Wars have been waged between them for centuries. For often the drought in the Sahara is so severe that all the wells vanish, and then the Tuareg must wander with their camels beyond the desert, to the green regions, toward the Niger River and Lake Chad, to water and feed their herds and also find a little something to eat. The sedentary Bantu peasants treat these visits as invasions, raids, acts of aggression, and hecatombs. The hatred between them and the Tuareg is fierce because the latter not only burn villages and steal livestock but also enslave the villagers. The Tuareg, who are light-skinned Berbers, consider the black Africans a low and abject race of wretched sub-humans. These, in turn, hold the Tuareg to be bandits, parasites, and terrorists and wish that the sands of the Sahara would swallow them up once and for all. The Tuareg a nomad, a man of open spaces and limitless horizons, the cavalryman and the Cossack of the Sahara have a different relation toward their ancestors. The one who died is erased from the memory of the living. The Tuareg bury their dead in the desert, in arbitrarily chosen locations, making sure of one thing only: never to pass that way again.