My name is Samuel Ross. At 87 my son and and his wife decided it was time for me to go to a nursing home.  With some reluctance I agreed and shortly thereafter I found myself walking through the main door of Sandy Acres, a 23 bed retirement home situated in the Sahara Desert, North Africa. Of course, the Sahara Desert is 3,250,000 square miles in size with sand dunes up to 650 feet high with temperatures in the shade as high as 136 degrees Fahrenheit.

It was a seven day ride by camel out of Rwanda to Sandy Acres and because of the high winds and dry heat, five prospective Sandy Acres residents expired en route.  I had grown rather close to Clem Meyer, a 77 year old minister from White Plains and on writing this can recall his haunting final words:  "These are the golden years?" He said, then falling from his camel and onto the scorching hot sand.

Mary Lou Johnston, 84, a doll maker from Chicago, Illinois was only a three day ride from  Sandy Acres when she too fell from atop her camel and onto a gaggle of desert scorpions.  "Life begins at 50?" I heard her say only an instant before landing face first onto the nest.

One night while seated around our nightly campfire two others and myself watched helplessly as Richard Keith, 90,  stumbled away from the group and into the darkness.  "I'm going back to Minnesota," said Keith, a Duluth shoemaker.  In the morning we were shocked to find Keith's bleached white skeleton lying only fifty feet from our camp his bony hand clutching an autographed copy of Norman Vincent Peale's, The Power of Positive Thinking.


Marge Taylor, 99, was trampled then dragged away after falling off, then under her frightened, crazed, running camel. Dinah Washington's song, "What a Difference a Day Makes," she sang, her hands still entwined in the reigns as the camel ran wildly out and into the unending sea of sand.     

 Barbara O'Toole, 74, myself and Velma the nursing home guide were the only ones to survive the seven day camel assisted journey across the blazingly hot Sahara Desert.  At least that's what we thought.  Unfortunately O'Toole also died en route in a sitting position atop her short haired Belonise camel. "Look at her sitting there. She's a smart one, she's conserving her strength," our native North African heavily accented guide would say when inquiries were made about her silence or lack of interest in food or her remarkable stillness.   A seamstress who lived in upstate New York,  O'Toole told me how she looked forward to spending her Golden Years near Niagara Falls with her son and grand daughter.  Her daughter in law had other plans however, convincing her husband to instead send her mother in law to Sandy Acres of the Sahara Desert, North Africa.  



Upon my arrival I was handed a brush with a long handle then told to "brush down" my camel.  When I refused and mentioned my Golden Years a large big bellied man laughed then threw hot, razor sharp Sahara Desert sand into my eyes. After the "brush down" I was instructed to remove Barbara O'Toole from her frozen sitting position from atop her camel.  When I accidentally dropped her body, it exploded like an overly full vacuum cleaner bag might if dropped from an eighth floor window and onto a concrete sidewalk.  For my error I was stood in front of several camels that were made to spit on me again and again. 

I was assigned a room inside the 23 bed nursing home where three others slept on bunk beds.  When I asked If I could sleep on the bottom bunk of either of the beds I was knocked unconscious by a glass Coke bottle thrown by an elderly woman.  I awoke gasping for air only to find that same elderly woman pressing her graying pubic mound onto my face while at the same time moving her rusty hips to the beat of the Bee Gee's hit song,  Stayin' Alive.		 By mid December 1999 I had been a resident at Sandy Acres for nearly a week, but in my heart knew it wasn't for me.  After just a couple of days worth of meals my teeth were already beginning to lose their enamel surfaces due to the excessive amounts of sand that had found its way into whatever it was the kitchen served at any particular time.  

Most of my days were spent "brushing down" camels but only after I removed body after body of  those folks who came looking to fulfill the promised destiny of their Golden Years at Sandy Acres, Sahara instead finding only death because of their inability to weather a seven day camel ride where it is 136 degrees in the shade.

During the evenings residents, myself included, searched for areas of the building where  sand wasn't being pushed through the numerous cracks by high speed exterior winds.  Depending on the direction of the wind, "safe areas" appeared at various locations throughout the nursing home.  These areas would become highly prized among the residents and of the 9 days I was there three residents were killed fighting for these safe sand free areas. 

On the 23rd of December 1999 a supply helicopter landed near to where I was burying the bodies of folks who hadn't made the seven day camel excursion or who had died inside fighting for safe sand free areas.  Without hesitation I made a run for the chopper but was knocked unconscious by a glass Coke bottle thrown by the same elderly woman who had greeted me on my first night.  After only a moment I awoke gasping for air only to find her pressing her graying, patchy pubic mound onto my face while at the same time moving her rusty hips and lips to an a-cappella version of the Bee Gee's hit song, Stayin' Alive.

It's been a year since I escaped Sandy Acres and as I write this I think back to the ones who didn't make it:  Clem Meyer the Minister, Mary Lou Johnston the Doll maker, Richard Keith the Shoemaker, Marge Taylor and of course Barbara O'Toole whose mummified body endured a seven day on foot desert excursion while maintaining its upright sitting position on a moving Belonise camel.  

In retrospect, getting out of Sandy Acres was the best Christmas present I could have had.


Samuel Ross today lives in a one room apartment in Queens, NY where he creates and sells unique sand sculptures