tough the journey was

for the traders who used
these often dangerous routes

to transport their goods.

But it's still more than 1,000 miles
to Timbuktu

and it's about to get tougher.

Hafida. Hi. Hi. How are you?

I'm meeting up with Hafida Hdoubane,

Morocco's first-ever
female trekking guide.

She's stocking up on provisions
for the desert.

Take this. Taste it, see if it's OK.

Delicious, yeah. That's nice?

I think the best one is that
so I will take from there.

Her expertise is going to help me
on what was the most perilous part

of the traders' journey.

The Sahara, the deadliest
of deserts.

It spans 11 countries, a vast area
of more than 3 million square miles.

It can reach staggering temperatures
of 50 degrees plus,

but this morning at the Chebbi dunes
it's a little chilly.

Our mode of transport is
authentic trans-Saharan.

Hafida and I will be making
this trip, like so many before us,
by camel.

THEY SPEAK OWN LANGUAGE

Ben Didi and Hussain
are going to help us steer
these ships of the desert.

Maybe now is not the time to say,
"I'm not that keen on camels."

They bite, they spit.

Which camel is the nicest camel?

Getting on is the nerve-racking bit
for me.

Apparently God designed the camel
with the desert in mind,

so I hope He's a good designer.

The camel's mentioned
in seven verses of the Quran

and they're known for their cunning,
their sense of direction,

their intelligence,
and slightly worrying for me,

apparently they're very vengeful

if you are a cruel or intolerant
master or mistress.

For the traders of old
it was a 50-day journey,

across the seemingly endless sands
of the Sahara,

all the way to Timbuktu.

They were following routes forged on
trade in two precious commodities,

gold and salt, and it must have been
a magnificent sight

as caravans, often made up
of 1,000 camels or more,

filed across the desert
in pursuit of riches.

You can't walk in this desert
without falling in love with it.

It's such an incredibly
beautiful landscape,

but it was incredibly perilous.

Probably the most dangerous stage
of the journey.

Bandits all around here
ready to rob the caravans,

water was in incredibly short supply

and people did die of thirst
all the time.

So, even though for me it's so
romantic walking through the dunes

as the sun sets,
as the sky looks all blue,

but actually, when you did it
for real, this is why the goods,

when they got to the other end, cost
so much - it was the danger factor.

But in the scorching heat
of the desert,

one thing was more valuable than
anything else they were carrying -

water.

Many travellers met their death
in the sand,

as the great medieval adventurer,
Ibn Battuta recounts...

"We passed a caravan on the way

"and they told us that some of
their party

"had become separated from them.

"We found one of them dead
under a shrub

"with his clothes on
and a whip in his hand.

"The water was only about a mile
from him."

As dusk approaches,
we find a sheltered spot

to make camp before nightfall.

I'm descending to bribery
to keep Hamoun, my camel, sweet.

I've broken out the dates.

We bought these dates for ourselves,
but I think Hamoun deserves them

more than I did,
cos he did all the work today.

At this time of year,

the temperature often plummets
to below freezing.

Wood for the fire would have been
an essential part

of the caravan's huge cargo.

HE SPEAKS OWN LANGUAGE

By the fire we swap stories.

Hafida is a rare creature, a female
guide in an all-male profession.

But what she tells me about
her extraordinary family history
is shocking.

So, my great-grandfather,

they gave him a gift, like a woman,
from Ethiopia because she's...

she's a slave and he married her.

And she gives him a boy,
it was my grandfather.

What happened to your grandfather?

My grandfather, he was born a slave,

so he married my grandmother
that is a slave also.

So, my father, he is a slave too.

To me, it's incredible that he could
be born a slave in modern Morocco.

Yeah, we don't really speak
about slaves in Morocco.

It's a bit, um, what we say, taboo.

Because, it's a suffering history,
but it exists.

It wasn't very far away,
just 20th century.

An estimated 13 million slaves were
transported north across the Sahara,

a similar number to those shipped
to America.

To this day, slavery has never
officially been abolished
in Morocco.

I'm proud of it.

Me, I'm born also
from this slave's family.

This country is like a mosaic.

We have black, we have white,
we have Arab, we have Berber,

we have Jewish, we have a lot of...

faces, a lot of tradition,

a lot of culture, and that makes
this country very rich.

