My Dream to Be Free

by Juergen Stollin

  Have you ever smelled a dead fish?

  There were about 500 tons of them, which caused a smelly broth, and then in addition there was garlic.

  As if this was not enough, there were also maggots involved. The whole ship had maggots. The boat-man had a wall built before the crew cabins.

  Every two hours the deck was washed down with seawater. I remembered very well that by the time we reached Calcutta, the maggots were all gone and the dry fish with broth was unloaded. Perhaps Mother Theresa had ordered this batch. Anyway, these were just a few thoughts on past, good times.

  Here we were in the present and were traveling to Karachi. The road was in good condition up to Shira and until after Bander and the traffic was okay.

  We drove day and night until we arrived at smaller roads to Bandar Abbas.

  Jask was the last village with paved roads.

  That is, the grader levelled the track and smoothed the road built in such a way again and again free of grooves.

  Very often hundreds of kilometers went over washboard-like roads. Sometimes I had the feeling that our Mercedes 230s, built in 1964 would disintegrate - simply "crack" and we would then end up in the gravel.

  But it withheld.

  I do not want to brag, but because I had a piece of German workmanship under my ass. It was assembled by German men and women, apart from a few Turkish guest workers but who only had the manual jobs.

  "Hassan, Pass me the hammer, screwdriver, etc." Yes, that was it.

  I showed Dieter the map once again and explained to him that he should keep to the bigger tracks only and ask for Chaka-Bahor if he did not know any more.

  I felt damned tired because I had driven all day.

  If it was dark and he could not see where we're going, he was to stop and sleep.

  I woke up because we had stopped.

  It was pitch dark, the engine was dead and there was a silence that was drowned out only by Dieter’s cursing.

  What was happening? Where were we? Why did we stop?

  Dieter sat behind the wheel and did not move.

  What's happening? What time is it? I snapped at Dieter.

  Gradually he came back to life and he told me that he had fucked it up. He did not know where we were and the tank was empty.

  I wanted to pour in the reserve fuel but Dieter had already done that on the way.

  Now I yelled at Dieter. Why did he drive for so long? Why had he not woken me up? Dieter told me that it had been a reasonably good track, in which he drove. But then there suddenly a wall on the way and was a deserted village with crumbling houses.

  It probably had not rained for many years because the lane ended in front of a wall of mud. Behind it, the track continued. Dieter had wanted to drive around the obstacle and did not notice that he came to a new track and he had followed this till all the fuel was over.

  He had aspired to drive to the nearest town, which was Choha-Bohor.

  There was not a soul was on the way, whom he could have possibly asked. He just drove until this lane came to an end and then the fuel was over.

  It was shortly before midnight. So he was driven eight hours. The fuel could not have run out.

  Even though I did not want to believe this, it was true.

  Our Benz had quite a thirst in this area.

  We slept the rest of the night as best we could, Dieter and I outdoors and the women in the car. Even the reclining seats in the Mercedes could only give a limited amount of comfort.

  Before sunrise we were all awake.

  You do not necessarily have to experience the sunrise in the Persian Zagros Desert. There are nicer places to enjoy a sunrise. But it was a spectacle.

  As it is known, the sun rises in the east, in our case it should therefore be in the direction of Karachi. Our direction of travel was however towards the West. The sun rose behind us, not in front of us. Which confirmed that our car was driving in the wrong direction. It was clear even to Dieter now.

  The sun rose higher and higher and it was also getting hotter. Besides this, we were in a plateau with no trees or large shrubs.

  Not even the smallest, thorniest Acacia could be seen. No bird, no gerbil, no scorpion, nothing.

  Maybe the vultures would come a little later!

  I was worried, very worried.

  The women slobbered, the baby cried, Dieter cursed and I sat there in the sand wondering what was the most important at that moment. No one would look for us because indeed no one would miss us.

  First of all the blanket had to be taken out to make a tent against the sun, store water and food safely and protect them against insects and the sun. Water was not to be wasted for washing or the like. With twenty liters of water, we could survive for two to three days. We also had canned food, Naan bread and fruit.

  But after that? We could not push a Benz car through this desert with boulders up to the next gas station. And as for walking? Where to? In what direction, east, west or north? South was futile because the Gulf of Oman or the Arabian Sea was there. The Persian Gulf was already behind us.

  It was noon by now and very hot.

  It was evening and it was getting dark and we were getting more and more sluggish. I was not afraid of the dark or any animals, not even of robber because they would have been welcome. What could they take from us? But we could take gasoline from them. How much would we need, 5, 10 or 20 liters? We ate, drank, and wandered around in the starry night in the desert. No one thought of sleep and it became cold as well. So we collected clumps of bushes, twigs, dried thorny tufts of some undergrowth and everything that would somehow burn. No one would believe what we found in the roots and small bushes; there were even thicker old branches, some already petrified.

  Most likely there was once a forest here.

  The fire warmed us.

  I pointed to the northern direction and asked the others if they also saw light far away there.

