November 2020: Chad is a vast country, and aside from Zakouma National Park in the south, I believe its most fascinating regions lie in the northern Sahara Desert. As part of my quest to visit every country in the world, I had long looked forward to visiting Chad—but I didn’t want to limit my experience to just the capital, N’Djamena. Instead, my real goal was to explore the Ennedi Plateau in northeastern Chad, a place I had dreamed of visiting for years. The challenge, however, was the cost and time required to get there. By car, the journey alone would take six days round trip across mostly featureless desert—time I simply couldn’t afford to spend.
I was never much of a group tour traveler, but the only economically viable way to reach the Ennedi was to share the cost with others. Just when I thought the trip might not be possible, a friend with the financial means to do so offered to charter a Cessna Caravan, eliminating the long, arduous drive. I was ecstatic.
My friends and I were traveling through Africa for three weeks, with two of those weeks dedicated to climbing Mount Kilimanjaro—an opportunity we seized while the mountain was nearly void of tourists due to the pandemic-Climbing to the Roof of Africa-Kilimanjaro | Venture The Planet. Without the plane, we simply wouldn’t have had enough time to reach the Ennedi. Chartering a flight was our only option.
As if traveling to Chad wasn’t complicated enough, we also had to navigate the additional layers of confusion brought on by COVID-19 restrictions. Throughout the pandemic, I learned that every country had created its own complex and ever-changing list of requirements—often inconsistently interpreted and applied. In Chad, the biggest concern was a technically enforced 14-day quarantine. The last thing I wanted was to be stuck in quarantine for two weeks.
After reaching out to local contacts in Chad, I had them verify the situation directly with immigration officials at the airport. They confirmed that although quarantine was officially required, it wasn’t enforced—so long as our stay in Chad did not exceed six days. The logic behind this was beyond me, but it was exactly the loophole we needed. Of course, in a country like Chad, where tourism is almost nonexistent, there was always the possibility that the rules could change by the time we arrived.
Given our limited time, the logistics of reaching the Ennedi were far too complex to handle independently. To ensure everything went smoothly, I arranged the trip through a local fixer in Chad.
Day 1: We arrived in Chad’s capital, N’Djamena, in the early afternoon on a flight from Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. Despite my initial concerns about potential issues at immigration, our arrival was unexpectedly smooth. As soon as we stepped off the plane, we were met by immigration officials and given VIP treatment—whisked through without waiting in line or filling out any forms.
It wasn’t until later that I learned the reason behind our seamless entry—one of the men working with our travel company also had connections at the airport and had convinced immigration that we were arriving diplomats.
This unexpected diplomatic status resulted in our special treatment. I also later learned that we were the first tourists to arrive in Chad during the pandemic, so it’s likely that immigration was simply thrilled to receive foreigners.
Upon arrival, we headed straight to our hotel—the Radisson Blu—exhausted and jet-lagged from our journey. We knew the next day would be long, as we had an early morning departure aboard our Cessna Caravan for the four-hour flight deep into the Ennedi.
Day 2: The next morning, we were transferred to the airport and taken directly to our aircraft—a Cessna Caravan, the workhorse of African aviation. This 12-seater, single-engine turboprop is built for rugged conditions, capable of landing on unpaved runways.
At the plane, we met our pilot, Jay—a polite, enthusiastic, and highly competent pilot from southern India. Shortly after takeoff, we left behind N’Djamena’s green landscape, interwoven with rivers and waterways, and headed north. As we gained altitude, the scenery quickly transformed into some of the most desolate terrain I had ever seen.
Flying at just 12,000 feet, we had spectacular views of the Sahara stretching endlessly beneath us. After some time, we made a necessary fuel stop in Abéché—our last chance to refuel before entering the remote Ennedi.
As we continued our journey, the landscape underwent a dramatic shift. The featureless desert began to rise, giving way to towering red and orange buttes, reminiscent of the rugged formations in southern Utah. The sight was mesmerizing—an otherworldly gateway into one of Africa’s most hidden wonders.
Ennedi from the plane
Pilot Jay after securing the Cessna Caravan plane in Fada airport
We landed on a sandy airstrip a few miles outside the remote, dust-covered village of Fada. The “airport” was little more than an isolated clearing in the desert, marked by a single aluminum hangar and a small nomad hut, where the airport’s caretaker lived. Goats grazed lazily in front of his home, seemingly indifferent to the rare arrival of an aircraft.
