The Martain in the Sand
€100–€600
EN
While photographing rooftops for my Roof Art, I spotted this “Martian in the sand” and instantly remembered an experience from the Sahara. Here is how I described it in my auto-photo-monograph SEĆAM SE:
When I was a student, I spent my summer breaks on adventurous road trips in my parents’ car. I reached Africa by ferry, which carried my Ami 8 from Sicily to Tunisia. I had borrowed a Flexaret VI camera from the university photo club, convinced that somewhere in the Sahara, on top of a sand dune, I could photograph the Ami 8 and offer the picture to Tomos, the factory where these cars were assembled.
While searching for the perfect dune in Algeria, I strayed far off the main road. As soon as I began climbing a promising ridge, the wheels sank deep into the sand. It took me more than ten hours to dig the car out — I didn’t know you can climb a dune only from the side where the wind piles the sand.
Just as I made it back to the road, I saw a half-naked man crawling along it. The scene was surreal, almost cinematic. I was about to stop, but then I caught a suspicious glint behind a nearby rock. I hit the gas and sped past — behind the rock were four horsemen. Later, workers from Energoprojekt told me such ambushes were common on the edge of the desert.
Still, the desire for a good Sahara photograph was stronger than fear. At dawn the next day, equipped with fresh knowledge about sand and bandits, I headed back toward the dunes. I was sure nothing could surprise me anymore — but as soon as I entered the desert, the engine died. I couldn’t start it again, and when I opened the hood, I saw fuel dripping from a loose hose.
Just then, a jeep appeared with two men inside. We spoke a mixture of English and French until one of them noticed my license plate. Delighted, he said he was also from Belgrade, working here and currently collecting venomous snakes and scorpions for research. I asked whether there were more of “our people” around, and he replied that another Serb lived in a nearby settlement, but that they hadn’t spoken in years. Typical Serbian story, I thought.
Luckily, his companion knew his way around engines and quickly fixed the fuel line problem.
SR
Snimajući fotografije za projekat Roof Art iznad beogradskih krovova pre dva dana ugledao sam ovog „Marsovca u pesku“ i momentalno se setio jednog davnog doživljaja iz Sahare. Evo kako sam to opisao u auto-foto-monografiji SEĆAM SE:
Dok sam bio student, tokom letnjeg raspusta kretao sam u avanturistička putovanja automobilom svojih roditelja. Do Afrike sam stigao feribotom koji je moj “ami 8” prevezao od Sicilije do Tunisa. Sa sobom sam poneo flexaret VI, pozajmljen iz fakultetskog foto-kluba, jer sam smislio da bih negde u Sahari, na vrhu peščane dine, mogao da snimim “ami 8” i fotografiju ponudim fabrici Tomos, gde se ti automobili sklapali.
U potrazi za idealnom dinom u Alžiru skrenuo sam podosta s puta. Tek što sam počeo da se penjem uz jednu lepu dinu, točkovi su se do vrha zaglavili u pesku. Više od deset sati sam otkopavao auto – nisam znao da se uz dinu može popeti samo iz pravca iz kog je vetar nasuo pesak.
Kada sam se napokon dočepao puta, ugledao sam kako njime puzi nekakav polugoli čovek. Scena nestvarna, kao iz filma. Već sam hteo da stanem, ali sam kraj obližnje stene video sumnjivi odsjaj. Dao sam gas i projurio – iza stene su bila četiri konjanika. Kasnije su mi naši radnici iz Energoprojekta rekli da su takve zasede na obodu pustinje česte.
Želja za dobrim snimkom je, međutim, bila jača od straha. Čim je svanuo novi dan, ponovo sam krenuo ka pustinji, sada naoružan znanjem o pesku i razbojnicima. Bio sam uveren da me ništa više ne može iznenaditi – ali čim sam zašao među dine, motor se ugasio. Nisam uspevao da ga upalim, a kad sam otvorio haubu, video sam kako benzin curi iz jednog creva.
U tom trenutku pojavio se džip iz kojeg su izašla dvojica ljudi. Malo smo pričali na engleskom, malo na francuskom, sve dok jedan od njih nije spazio moju tablicu. Razdragano je rekao da je i on Beograđanin, koji ovde radi i trenutno sakuplja zmije otrovnice i škorpije za neka istraživanja. Na moje pitanje da li ima još naših, odgovorio je da je u susednom naselju još jedan Srbin – ali da godinama ne razgovaraju. “Srpska posla”, pomislio sam.
Srećom, njegov saputnik je bio vešt mehaničar i za tili čas je rešio problem sa dotokom goriva.