  I put out the fire to get a better view.

  But no one saw any light. But I was one hundred percent sure that I had seen a light, rather like a beacon light, which could be seen very far away. But there had been a brief flash just for a short moment.

  Did I have hallucinations already?

  I knew you could see not a mirage in the night. But maybe I was just tired.

  We all slept until sunrise.

  I had made out a plan.

  Dieter had to walk in the northern direction trusting in God, with the spare canister, three liters of water in the thermos flask for himself.

  There were only three possibilities.

  Either we all would die here or Dieter would get us help on the way or a miracle would happen.

  Dieter was not thrilled with his mission but he went on his way in the northern direction, toward uncertainty. The women and the child sat in the shade under the blanket. I wandered through the surrounding area to find a possible lane that would have shown me a direction. But there were no tire tracks or any camel paths. I collected more thickets for the night. I had a big pile of them. My radius and the woodpile were getting bigger. Then I saw a vehicle just in the direction of the east.

  I opened my eyes and closed them a few times, to make sure that it was not my wishful thinking, a mirage or a daydream.

  Very quickly I took wood from the big pile, sprinkled a little engine oil over it and then water as well. Yes, I had to prevent that everything would go up in a big flame, I needed smoke! Fire could not be seen during the day but could be seen in the night of course. I lit the small pile, it smoked and smelled wonderful. I took the blanket that had served as a sunshade and covered my smoky fire now and then. And again up and down. And some more oil.

  Quite automatically I doffed it briefly with 3 short and 3 long intervals.

  I knew that it was a truck that drove through the desert and not a sailor, who would understand my short-long-short SOS code.

  We danced for joy when we noticed that the truck appeared slightly larger but narrower. That meant it w
as coming towards us. It took almost one and a half hours until the behemoth of a MACK truck had arrived in front of us. The road was also where he came from. But Dieter had gone in the opposite direction to the desert precisely at that moment.

  The Iranian marveled at us like as if we were aliens.

  Just imagine: there is a white Mercedes-Benz 230, an old dark woman, a somewhat younger semi-dark woman, a small child who is almost white and a white man, whose car doesn't have gasoline in the middle of nowhere in a semi-desert with a lot of rubble, where even such a big truck could not drive at more than twenty to thirty kilometers an hour.

  After many Persian words, which my rescuer spoke and my words of thanks in German and English, our angel left us again. He gave us Naan, dates, oranges and refilled our water supply. He had sufficient Diesel, which he could not give us for our vehicle that needed gasoline. He promised that if he met someone on the way with gasoline, he would send the person to us. At the latest he would inform people in the next village within 80 km. I did not know if he would find someone who would be stupid enough to bring a few unbelieving foreigners, who also would so crazy to bring water and gasoline to the desert.

  In addition, they would not know exactly where these foreigners were in the desert.

  Only the driver knew where we were. Maybe he would come back here in his return trip or sometime when he would get such a route again by chance. Maybe he would think of using the parts of the Mercedes or our watches. He would definitely not be able to use the bleached bones. Shit, how could I think like that? He offered me that he would take us along with him. He said he had a long chain for the car and me and that there was enough place for the women in the truck. I thanked him because I thought that Dieter would return, with or without gasoline, and if he did not find us here ... I didn't like the idea. Besides, having the Mercedes on a chain behind this monster, which drove over hill and dale - that would turned the Mercedes into a pile of junk.

  The chain would have broken and the women and child would have disappeared in the desert or in an Arab bazaar, never to be seen again. If Dieter would not back by the next morning, we would walk up to where the truck was coming from and drove away too. I watched this place and now saw the second truck far away. So, the road was there.

  If the truck needed one and a half hours, it would be a maximum of forty kilometers or perhaps less, in my estimation. We could do that in two days, even with the child and the grandma. We had water and food for more than two days.

  Now we just had to wait for Dieter, at least by tomorrow!

  Dusk was falling; in these latitudes it became dark quickly. It became day to night in no time. I prepared a large pile of burning material. Just before it became dark, I wanted to light it up so that eventually Dieter or someone else could see the firelight - and us. But it wasn't necessary to make the fire any more.

  From a distance, from where Dieter had disappeared into the desert this morning, a vehicle came. A jeep - a Land Rover and there was an Englishman and Dieter with rectangular cans full of gasoline!

  Joy, gratitude, relief and thanks again to all that is supposed to be on the earth and above the earth. Luck? I do not thick of luck any more for quite a long time now, ever since what happened with the Lakonia. There is no luck, only destiny.

  Happiness is luck and luck is happiness; everything else is destiny.

  I am lucky - or rather, I am glad but that does not matter.

  But destiny is whether or how long I could go on a rampage on this earth.

  Our car has been refueled and was started using a jumper cable. Dieter was clever and had thought of bringing such a cable. We had not disconnected our battery in the Benz and thus there was no juice any more in the battery due to the door lighting and also the radio or the cassette player. We cleared our camping place that had been created compulsorily and drove behind the Land Rover. It was already dark and we reached a camp.

