If you live with us on this planet you’ve probably already been warned about the Sahel road this summer. You’ve probably watched those various videos circling round, explaining how the road functions or proposing alternatives to how it’s been built. You, like everyone else, have probably wondered what will happen when drunk drivers take the wheel, considering the fact that sober drivers are already driving the wrong way. You’ve probably feared for the lives of all the drivers this year and have sent up a prayer that a solution will come on time. If you’re anything like us, your anxiety about the road has bolstered your anxiety about Sahel in general, creating one big anxious mess of a human being. Isn’t this supposed to be our time? You wonder. I don’t know about you, but for me Sahel is the one season a year I feel truly like myself. Sahel is the one place I can connect to my roots, slow down, be in nature and take it easier, but with the impending road trouble, it does not sound like that will be the case this year.

“Are you going to Sahel this weekend?” Is a common phrase we use all around the summer season to imply the big gathering at the North Coast of Egypt. Sahel means so many things to so many different people, but largely it’s an excuse to party and get together. Since we were young, many of us have spent our summers traveling to Sahel and being schooled in beach and compound life. Sahel is home, and for a large part of us, the birthplace of many firsts. Our first kiss or first hook up. Our first beach memory. Our first time getting drunk. Our first time eating mussels. Sahel holds a special place in our heart because it is the place we were our freest selves. No cars, no school, no commitments.

And yet, even with all the positive memories, I cannot describe Sahel without depicting the dread that many of us go through when this season approaches. Here we go again, having to work on our summer body. Here we go again, having to drive from compound to compound. Here we go again flipping night and day and staying out till all hours of the morning. Here we go again trying to squeeze in family and friend time. The image that best depicts Sahel for me these days is that of an octopus with 8 arms being gripped in different directions. Sahel as a grown up feels less like unrestrained fun and more like constant FOMO.

But where did all the fun go?

To look into that, I’d have to give a better description of what Sahel is like. Imagine different compounds by the beach, stretched on one street each next to the other on a road with little to no traffic control and a lot of drunk or high drivers. Each compound is self-sufficient, with its own amenities and going out places. It used to be that most people would congregate in “Old Sahel” the area closer to Alexandria, featuring compounds like Rowad, Balah, Agami and Suez Canal.  In those places it was all about family life and sleepovers with friends. As Sahel has moved more to the west, people have branched out more and expanded the activities that go on. Instead of having one club to party at, you now have 5-6, making it hard to choose the best place to congregate with your friends. Same goes for beach time, instead of knowing you’ll see all your friends if you hang in Diplo, you now have to switch your time between Diplo, Hacienda and Marina. It is exhausting and physically grueling and I think one of the main reasons that Sahel has become less fun over the years. These days the options have expanded even more, as the whole Sidi Heneish area/ Almaza Bay area has been added to the map.

The other reason I believe that Sahel has become less fun over the years is obviously work. As we grow up, we no longer have the luxury of spending two-three months camped out on the North Coast. Sahel is now a weekend getaway, and like every weekend getaway, it feels rushed and chaotic. By the time you are getting used to the pace, you already have to leave.

So why do we do it? Why do we brave the traffic and discombobulation to spend just two or three days at the beach?

Because of the magic. When done right, Sahel can be downright magical in what it gives us. Because for every hour spent stuck at the Diplo gate waiting to be let in, there’s a fabulous white-flag beach day. For every day spent chatting to your dad’s boring cousin, there’s a night out at the right beach club playing your favourite style of music. For every time you have to hassle your friend for a code, there’s a special Sahelian sunset. For every disgusting burger you down, there’s an aklet samak waiting for you at home. Sahel reminds us that nature is really greater than all, and that given the chance we would rather spend one iota of our time in it, than have to live without it. Long live the beach.

I look forward to seeing you on the road,

Girl With One Earring