I'm humbled by Hafida's story.

In Morocco there are whole villages
of people descended from the slaves

who were forced along the salt roads
from West Africa.

The country's culture
has been enriched

by the traditions
they brought with them.

This is so magical.

I just woke up.

It's still the middle of the night,
but I woke up,

and I looked up
and I can see the Milky Way,

and I can also see the Plough,
absolutely clear.

A most beautiful night.

We get up with the dawn

like the traders who had to beat
the heat of the day.

I feel like I'm getting a taste
of what life would have been like.

Quite difficult days,

difficult on the body,

having to trust yourself
to somebody else completely

because you don't know the way.

Moments of huge beauty in the desert

because it is stunning,
the landscape.

And then night-time,

food, hot tea and the time to just
socialise with everyone around you.

Just after sunrise we're back out in
the desert again and heading south.

We have 15 miles to cover today,

which should take our camels
about five hours.

In the past, caravans would be
guided by highly paid Berbers

who navigated by the sun, the stars,
and the shape of the dunes,

and acted as security to keep
the merchants safe from raiders.

Climbing to the top of
one of the highest dunes,

the view across the desert stretches
all the way to Algeria.

This is the border
between Morocco and Algeria.

Yeah. And it's, like,
1,500 kilometres.

Wow! Yeah.

And how far away is it from here?

It's like 60km from here.

Morocco's border with Algeria
has been closed since 1994

after a terrorist attack
in Marrakech

brought relations between
the two to an all-time low.

It's said to cost
the Moroccan economy

$2 billion a year in lost trade.

It also means I can't go any further
along this particular trade route.

But the network of routes
was extensive

so there are other possibilities.

Hafida's made it quite clear
that the Algerian border

is completely shut
and no longer an option.

That southern route was a quick way
down, was the fastest way down,

but there is also a western route,
which, although it's slower,

was in fact safer because
there were more places to provision

along the way,
it was more populated.

So that seems the logical way
to try next.

Taking the road west means
saying goodbye to Hafida,

and my now-beloved camel, Hamoun.

I'm driving towards
the city of Guelmim.

This particular route came
to prominence in the 18th century

when Guelmim became one of

the biggest trading crossroads
in North Africa.

I'm skirting across
the northern edge of the Sahara

and making a stop
in a desert town called Tamegroute

because I've heard
it holds a secret treasure.

This sign in Arabic says...

SHE SPEAKS ARABIC

Which means a treasury
or a treasure trove of books.

Very surprising to find that here
in such a small remote place.

This sanctuary is a Zaouia,
a centre of Islamic learning,

which houses a library
of 4,000 ancient books.

Its custodian is 89-year-old
Hajj Khalifa El Fasi.

His family have handed down this job
from father to son

since it was founded
in the 11th century.

Now his son, Rashid,
works alongside him.

This Malian scholar left behind
rare manuscripts,

which, as an Arabist,
I'm dying to get my hands on.

How exciting that these roads I've
been travelling were on a kind of

medieval information highway
and knowledge network.

I almost, but not quite, got to
touch 400 years of history.

That book in the library is absolute
evidence that the trade routes

between sub-Saharan Africa
and this area of north Africa

brought knowledge and learning,
as well as just gold and salt.

And that knowledge made its way
across the water to Europe

where ideas from Muslim scholars
on subjects like philosophy,

science and mathematics
informed the European Renaissance.

A 350-mile bus journey brings me
to the market town of Guelmim.

It's nicknamed Bab Sahara,
gateway to the desert.

In the 18th and 19th centuries, it
was known for its huge camel market,

the medieval equivalent of a massive
car showroom full of four-by-fours.

I want to see if any of that trade
survives.

This is a fantastic livestock
market, full of noise and colour

and smell.

But, actually, I'm looking for
camels because it used to be

the biggest camel market
in the whole of north-west Africa

and I haven't seen any yet.

I'm imagining this market
in the days of trans-Saharan trade,

bustling with merchants
bartering for camels by the hundred.

Eventually, I find a small
collection of them in a corner.

Today, the trade is very different.

THEY SPEAK OWN LANGUAE

So times have really changed.