Waiting for us near the hangar were our two rugged 4WD Toyota Land Cruisers, along with our crew—ready to embark on the journey into the heart of the Ennedi Plateau.
Our crew consisted of a Toubou guide, a Toubou driver from the area, an English translator, and a cook. They had just arrived that morning after an exhausting three-day drive from N’Djamena, transporting all of our food and supplies.
In such a remote region, finding food, fuel, or even a suitable vehicle would have been impossible. Every essential item had to be brought in from the capital, making their long journey a crucial part of our expedition.
In the Ennedi, traveling with at least two vehicles was essential. If one broke down or got stuck in the sand, the other would be our only chance of getting out. There were no roads ahead—only endless stretches of sand and rock, with our path entirely off-road.
We also invited our pilot, Jay, to join us. Our crew had accidentally forgotten to pack food for him, and he seemed eager to see the Ennedi firsthand. Besides, he was fascinating company—we enjoyed hearing about his adventures flying across Africa. Just the week before, he had flown into Bangui, Central African Republic, a place few outsiders dared to visit. His satellite phone was also a valuable addition to our team, offering a rare lifeline in case of an emergency.
Before setting off, we had lunch inside the hangar, trying to shield ourselves from the fierce desert winds that sent sand swirling around us. Once finished, we climbed into our Land Cruisers and ventured into the vast Ennedi.
Our guide had a particular campsite in mind—one he promised we would love.
The Ennedi is a vast desert plateau rising several thousand feet above the surrounding Sahara. Though it is an arid region, the recent rainy season had left its mark—grasslands stretched across the landscape, an uncommon sight in such a harsh environment. While the Ennedi receives only sparse rainfall, even a little is enough to transform the terrain, creating a temporary oasis of life.
The fresh grass was highly coveted by the Toubou nomads, who traveled from across the Sahara with their camels to graze in the Ennedi’s seasonal pastures. The plateau was not only a refuge for livestock but also home to an array of wildlife. As we drove, we spotted antelope darting through the grass and monkeys leaping between rocky outcroppings.
According to our guide, leopards also roamed these mountains, descending under the cover of night to hunt.
Jimmy in his tent under the stars
All day, we saw no signs of human life in the remote expanse of the Ennedi. Then, suddenly, a small group of young men appeared in the distance. Their features were distinctly sub-Saharan, and given the isolation of our surroundings, our guide approached them cautiously, wary of bandits.
As we got closer, their story became clear—they were illegal migrants attempting the treacherous journey across the Sahara in hopes of reaching Europe. Their transport had abandoned them in the desert without water, leaving them to make the long walk to Fada on foot. Stranded and desperate, they had no choice but to keep moving. We shared some of our water and food with them before they continued on their way, their uncertain future weighing heavily on our minds as we watched them disappear into the vast emptiness.
By dusk, we reached our campsite, nestled among towering rock formations that looked almost otherworldly. The night was completely moonless, and with no cities for hundreds of miles, the stars had never shone brighter. Under the vast Saharan sky, we gathered around and shared a bottle of whiskey that our pilot had brought, raising a toast to the beauty and raw wilderness of this remarkable place.
Rock formations by our campsite
Our campsite
The next morning, I awoke at sunrise and set off to explore the surrounding landscape, taking in the silence and surreal beauty of the Ennedi in the soft morning light. After some time, I returned to camp, where our group gathered for breakfast. Once we had eaten, we packed up and set off once more, eager to continue our journey deeper into the heart of the Ennedi.
Day 3: We drove to a towering cliffside where a series of caves lay hidden within the rock. Inside, we discovered clusters of remarkably well-preserved petroglyphs, etched into the stone over a thousand years ago. The images depicted cattle and other animals that once roamed this land—evidence of a time when the Ennedi was lush and fertile, long before it became the vast desert it is today.
From there, we pressed deeper into the Ennedi, sometimes following faint tracks, other times venturing into completely trackless terrain. The landscape grew increasingly surreal, with towering rock formations rising like ancient sentinels from the sand.
