WORLD DESERTIFICATION DAY SPECIAL
The theme for this year’s commemoration, “Rangelands: Recognize, Respect, Restore,” is both timely and urgent. It calls on governments, communities, and individuals to acknowledge the importance of our grasslands and grazing lands, respect their role in sustaining life, and take deliberate steps to restore what has been lost through neglect, overuse, and the advancing threat of desertification.
JUNE 17 of every year is observed by the United Nations as a day of reflection on desertification, climate change, and the growing environmental challenges confronting our planet. It is a day that reminds humanity that the land beneath our feet is not an endless resource, but a fragile inheritance that must be protected for future generations.
The theme for this year’s commemoration, “Rangelands: Recognize, Respect, Restore,” is both timely and urgent. It calls on governments, communities, and individuals to acknowledge the importance of our grasslands and grazing lands, respect their role in sustaining life, and take deliberate steps to restore what has been lost through neglect, overuse, and the advancing threat of desertification.
This article is the first of a four-part series in which I share a journey that took me from Jerusalem and the Negev Desert of Israel to Makoda in Kano State, Nigeria. It is a story that spans many years, crosses continents, and reflects my lifelong concern about the growing threat of desertification.
What began as an opportunity to learn from one of the world’s most successful desert reclamation programmes eventually led to practical efforts to fight desert encroachment in northern Nigeria. Along the way, I encountered remarkable people, unexpected challenges, and inspiring communities whose resilience strengthened my belief that the desert can be pushed back.
For me, this conversation is not new. My personal journey in the fight against desertification began sixty-one years ago following my first expedition across the Sahara Desert, when I drove alone from London to Nigeria. That remarkable journey opened my eyes to a reality that many people only read about – the silent but relentless advance of the desert and its devastating impact on human lives.
About twenty years ago, in my book Me, My Deserts and I: A Journey, A Mission and A Life, I dedicated the work to the people whose lives have been uprooted by the encroaching sands. The dedication reads:
“This work is dedicated to the stateless and homeless people of the desert who have lost their land and boundaries to the Sahara Desert and other deserts of the world. They made it possible for me to survive the Sahara, and I will live the rest of my life for them.” Those words were not written as a literary expression. They were a solemn promise – a commitment born out of firsthand encounters with men, women, and children whose homes, livelihoods, and identities had been swallowed by an advancing desert.
Ten years ago, in my fifth book, Hunger for Power, I returned to the same concern, reflecting once again on humanity’s relationship with the environment and the consequences of ignoring the warning signs that nature continues to place before us.
My second solo expedition in the year 2000 saw me drive from Lagos to London, in the exact opposite direction to my first. Upon my return and following various television appearances as well as the huge coverage the expedition received, I was invited to a host of events. One such invitation was extended to me to make a presentation to a group of diplomatic ambassadors and high commissioners in Nigeria. This event was organized by my good friend, Ambassador Segun Olusola; the Nigerian Ambassador to Ethiopia and the Organization of African Unity, OAU.
At the end of the presentation, I got into detailed discussions with a number of Ambassadors. One particular discussion, with the Israeli Ambassador to Nigeria then, took on a life of its own. Showing a lot more interest than most, the Ambassador told me that my experience and goals were similar to the effort that practically saw the reclamation of Israel from the Negev Desert over a period of 50 years.
“You know, Newton, I believe it will be worthwhile for you to make a working visit to Ben Gurion University in Israel,” the Ambassador said with all seriousness. “There is a lot you can gain.” My interest was aroused. “Oh, Your Excellency, that will be most wonderful if 1 could. But, why Ben Gurion University?” I asked, not exactly sure where it was all leading to.
“This institution has specialized in the science of desertification,” the Ambassador explained. “It is right there, smack in the middle of the Negev. The professors and researchers there were responsible for plotting the taming of the Negev. You will love it Newton.”
“This sounds amazing, Your Excellency,” I replied, already relishing the opportunity to see the best researchers at work. “How do I contact them? I certainly would want to work with them in any way.”
“Leave it to me, Newton. I will make some inquiries and let you know in a few days. I certainly believe that just as they tamed the Negev Desert, the Sahara can be tamed,” said the Ambassador. And with that we drifted into more discussions about the lives of the desert people around the world.
The entire evening was very productive and what struck me was the genuine interest that was in apparent display by the diplomatic corps. Each diplomat had a story to share and a concern to raise. They all believed that the impact of world hunger and climate change would not be diminished unless man could find a way to control the process of desertification.
True to his promise, the Israeli Ambassador contacted me a few days later with the good news that he was able to speak to some professors who actually told him they had been following my various trips through the desert as well as my advocacy on global warming. This was a shock to me, for I did not know that my ‘madness’ with the environment would attract the attention of Israeli professors, far away at the Ben Gurion University.
I say ‘madness’ because of a story my mission control manager told me when I returned to Lagos after the second expedition. Some specialist sub-contractor who had worked with my company, Costain (West Africa) Plc, on a project that was late in honoring payments, dragged the entire management to the Lagos State Police Commissioner, claiming the management deliberately refused to pay him for completed work.
During the adjudication process, the Deputy Commissioner of police, who obviously knew about me, inquired about my whereabouts. He was told that I was away on a business trip to Europe, but he retorted sharply: “Is he not the one trekking from Lagos to London across the Sahara?” he asked with a knowing look, a sort of I-know-you-are-lying-to-me.
“He is actually driving, sir,” one of the managers responded.
“Trekking and driving are the same thing in my book,” the deputy commissioner shot back. “Half of the time, I guarantee you, he will be pushing his car out of the sand dunes. I don’t understand this his madness with the environment. I guess he has a lot of time on his hands.”
I was told my colleagues could not say anymore for fear of aggravating a deteriorating situation they all had no business being in. But such is the ambivalence of others to the burning issues of climate change, so when I saw a host of foreign dignitaries, going out of their way to embrace, encourage, and propagate my message, it made me bubble with gratitude.
I followed up the Ambassador’s lead, was offered a two-month study tour at the Ben Gurion University, and with my visa procured, I embarked on my first trip to Israel in late June 2000.
As my aircraft descended into Israel in the summer of 2000, I had little idea that the journey before me would become one of the most important chapters in my lifelong campaign against desertification. What began as an invitation to learn from the remarkable transformation of the Negev Desert would soon open my eyes to new possibilities, new partnerships, and new ways of confronting one of Africa’s greatest environmental challenges.
Looking back now, I realize that the conversations with diplomats, researchers, and environmental experts were more than mere exchanges of ideas. They were the beginning of a bridge between two deserts – the Negev and the Sahara – and between two nations facing different realities but linked by a common challenge.
At that point, I was still a student, eager to understand how a land once considered barren could be reclaimed through determination, science, and long-term planning. The lessons I was about to encounter would strengthen my conviction that desertification is not an inevitable fate, but a challenge that can be confronted when knowledge is matched with commitment.
To Be Continued……