In days of old, this was the place
to buy your camel

and to refuel your camel
for the trek across the Sahara,

or from the Sahara up to the north.

But now these camels are actually
used for food

and we've just been told

that one camel can feed
up to 300 people for a party.

So that's mainly what people come
and buy them for now.

Ahmed al Ansari's family has been
in the business for generations.

If anyone knows the going rate
for a camel, it's him.

It depends.
It depends on the camel.

If the camel is very strong...

Yes. ..the price is like that.

If the camel is not strong,
the camel is down.

Sometimes you can find a camel
and it's 20,000 dirhams.

But it's very, very big, you know?

It's enough for 500, 600 persons.

20,000 dirhams is £1,500.

After my trip across the desert
on Hamoun,

it seems like a bargain to me.

And it's easy to imagine

why a strong camel was an asset
for Saharan traders

when they might carry loads
of up to 200 kilos.

Apparently, the white camel is
called the president of the caravan

because it can sniff out water.

So they used to send it ahead
to find where the water was
in the desert

and it was highly valued.

The days of camel caravans
are clearly over,

so I'm making the next leg
of my journey by car.

I'm going south towards the town
of Zag, 115 miles away.

There's a military checkpoint
at the entrance to the town

and people in Guelmim have told me
I'm unlikely to get through.

I'm about 25km outside of Zag
on the western route

that the merchants followed
towards Timbuktu.

The issue here is, of course,

that the borders have changed
since those times

and political and social tensions
here are quite high.

Zag is the last town before
the border with Western Sahara.

A territory that's been disputed
by Morocco,

Mauritania, and the Sahrawi Berbers
who have always lived there.

When Morocco secured control of it
in 1979,

they turned the area into a military
zone and built a long sand berm

to keep out
local independence fighters.

I'm just getting everything ready.
I've got my permit

and I've got the map to show them
where I'm going at the checkpoint,

but I am really nervous
that we're not going to get through.

It's a military zone, there is a lot
of tension over the Western Sahara

and this really is one of the points

that I think could block
our journey.

Bonjour. Bonjour.

THEY SPEAK ARABIC

It turns out my worries were
totally unfounded.

Instead of a show
of military bravado,

I'm warmly welcomed and waved
through the checkpoint and into Zag,

a town straight out of
a spaghetti Western.

Here, I want to find someone
to take me on to the border,

but when I ask around, everyone says
it's not possible to get there.

Finally, a local cloth trader,
Mansour Hamadi,

agrees to take me down the road
south of Zag towards the border.

He used to travel it himself
to buy fabrics in Mauritania.

But just four miles along the track,
he stops the car.

This is as far
as he is prepared to go.

The military presence doesn't
bode well for my onward journey.

Mansour tells me there are
thousands of unexploded mines

along both of these roads

and the conflict
between the different factions
is very much alive.

This is extremely frustrating.
This should be so simple.

I'm actually standing
on a crossroads

for two roads that go to Timbuktu.

That one goes through Tindouf
and this one goes through Mahbes.

But unlike the days of old,

when the merchants passed freely
along these routes,

I can't go and the reason is
there is a built-up military zone,

this area is under dispute,
it is mined,

and there is absolutely
no possibility for me to cross.

So, I'm stuck, I'm absolutely stuck
here, there is nothing I can do.

I'm out of options.

I can't follow the salt roads

through the closed border
and a military zone.

So, to continue on my quest for
Timbuktu, I have to fly 1,000 miles

over the no-go territory of
Western Sahara and Mauritania

directly into Mali.

This is Bamako, the capital of Mali,

and one of the fastest-growing
cities in the world.

Arriving here
is an assault on the senses.

I feel like I've been parachuted
into craziness.

I'm in the heart of West Africa and
everything's going at ten times

the pace of normal.
It's brighter, it's noisier,

I keep sneezing because of
the chillies.

What an incredible contrast
to the sounds of the Sahara.

Just couldn't be more different.

We're still 700 miles from Timbuktu,

but I've spotted something
in the market

that tells me
I'm on the right track.

Timbuktu?

Everywhere I go, there are glimpses
of Timbuktu luring me in.

Here I've found
this massive block of salt,

which must have come down
from the north, through the city,

and all its way over here to Bamako.