Throughout the day, we stopped to admire massive natural arches and bizarre rock formations sculpted by time and wind. Occasionally, we encountered Toubou nomads, their camels grazing on the sparse grass—a fleeting reminder that even in this extreme wilderness, life still endured.
Me admiring the petroglyphs with a Toubou turban wrapped around my head.
Toubou Nomads of Northern Chad
The Toubou nomads have historically lived across northern Chad, Niger, and southern Libya, earning a formidable reputation as the fiercest warriors in the Sahara. They are known to carry daggers and, more commonly, AK-47s—both symbols of their resilience and readiness to defend their land. In the 1980s, when Qaddafi’s Libyan forces attempted to invade Chad, it was the Toubou who fought them off, forcing the Libyans into a humiliating retreat.
The Toubou we encountered primarily raised camels and goats, their livelihood tied to the harsh desert environment. While many we met were nomadic, roaming the endless sands in search of grazing land, we also passed a few permanent Toubou villages, where grass huts stood clustered against the barren landscape.
Compared to other nomadic groups I’ve met in the Sahara, the Toubou seemed more reserved, even wary of outsiders. They were not only opposed to being photographed themselves, but oddly enough, many also objected to having their camels photographed. Despite this, I was fortunate to come across a few nomads who agreed to let me take their portraits—a rare moment of connection in this remote and guarded world.
Toubou nomad traveling with his goat
Toubou nomad traveling with his camels
Toubou Village
During our journey through the Ennedi, we visited two oasis areas. The first was near a small village, a lush haven filled with hundreds of towering date palms—a stark contrast to the surrounding desert.
To enter the oasis, we needed permission from the village chief. The chief, however, was blind and unable to accompany us himself. To ensure the other villagers would allow us passage, he sent his young son to escort us.
Since our vehicle was already full, the boy had to sit on our guide’s lap as we drove to the oasis. Despite his age, he carried himself with the authority of a future leader. He was unafraid to give us orders, directing our movements as if he were already the chief. His confidence and presence were striking, a glimpse into the traditions of leadership passed down through generations of the Toubou people.
Toubou Nomad
We also visited the largest natural arch I had ever seen. Standing beneath it, I gazed up in awe—the towering rock formation must have been nearly a thousand feet tall, an immense gateway carved by time and the elements.
For our second night in the Ennedi, we set up camp near the canyon walls. As darkness fell, we gathered around a crackling bonfire, enjoying a large dinner made with fresh vegetables and fruit—imported all the way from N’Djamena. In the dry desert air, the flavors were even more pronounced, making the meal feel almost indulgent.
That night, we used Jay’s satellite phone to call Richard’s travel agent, making a last-minute change to our plans. We canceled our upcoming trip to Istanbul and rebooked our flights to Tanzania via Addis Ababa instead—adjusting our journey in the middle of the Sahara, under a sky ablaze with stars.
Me Looking Up at the Arch
Our campsite was yet another magical place. The stars once again stretched endlessly above us, undisturbed by light pollution, creating a breathtaking display. But beneath this celestial beauty, the desert held its own lurking presence—scorpions.
Drawn to the warmth of our bonfire, they emerged from the darkness, one by one, in a strange, almost ritualistic procession. Without hesitation, they marched straight into the flames, meeting their fiery end. It was both eerie and fascinating to watch.
The next morning, as I packed up my tent, we made another unsettling discovery—dozens of scorpions had sought refuge beneath our tents overnight. When I asked our guide if they were dangerous, he answered without hesitation: “Yes, very dangerous.”
That made sense. As the old rule goes—the smaller the scorpion, the more potent its venom.
Desert Scorpion
Guelta d’Archei Camel Oasis
Day 4: In the morning, we set off on a hike over the mountains toward the Guelta d’Archei, a remote desert oasis hidden within the vastness of the Ennedi. This hike would become the highlight of the trip.
We climbed up along a rugged ridgeline, the rising sun casting long shadows over the rocky landscape. As we descended on the other side, signs of water began to appear—small trickles bubbling up from a spring, hinting at the life hidden deep within the desert. Occasionally, vultures circled overhead, a stark reminder of the harshness of this environment.
