The smuggler came to my store to sell me some soap. I bought three yellow bright pieces for one dollar. When he saw that I liked spending money, he took my arm and brought me to Foucauld's tomb. He spoke the thirty-word-French of nomads crossing the Sahara, the one I learned quickly as well. 

He showed me, by pointing it out with his gun, the landscape. He told me that what I saw - and I saw the sun rising in that infinity of mountains and valleys where now I see it setting down - it was not at all the great beauty of Hoggar.

If I wanted, he would bring me to see a secret and a fascinating place for another ten dollars and a tank of petrol for his jeep.

I went there because one of the first things I've been taught is that nomads don't kill and don't steal from foreigners if they are their guests, it was only their Toyota.