I've found salt.
Now I'm searching for

the other prized commodity
of these trade routes - gold.

Mali is the third-largest producer
in Africa,

yielding over 50 tonnes
of gold a year.

In the Middle Ages, the great
West African empires of Ghana,

Mali, and Songhai got rich from it.

Gold is still mined here
and I'm keen to see a working mine

for myself and maybe
do some prospecting.

So I'm making for Narena,
40 miles south-west of Bamako,

taking the local transport
with some of the workers.

SHE SPEAKS LOCAL LANGUAGE

It's a sociable ride and I learn
a new phrase in Mandinka,

the local language.

SHE SPEAKS MADINKA

Slow down.
It's getting a bit bumpy.

We're off-roading through the bush
on the way to the gold mine.

We rattle to a halt
at what I'm told is the mine.

I was expecting
a modern, hi-tech operation,

but instead I'm greeted by the sight

of people busily wielding picks
and shovels.

This is a community mine
run by the local landowner.

You have to pay him a fee
before you can mine here.

Assalaamu Alaikum. Walaykum assalam.

I've brought him a traditional gift
of kola nuts.

The Malian equivalent
of a nice bottle of red.

SHE SPEAKS FRENCH

Keita has an entourage

who seem amused by my eagerness
to do some gold mining.

Yacouba is the chief's cousin
and the mine's foreman.

The mine has only been open
for eight months.

He said, "Do you want to see gold?"

Assalaamu Alaikum.

These men are the modern-day version
of the traders of old,

buying gold to sell on.

I'm surprised it's all so shiny
and bright.

Somehow I thought it would be
in big rocks and you wouldn't

actually be able to see that it's
real gold, which it obviously is.

And these guys here are weighing it
and pushing it out.

Apparently the price varies a lot.

But it's great to see it here.

At the moment gold sells for
the equivalent of £20 per gram.

The mine here produces
three to four kilograms a month.

It's hard to work out
where it's all coming from.

All I can see is a series of holes
in the ground,

but it turns out all of them
are mine shafts

with people working down them.

Working underground appears to be
a male-only zone,

but I'm desperate
to have a go myself.

Time to get my hands dirty...
if they'll let me.

It's boiling hot,
this is really hard work.

All the miners are laughing at me,
but I'm actually doing my best.

There's a lot of hard graft
involved in striking gold.

And once you've used
all your muscle power

to shovel earth from the ground,

actually spotting the gold is
more difficult than you might think,

even with the help of
a metal detector.

THEY SPEAK LOCAL LANGUAGE

I found gold.

When I say I found it,
me and 30 excited miners found it.

I think that's going to pay for me
to get all the way to Timbuktu.

I'm told my piece of gold is
too small to be weighed,

but I don't care,

this is trans-Saharan trade
in the palm of my hand.

This is just a small community mine,
but you can see the potential

for enormous amounts of gold
coming out of the ground.

I already found my own little
nugget, I dug it up myself,

and it makes me realise
that Timbuktu,

this mythical city of gold,
may actually be a reality.

I'm finally setting off
on the last leg of my journey.

I've travelled 2,000 miles
to get to Mali

and there's just one last 700-mile
stretch before I reach Timbuktu.

It looks so simple on the map,
a short plane ride away,

but while once
all routes led to the city,

recent events have changed that.

Allahu akbar.

NEWSREADER: 'On the night
of April 1st,

'Islamists and local Tuareg
rebels drove into Timbuktu.

'By dawn they were in control.'

In 2012, rebels invaded Timbuktu,

turning it from
a cultural treasure trove

into one of the world's
most dangerous places.

Tuareg separatists wanted to create
an independent state.

But they were soon supplanted
by Islamic militants

who implemented their own
extreme version of Sharia law.

A year later, French and Malian
troops reclaimed the city.

Now, a UN presence keeps
the fragile peace there.

The security situation means
flights are strictly limited.

I'm camping out at Bamako airport,
trying to get on a military plane.

This is the most difficult leg
of the journey

because the only way to get
into Timbuktu now is with the UN.

The political situation means
that even in the olden days

when the traders came across
the Sahara and had to face

all those difficulties,
it's now worse,

it's harder to get into the city.