The pools of water gradually grew larger, their surfaces tinged green with algae. Some pools, nestled beneath massive boulders, appeared several feet deep. As we explored, we noticed unmistakable crocodile tracks pressed into the damp sand near one of the pools. Our guide suddenly pointed ahead—he had spotted a small crocodile sunning itself on the bank. Before we could get a closer look, it disappeared into the water.
The Guelta d’Archei is one of the last places in the Sahara where crocodiles still survive, remnants of an ancient time when the desert was lush and full of life. Today, approximately 20 of them remain in this isolated refuge, a living testament to the resilience of nature in even the most extreme conditions.
Guelta d” Archei Oasis
Guelta d” Archei Oasis
I was absolutely in awe of this place. The contrast between the lush green oasis and the towering arid sandstone cliffs was nothing short of magical. It felt like stepping into another world—a hidden sanctuary deep within the desert.
We climbed up a cliff to a viewpoint, looking down at a vast pool of water that opened into a large clearing. Here, the canyon walls soared thousands of feet into the sky, forming a natural amphitheater. This was one of the main watering holes for nomads, who led their camels here to drink—knowing they might not find water again for weeks.
As we sat above the oasis, a caravan of several hundred camels appeared in the distance, slowly making their way to the water below. Watching from our perch high above, the scene was surreal—like something straight out of Star Wars. The deep, guttural groans of the camels echoed off the canyon walls, sounding eerily like Wookiees in heat. The entire place felt otherworldly.
Caught up in the moment, I decided—on a whim—to try mimicking the camels’ calls. I didn’t expect any sort of reaction. But the second I let out my best camel impression, about fifty of them froze mid-step, lifting their heads in unison to stare directly at me. A few tense seconds passed before—suddenly—they all stampeded out of the oasis in a frenzied retreat.
I was stunned. I hadn’t expected to trigger such a dramatic reaction. My amusement quickly turned to guilt when I noticed one of the nomads below glaring up at me, his face full of unmistakable disgust.
Oops.
We remained perched on the cliff for hours, utterly captivated by the scene before us. The oasis had an almost hypnotic pull, its beauty enhanced by the surreal contrast of greenery against the stark desert walls. Below us, the camels eventually returned to drinking, seemingly unbothered by their earlier scare.
Each of us spread out along the rocky ledge, carefully positioning ourselves to avoid slipping over the edge. Richard, fully immersed in the atmosphere, reclined against a boulder, listening to music as he soaked it all in.
Eventually, we had to make our way down. Before leaving, I decided to take a quick dip in one of the oasis pools. Keeping an eye out for crocodiles, I stayed close to the edge, careful not to wade too deep into the murky water.
Once we regrouped, our guide presented us with two options: we could either hike back up the mountain the way we came or continue down through the canyon, crossing the oasis pool at a narrow passage where the water would reach at least waist-deep. Both routes would eventually lead us back to our campsite and vehicles.
He assured us that the crocodiles were shy, so we took the risk and waded through the water, emerging near the camels on the opposite side. However, my curiosity once again got me into trouble—when I stopped to take photos of the camels, the nomads were quick to scold me.
Nomad Camels drinking from the oasis, Guelta d” Archei Oasis
Guelta d” Archei Oasis
The water was cool and refreshing, but as we waded closer to the area where hundreds of camels stood, it became murkier—too dirty for a proper bath. Towering cliffs loomed above us, their sheer walls rising like a fortress around the oasis. At their base, several caves were carved into the rock, offering natural shelters from the harsh desert sun.
In one of these caves, we noticed a nomad had left behind camel harnesses and other personal belongings, a clear sign that the cave was being used as a temporary shelter during his journey through the desert.
Our Toubou guide, as always, made a point to speak with every nomad we encountered. He explained that he knew them all and made an effort to maintain good relations between the local tribes and any travelers he brought into the Ennedi. I attempted to greet them with the traditional Islamic As-salamu alaykum, and while they politely returned the greeting, they rarely seemed enthusiastic about our presence.
From the oasis, we continued through the canyon as the water gradually dried up, leaving behind thick mud that cracked under the heat of the midday sun. Beyond the canyon, we faced the final stretch—a long, scorching trek around the entire mountain, fully exposed to the desert’s relentless heat. By the time we arrived back at our camp, where we had spent the previous night, we had completed a half-day round-trip journey through one of the most remarkable landscapes I had ever seen.
