2023-05-07 17:16:19
Photo credit, Fiona Dunlop
The city of Ghadames is one of the greatest architectural masterpieces of the Sahara and a very special example of environmental planning.
After long hours of driving through endless maquis, mountains to negotiate, a sandstorm, camels and rusty car wrecks, we finally arrived in Ghadames. It is located 600 km southwest of Tripoli, in the heart of Tripolitania, an arid region of Libya. The white and ocher walls of this city lined with palm trees seemed incongruous.
The name Ghadames has been known for at least two thousand years, but its present compact structure was developed by the Muslim Arabs in the 7th century, after which it expanded over the centuries.
Perfectly designed to fight against the desert winds and the harsh climate of the northern Sahara, this city-oasis, listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site and nicknamed “the pearl of the desert”, is one of the greatest masterpieces of architectural works of the Sahara and a very special example of environmental planning.
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With temperatures reaching over 40°C (they peak at 55°C in summer and drop below freezing in winter), my guide Manshour and I immediately plunged into the maze of dark, shady passages.
As we weave our way through the winding zinqas (vaulted lanes covered in palm wood), rays of sunlight stream through the occasional skylights, bringing light and ventilation.
“The number [de lucarnes] reflects the importance of the street, helps with orientation and keeps the temperature at around 20°C, explains Manshour. The idea behind the curved passageways is to prevent gusts of desert sand from blowing through the building.”
Photo credit, Fiona Dunlop
The city of Ghadames is perfectly adapted to the harsh climate of the northern Sahara.
The interior walls, which shone bright white with a protective layer of whitewash, were made of sun-dried mud bricks. This mixture of clay, sand and straw was superimposed with stones which isolated them from humidity.
Susannah Hagan, Emeritus Professor of Architecture at the University of Westminster and an expert in green architecture, later explained why this building technique is so ingenious.
“The secret is in the walls: thick walls of earth or stone that delay the heat of the sun penetrating inside a building during the day, and radiate that heat back to the cold sky at night, a- she said. By morning the walls had cooled enough to start the cycle of protection again.”
She added: “The skilful use of available building materials [permet d’obtenir] maximum comfort with minimum resources. In the desert, that means cool without air conditioning and hot without heating.”
Continuing, we passed doorways made of simple palm tree trunks, some of which are studded with brass, as well as low arches, curved alcoves and dakkars – built-in benches – which, perfect for lounging, usually indicate a mosque. nearby (there are 21, but only a handful are still in use, and only on Fridays). Sometimes the arches are incised, chiselled, or decorated with delicate paintings (a hand of Fatima, a star, intricate geometries), which adds to the mystery and appeal.
Photo credit, Fiona Dunlop
Slave markets were held in the city’s arcaded squares until the 19th century.
In the heart of the medina, we came to two arcaded squares surrounded by giant mulberry trees. According to Manshour, this is where the slave markets once stood. Indeed, it was this centuries-old trade in sub-Saharan men, women and children that, shamefully, sparked the city’s economic heyday – and ultimately led to its downfall after the abolition of this practice in the 19th century.
But long before its demise, this caravan hub had boomed dramatically as a hub for itinerant traders who traded in exotic goods such as ostrich feathers, gold, ivory, civet, brass and tin, as well as weapons and horses.
Ghadames occupies a strategic position at the junction of Tunisia, Algeria and Libya. It was from here that loaded camels left westwards towards Timbuktu, southwards towards Ghat and Bornu or northwards towards the ports of the Mediterranean.
The city became an essential meeting point between civilizations, and its Berber inhabitants (known locally as Amazighs), the Ghadamisa, were highly revered.
It thus prospered until the abolition of slavery, submitting to Ottoman domination and experiencing interludes of Italian and French occupation at the beginning of the 20th century. In the 1980s, a shortage of water and the absence of modern sanitation infrastructure led Muammar Gaddafi to order the construction of a new city nearby.
Today, old Ghadames no longer has any permanent residents, although during the summer its environmental superiority over the concrete apartment blocks of the new city attracts a steady stream of Amazighs and sub-Saharans, who return to enter its mosques and teahouses and savor its fresh beauty.
Photo credit, Fiona Dunlop
The covered paths allow you to rest from the heat, which reaches up to 55°C in summer.
They also come to tend to the 121 home gardens, which are irrigated by a complex system of canals from artesian wells and the underground spring of Ain al-Faras – the legendary origin of the oasis.
In the gardens, in the shade of date palms and fruit trees, I admired the crenellated outer walls of the city. The natural ocher hue of the earth bricks is edged in white, topped with triangular openings and extravagant finials, both typical of Saharan architecture across the Maghreb. Manshour explained to me with a laugh that the pointed finials are used to prevent jinn (malevolent spirits) from landing on rooftops.
A bright white geometry, lined with leafy green palm trees
Back in the cool labyrinth, we enter one of the rare private houses open to the public. From the storerooms on the ground floor, stairs lead up to the tamanhat (living room).
It’s a revelation. Set against the white minimalism of the streets below, it’s an explosion of colors, textures and decorations: bright red geometric murals, lavishly patterned cushions and rugs, cabinets and niches containing keepsakes. dusty family home and dozens of copper pots and mirrors hanging on the wall, both designed to refract available light. This multiplies when Manshour opens a hatch in the ceiling, releasing a flood of sunbeams.
At the very top of the house, beyond a rudimentary kitchen and a shaded patio, a final flight of steps led to a large roof terrace and another architectural revelation: a stunning jigsaw of low parapets, peaks, steps and footbridges linking each house to its neighbor and, further still, to the medina.
Photo credit, Fiona Dunlop
The interiors of the houses are vividly decorated, with copper pots and mirrors that refract light around the room.
This elevated world, Manshour explains, was the domain of women who, confined to a single main street below, in accordance with local Islamic custom, spent their days cooking, sewing and socializing while keeping watch for the approaching caravans. Some even slept there on hot summer nights.
As the unforgiving sun beats down on this bright white geometry, fringed by leafy green palm trees, it seems obvious that the best bargains are for men, in their cool, shady underworld. But what the men and women shared was the beauty, intelligence and complexity of this remarkable abandoned city, lost in the depths of the Sahara, but which can still be enjoyed – intermittently – today.
This article is part of the Heritage Architecture series, which explores the world’s most interesting and unusual buildings that define a place through their aesthetic beauty and the inventive ways they go about adapting to local environments.
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