After waiting around, I finally
managed to pick up a flight.

I feel as excited as those early
European explorers must have felt.

"At last we arrived safely
at Timbuktu.

"At the moment when the sun
touched the horizon,

"that was when I saw
this capital of Sudan,

"which for so long had been
the focus of all my desires.

"Entering that mysterious city,

"which all the civilised nations
of Europe have striven for,

"I was seized by an inexpressible
feeling of satisfaction."

But when I touch down at Timbuktu,

I'm faced with the alarming reality

of a city which is effectively
under siege.

It's really chilling to come into
all these military checkpoints.

In the airport you see civilians
and people greeting their families

and then here,
it's all military personnel,

it's barbed wire everywhere,
there's weapons everywhere.

There are only three miles of the
Sahara between me and Timbuktu.

After travelling 2,000 miles,
I'm just a few minutes away

and I'm getting butterflies.

The city's world-famous mosques
are some of

the last surviving remnants
of the medieval trader era

and I'm heading for one of them,
the Sankore.

I've been waiting for this moment
for years.

It's been a really, really
long journey

with lots of obstacles in the way.

Slightly different ones
from the traders,

but the same kind of feeling.

And now I get it, my first glimpse
of the icon of Timbuktu -

this beautiful, stunning mosque

that looks nothing like
anything I've seen before.

You can see it in pictures,
but it's not the same as being here.

The Sankore Mosque was built
in the 14th century

and its name means, white nobles,

reflecting the pale-skinned Berbers
who ruled the city.

It must have been a hugely imposing
sight for medieval traders

as they emerged from the desert.

I love touching history.

Just imagine all the people
that made this,

all the people that have worshipped
inside.

It's a symbol, but it's so much more
than that because it's actually

a living, breathing place,
the centre of the city.

The inside of the mosque is reserved
for Muslim worshippers.

But just the sight of it
transports me back

to the heady days
of trans-Saharan trade.

I'm picturing this main square
at the height of Timbuktu's glory

when it would be a cacophony
of crazy noise and colour,

with everybody here,
the caravans, the merchants,

people trading
every good imaginable.

Over there, we'd have people sitting
with their weighing scales,

weighing out the goods.

Maybe over there you'd have
the horrible scenes of the slaves

getting ready to be loaded up
and taken up to the north,

crying because they didn't know
where they were going,

what was going to happen to them.

Just a melee of humanity -
Jews and Arabs, Tuaregs, Songhai,

all mixing together to make this

the most important trading centre
of its day,

the city of gold.

The cultural richness of the city,

with its fabulous mosques,
grew out of its material wealth.

The oldest and largest of them,
the Djinguereber,

was built by the greatest
king of Mali, Mansa Musa.

Though I'm not a Muslim, I've been
granted special permission to go in.

Under the tall arches,
I find Salem Ould Elhadjie,

a historian and storyteller,

who tells me the tale
of the richest man in history,

Mansa Musa.

Tales of Mansa Musa's astonishing
wealth spread across the globe

and thus began
the legend of Timbuktu.

Many explorers over the centuries
tried and failed to reach it.

In the 19th century,

a French explorer's club
even offered a prize

to the first adventurer
to reach the city and return.

But the first man to get here
wasn't French, he was British.

Major Alexander Gordon Laing's
house.

This is where he stayed in Timbuktu
when he was here

and it's one of the places I've
really, really wanted to come to.

He's a fellow Scot and I consider
him an extremely brave man.

Alexander Gordon Laing reached
Timbuktu in 1826.

It had taken him a year to trek
from Tripoli across the Sahara,

and on the way he'd been viciously
attacked and robbed.

Tuaregs had fractured his jaw
and nearly cut off his right hand,

and he had a musket ball in his hip.

I have a copy of the letter he wrote
when he arrived here.

He was only 32 years old.

"I have been busily employed
during my stay,

"searching the records
in the town, which are abundant.

"But my situation in Timbuktu has
been rendered exceedingly unsafe

"by the unfriendly disposition
of the Fulas,

"whose Sultan has expressed
his hostility to me

"in no equivocal terms.

