The milky wheel of stars filled my eyes; the only source of light whilst laid on my back, counting the shimmering specks and waiting for sleep to claim me. I had never seen so many. The night sky swelled, as if it could burst and rain a glitter shower upon the earth. For a moment, I could have been floating high amongst the sparkle. A delicious feeling of my own insignificance filled my insides at this thought and, alongside the warm wind that swept over the sand and caressed my bare skin, it was with ease that my eyelids finally closed upon my first day in this new land.

This land being the Danakil Depression: one of the hottest places on the planet, located in the north-eastern corner of Ethiopia where 25% of Africa’s active volcanoes lie. It is a harsh and unforgiving desert of 50 degrees Celsius. The wind relentlessly present, whipping across the flat lands and scattering the sand at its will; and the scorching heat radiating from below, rather than above, as the ground seared through the soles of my feet. I was dancing upon a brutal terrain; one that was not meant for human footprints. Yet its rawness captivated me, humbled me, and enticed my feet to walk deeper.

These were nights in which I was lulled into a slumber by the stars and an isolated silence that accompanies the desert.

These were mornings in which a sunburst of first light awoke me; a pink-tinged, blue lagoon that flooded across the vast sky.

These were days spent dipping my toes in salt lakes; a glittering, white bed under the shallow expanse of ripples that stretched into the horizon. The brittle, crusty layer of salt rock cracked under my feet, and soon my skin was sprinkled with crystals that shimmered in the fading, amber glow of the sun. A trail of imprints starred my way across the plains, marking my initial wanderings through this remote land.

These were days watching the boundless landscape fill with camel trains; their stances majestic, despite the heavy load on their backs, as they loped across the dusty horizon. Gazing down at me, long lashes framing their curious eyes, these creatures instilled a sense of peace. They belonged here, in this hostile environment, when I did not.

These were days teetering along ridges that dropped into vibrant green and yellow pools of sulphur. The colours vivid against the rust red rock; the surface bubbled furiously; waves of florescent liquid had erupted down the crags before hardening in the heat. Closing my eyes and halting until I was unaccompanied, I peeped through my eyelashes and filled my vision with this world of bloodshot rock formations and broken grounds of emerald and lemon. Alone, free and alive, I tiptoed amongst the inflamed tones of stone; I danced over the fizzing basins; I spun around with the skyline unfolding boundlessly in every direction. This was an exploration of another planet. A wonderfully foreign land that, for a few seconds, only held my footprints.

These were days that ended on the crater of Erta Ale. Ethiopia’s most active volcano, a hole in the mountain that holds the longest-existing lava lake. With the sun sinking behind my back, the climb began in golden hour – a time for the shadows to dance, to leap long and arc over the ground. The tangerine rays faded and soon I was seeking out the summit by starlight. Light poured from the sky as the indigo deep of the night overflowed, once again. Climbing further into their reach, the glow of the crater could eventually be sighted. A furnace of magenta, orange and ruby red that blazed against the black night, droplets of fire somersaulting through the smoke pouring from the mountain’s mouth. The end of the world, in its glorious finale.

Stood on the edge of the crater, the heat of the earth’s core scorched my face. Swelling plumes of smoke enveloped me in a searing embrace that left no room for escape, instantly drying my throat and burning my eyes. But I forced them open to watch this smouldering hole in the mountain spit lava drops into the midnight shadows. Handfuls of fireflies soared amongst the stars, kissing the eternal light before fizzling into the darkness, whilst waves of fire swirled and erupted in rivers across the constantly shifting, charcol surface.

Salt crystals shimmering on my skin, sulphur marking my pores with lime green, a thick blanket of dust and sand covering every inch of me: the desert had taken me for its own. Filthy, yet glowing. The core of the planet blazed on my skin and ignited my insides as it healed every internal wound. Silent tears washed my blackened cheeks and dried in the heat before they fell to the charred ground. Because it held such power, and my insignificance was striking; because this is how the world is, always was, and always will be; because it filled me with hope where humanity causes doubt.

Within a world that is perpetually visible under an alternating sea of stars and a burning, amber globe, I filled my eyes. I didn’t look away. I soaked up this kaleidoscope of colour until it left me brimming.

These were the days in which I embraced the harsh nature of this planet; in which I surrendered to the immense energy revolving this earth; in which I danced willingly to the melody pouring from its soul; and entwined my own with the song that beckoned me to run under its vast skies.

These were the days.

Words and images by Robyn Bell