  It was being drilled there for water, we were told. I was sure that oil was being sought.

  Regardless, there was a fantastic meal, a shower and a proper camp bed. A bed for everyone! It was like being in paradise. Dieter had already told everything and so there I was spared of that. I inquired about more interesting things. I now knew where we were. The Englishman gave me a map of this part of Persia.

  There was a border crossing into Pakistan but it was only further in the north.

  There was no cross-border traffic here.

  Quetta was the next Pakistani town where we would be, after the crossing the border. Our Englishman drove before us, until we were on the gravel road heading towards Bam. There were also nice Englishmen, especially in the desert. We were now on the route Banderabbas - Basra, Zahedan. If I had not been so ignorant and had asked the right man in the shipping agency, I would have been spared of a lot of things. Then we would have taken the right path from Banderabbas immediately. Could have gone here, could have gone there, but I was glad and happy that our destiny was so, just as it was.

  We were alive and I had not become the murderer of my family and a friend. Luck?

  No, destiny.

  There was nothing up to Bam, not even a tea shop or something to eat. We stayed overnight in Bam. We also saw the ruins of the ancient oasis city. The Persians told us about the ancient Tower of Bam, but was it not Babel? Well it didn’t matter, in the midst of Bam there was a two-way roadway with greenery in the middle. The tower was at the end, where it went a bit uphill. A large mountain with many caves - which were inhabited - so I was told. There is supposed to have been a tower a long time back. But they didn't speak in many languages in Bam.

  The people spoke Farsi and we spoke English, which nobody really understood. We left Bam very early the next morning.

  Many years later, in December 2003, a devastating earthquake had destroyed the city and its ancient buildings by more than 90 percent. Nearly half of the population was killed on the spot.

  We had to go north, to Zahedan. We wanted to get across the border to Pakistan to continue on our journey to Quetta.

  After that it was only a stone's throw to the south, passing Sukkur and Belem to Karachi. Both we Germans and the Ceylonese did not need a visa, which made everything easier. Between the Iranian and Pakistani customs and passport office, there was a great strip no man's land. If someone uses the phrase "the middle of nowhere", he definitely means this God-forsaken place.

  Quetta was no better either but there was at least a hotel there, which even had the name "Fahra". This name was not used in the entire Persian Empire - neither as hotel name nor for anything else. It was the name of the Empress.

  But who was bothered by this here? On the other hand, there was the Hotel "International", in which we were accommodated. You would not have thought it possible but we got rid of our car here.

  My faithful Mercedes 230 was loaded as deck cargo on an old Pakistani vessel and shipped to Colombo; we were promised it would be done.

  Hopefully the barge would not sink because I was sure that everything went ahead without insurance - but it would be cheap.

  A miracle had happened.

  It was the same with us just as it was with every Pakistani when he takes a train trip. The time had come for the women to do something. A large metal box was purchased, some kind of a monster suitcase where our belongings from the Mercedes would fit into.

  In addition, a sleeping mat and a large lock for the trunk.

  Finally we bought the train tickets for Karachi - Islamabad to get a visa for India there. I did not want to go through the circus with the Embassy and the visa once again.

  We thanked God, Allah, Buddha, and whoever was responsible for this part of the world that nothing bad happened to us and that we could conclude our train journey in Islamabad. It was a normal train, which any small farmer or street trader could afford.

  So that is how it was during the whole trip. It was stinking already but the Pakistanis had to overdo it and cooked their curry busily on kerosene stoves that
they had brought along with them.

  Once, an aircraft of the flight of PIA (Pakistan International Airline, but which was popularly called PLEASE INFORM ALLAH) had crashed. Some passengers who were on their pilgrimage (flight) to Mecca had brewed tea with a gas stove in the airplane.

  The smell, or rather I should say stench, was a bit too much for my sensitive European nose. Dieter agreed with me but for our ladies, the smell was a harbinger of their homeland or at least they said so.

  Until then I would hopefully have gotten used to it because we still had the whole Indian subcontinent before us. Dieter wanted to fly back home from New Delhi. He had had enough of this adventure.

  But first we needed a visa for India and so we went to the Indian embassy in Islamabad, only to find out that German citizens did not need visas any more since very recently.

  Due to the collaboration of territories dependent on England, which included Ceylon, the member states did not need a visa. So in plain text: The visa problem was over and we could continue to travel to Lahore and then to the Indian border.

  Again this train ride but this time we were lucky and caught a slightly faster train. They called the train the "Frontier Express", probably because it ran to the border.

  But it was not so certain if you could reach a certain border because the Indians and the Pakistanis closed their borders at times and you had to cross over somewhere else. But we were lucky and arrived at Wahga across the border. The formalities on the Pakistani side were done quickly, actually rather rapidly for local standards. It was painfully slow for us, of course, because after all, it took nearly five hours till our luggage arrived at the barrier, which was between the countries.