"He has now got intelligence
of my being in Timbuktu

"and as a party of Fulas
are hourly expected,

"Alkaidy Boubacar,
who is an excellent good man,

"and who trembles for my safety,

"has strongly urged
my immediate departure."

This was the last letter
Laing ever wrote.

After fleeing Timbuktu,
he was captured

and then brutally strangled
by Tuareg raiders.

It's bittersweet, sitting here
in Laing's house...

reading his letter in the place
that he stayed in Timbuktu.

I'm here, I'm wandering
the same streets that he did.

He died in such a horrible way,

but he achieved
such an incredible thing.

It puts my puny attempts to get here
into perspective.

This man was incredibly courageous.

He knew that he might die,
but he still did it

in the interests of finding out
about this great city.

I wish I had half that courage.

Two years later, in 1828,
a Frenchman, Rene Caillie,

won the race for Timbuktu
and returned alive

to claim the 10,000-franc prize.

That's more than £75,000
in today's money.

It was a prize which had cost Laing
his life.

Today, 60,000 people
live in Timbuktu,

a mix of the different tribes who
have made their mark on this city

throughout its history.

It was founded in the 12th century
by the Tuaregs

with their trademark scarves
and fierce reputation.

They're nomads of the Sahara

and the mainstay of the caravan
trade across the desert.

Most still live a nomadic life,
like the Agata family

who come to Timbuktu to trade.

Muhammad's forefathers grew rich

from trading in salt
and Malian gold.

He still uses that gold
in his jewellery.

Since the militants' incursion,
the Sahara has become too dangerous,

even for Tuareg nomads,

and the Agatas now rely on
their jewellery to survive.

Zacate. Zacate.

I've been invited to join the family
for lunch,

which Muhammad's wife, Maya,
is preparing.

The meat is goat,
cooked slowly to tenderise it.

I want to know if it's true

that in this warrior culture,
women rule the roost.

I'm not used to seeing men veiled

and women uncovered
in a Muslim country.

It's a complete role reversal.

Maya has provided a feast.

But times are hard
for the Agata family.

The security risks in Timbuktu
have scared away the tourists

and it's too dangerous
to cross the desert to trade.

Their nomadic lifestyle is on hold.

To me, Timbuktu seems
a peaceful, friendly place,

but the UN presence all over
the city is a constant reminder

of the dangers that lurk
outside its boundaries.

And that's where I'm going next -
to follow the salt road south.

What made Timbuktu
such a great centre of trade

was its geographical location.

A crossroads between
the desert of the Sahara

and the great Niger River.

The Niger lies just five miles
south of Timbuktu,

but once again, I have to rely on
the UN to take me there.

This time in an armoured convoy
on one of their daily patrols.

There are 1,200 UN peacekeeping
troops in Timbuktu,

their third largest force
in the world,

and Mali is their
deadliest mission.

My driver, Kai, tells me that
only two weeks before I arrived,

there was a rocket attack here.

So, when you patrol, are you looking
out for anything in particular?

Everything that's sort of unusual,
or...is it calm or not?

You can't sort of pinpoint
what you're looking for,

you're just looking that is it...
the same way that it usually is.

The desert eventually gives way
to a sea of green.

This is where
the camel met the canoe

in the days of trans-Saharan trade.

And when I see the Niger River
for the first time,

it takes my breath away.

The port of Korioume is going about
its daily business,

oblivious, it seems,
to the danger around it.

And I'm curious to know
what kind of goods

are passing through here today.

Monsieur.

Ibrahim is the harbour master here.

Two boats have just pulled in
and are unloading their cargo.

There's a huge variety
of merchandise

including a whole consignment
of motorbikes...

..but hiding under a tarpaulin
is something much more interesting.

Just uncovered a big treasure trove
of salt.

This is an exciting discovery.

I'd thought that the salt trade
through Timbuktu had been halted,

but here it is,
in huge 30kg tablets,

waiting to be shipped south.

Ibrahim tells me that Saharan salt
is still highly prized.

In days of old
it was vital to preserve meat.

Now it's a gourmet item,
and after all these centuries

it's still an important part
of Timbuktu's trade.

Timbuktu is a place
where legends abound -

of fierce Tuareg warriors and brave,
moustachioed, European explorers.

But I'm here to meet some unlikely
heroes, the librarians.