With little time to spare, we packed up and set off for our return to Fada, making several stops along the way to explore more of the Ennedi’s hidden wonders.
Ancient Seabed Floor
Where we ate lunch on the return to Fada
Tank Battlefields in the Desert
Along the drive back, we stumbled upon a haunting scene—dozens of abandoned tanks and military vehicles lay scattered across the desert, rusting under the relentless sun. The wreckage was a silent testament to a war fought long ago.
Unable to resist, we climbed atop the hulking remains of the armored vehicles, exploring the eerie battlefield frozen in time. But I was keenly aware of the dangers that still lingered. The possibility of unexploded ordnance was real, and I warned my friends to be cautious. I’m glad I did—one of them was just about to pick up a shell lying next to a tank before stopping at my warning.
Our driver, a Toubou, casually mentioned that his uncle had been the one who destroyed the very tank I was standing on. From a distant mountain ridge, he had fired an RPG, taking out the Libyan armor during Qaddafi’s failed invasion of Chad.
The battle was part of Chad’s resistance against Libya’s attempt to seize territory in the 1980s. The Toubou, renowned desert warriors, played a crucial role in repelling the invasion, forcing the Libyan forces into retreat. As our driver recounted his uncle’s role in the fight, I asked what happened to the tank’s crew.
He smiled knowingly and replied, “All of them burned up inside the tank.”
Me sitting on a Libyan tank
Un-exploded Tank shell
On the drive back, we made several stops to walk through more breathtaking landscapes—vast, otherworldly formations that seemed untouched by time. The terrain was ever-changing, from towering rock spires to open desert plains, each scene more surreal than the last.
Every so often, we would come across a lone nomad, wandering through the emptiness with nothing but the desert stretching endlessly in all directions. It was astonishing to see how these solitary figures thrived in such an unforgiving environment, a reminder of the resilience of the Toubou people and their deep connection to the Sahara.
Toubou Nomad boy in the middle of nowhere with his camels
Ennedi Landscapes in the shape of people
We returned to the airport, where we picked up a worker from African Parks, an organization involved in conservation efforts across Chad. He mentioned having a contact in Fada who could sell us beer—a rare find in this part of the country.
Curious and eager to secure a drink for our last night in the Ennedi, we drove into town and met his contact in a small mud hut. The transaction felt like something out of a spy film—an under-the-table, black-market deal for warm beers in a region that, judging by the secrecy, was likely under Sharia law.
With our hard-earned contraband in hand, we returned to the hangar and met up with a few more African Parks workers, including another pilot. Together, we shared a meal outside, drinking our warm beers under the vast desert sky—one last night beneath the stars in the Ennedi, savoring the wildness of this incredible place.
The airport hangar where we slept
Day 5: Early in the morning, we woke up and said our goodbyes to our crew, who faced a grueling three to four-day drive back to N’Djamena. In contrast, our flight would take just three hours. As we boarded the Cessna Caravan, I couldn’t help but admire the resilience of our Toubou guides, who would be navigating the harsh desert terrain long after we had already landed.
Taking off from the sandy runway, our pilot treated us to low-level flying over the Ennedi, giving us one last breathtaking view of the surreal rock formations and endless dunes before turning toward N’Djamena.
The flight back took us over an even harsher desert than the one we had crossed on our way in. The land below was bleached by the relentless sun, barren and unforgiving. I found myself imagining what we would do if we had to make an emergency landing in the middle of this desolation. Occasionally, I spotted small groups of nomads making their way across the sand, their tiny figures barely distinguishable from the landscape. I wondered what it would be like to live among them for weeks, waiting to be rescued.
We landed in N’Djamena with just enough time to head to a hotel, grab lunch, and take a COVID test—a requirement for our onward journey. A doctor met us at the hotel, swabbed our noses, and just a few hours later, delivered our questionable PCR test results straight to the airport. In places like Chad, official processes often felt like mere formalities, but we weren’t about to question it.
As expected when leaving a country like Chad, our departure was far from smooth, but eventually, we made it through and boarded our flight. Soon, we were airborne again, en route to our next destination—Addis Ababa, Ethiopia.
Video of our flight departing the sand runway in Fada