30 kilometre stretch of bituminised
road. Incredible! Why was this
here? It’d become apparent that we
were entering a significant area of
sand dunes. The dunes seemed to
roll on forever like a red ocean swell,
whitecaps replaced by tufts of green
saltbush hanging on for dear life. The
bitumen strip had been put in place
to help the supply trucks traverse the
dunes, becoming bogged was an in-
herent danger. The community of
Warburton was close, made more
apparent by the many cars dumped
roadside.
Warburton, or what a visiting
traveller sees of it, is hard to de-
scribe. On first approach, the road-
house seemed devoid of life, then
as if by some secret door people
appeared. Cars, motorbikes, foot,
they came from everywhere. We’d
instantly become a source of interest
yet the local indigenous people kept
a ‘safe distance’. There was no feel-
ing of threat yet the experience was
confronting. I’d been hoping to visit
the actual community of Warburton
through a friend of a friend. Unfor-
tunately, this had fallen through, for
unknown reasons. It was a great pity,
I would dearly have liked to have seen
this community that our friend Gem-
ma so generously gives to.
Amid razor wire fences and a
floodlit compound, we’d drifted off to
sleep, young voices, broken English,
arguing in the distance …
Despite the floodlights illuminat-
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23
ing the tent greater than daylight
we’d all slept soundly. Peering from
the tent as the sun rose I couldn’t
help feeling we’d been encamped in
what was essentially a prison, albeit
to keep the inmates out. I felt a lit-
tle sadden for the experience and
wished again that we could’ve expe-