Bonjour. Bonjour.

In its heyday, Timbuktu was one of

the world's most important
centres of learning.

Priceless manuscripts
were created here

and transported via the trade routes
throughout Africa and into Europe.

Here at the Ahmed Baba Institute,

Bouya and his team had collected
thousands of them.

When the Islamic extremists
took over the city in 2012,

the heritage of a whole continent
was put in jeopardy.

But the librarians were determined
to save their treasure.

At dead of night,
they began sneaking the books out,

hidden in trunks, right under
the noses of the militants.

Haidera and the librarians managed
to smuggle out

almost all of the collection.

But in January 2013,

when Timbuktu was finally reclaimed
by French and Malian troops,

the extremists committed
one final act of vandalism

as they fled the city.

They brought out a box of the
remaining books and set fire to it.

Throughout history,
men have burned books,

fearing the knowledge they contain.

The charred remains
of the manuscripts have become

part of the collection,
fragments of Africa's golden past.

Since I've been in Timbuktu,

I've been really touched
by how the city has coped with

all it's been through
in recent years.

THEY SPEAK LOCAL LANGUAGE

The physical and emotional turmoil
of invasion

and the damage to its culture
and lifestyle.

Today its people live
with the constant threat

of danger on their doorstep

and many have been left in poverty.

But the city has another enemy,

one it's lived with
since it came into existence -

the desert.

I love the desert,
but it's a very harsh place

and I can see that when
I look around behind me at Timbuktu,

because everywhere there's sand,

it's encroaching,
it's eating away at the buildings

and it feels like it's almost
making the city disappear.

On every corner, I see people
battling to keep the sand at bay.

It attacks the buildings too,
wind and sand eroding the walls.

And it's a constant fight
to keep those mud-built mosques

from crumbling back into the dust.

El Bukhari bin al-Suyuti
is in charge of maintaining

the city's cultural heritage,

which includes fighting off
the scouring effects of the weather.

It's not just the abrasive
combination of wind and sand.

Recent heavy rains
have also severely damaged

the exterior plasterwork
on these mosques.

I'm pleased that the city is getting
some help from outside agencies,

like UNESCO, to preserve
these iconic buildings,

but what's more difficult
to deal with

is the march of the Sahara
into Timbuktu.

The city is in danger of being
gradually swallowed by the desert.

Timbuktu is no longer El Dorado.

It's a charming, sleepy town
that's slowly disappearing

and it seems to me its streets are
now paved with sand, not gold.

It's a place where the Sahara, which
brought untold wealth to its gates,

has been both a blessing
and a curse.

Timbuktuans love a party.

Their fierce history,
the violence of the occupation,

the encroaching sands -
nothing can stop them,

and I've been invited
to a Tuareg shindig by my friends
Maya and Muhammad.

Traditional Tuareg music has
two components -

a three-stringed tehardent
and a calabash drum.

First, the women dance and,
of course, I have to join in myself.

I choose Maya as my dance partner.

THEY SING IN OWN LANGUAGE

It's a curiously sedate experience,

but that all changes
when it's the turn of the men.

Oh-la-la-la!

The women's dance was
very, very gentle.

I just had to wave my hands
a little bit and wiggle my eyebrows.

Very enjoyable.

The men's dance is
incredibly energetic.

They're leaping up and down
like little frogs.

Five years ago, when the city was
occupied, all music was forbidden.

Now, the irrepressible spirit
of these desert people

is free to express itself again
in the song and dance

that the Sahara has been witness to
for centuries.

It was the promise of gold and salt,

as well as precious books
and manuscripts,

that brought the world
to Timbuktu's gates

and helped forge the trans-Saharan
trade routes, the salt roads of old,

that I've travelled to get here.

Along the way, I've crossed
spectacular landscapes

and met extraordinary people
with ancient ways of life.

I've uncovered lost empires

and found treasure
in the strangest places.

But most of all,
I've finally completed my quest

and discovered for myself
the living myth of Timbuktu.

Am I disappointed not to find
my El Dorado?

No, because in every corner
you can feel the legacy

of its magnificent past.

It's a heritage
that needs protecting,

from both nature and mankind,

so future generations can, like me,

make their own journey
to this magical city.