Tombouctou lay at the end of our journey, a hot, dusty four-hour boat trip from Diré. As we drew closer, our excitement grew. On the banks of the river, huge tents of swooping white canvas heralded our approach to this country of nomads. Hippos occasionally surfaced from under the dark water, their eyes glaring at the suddenly fragile-looking bow of our pinasse. The town itself, with its flat-roofed buildings and empty streets, is somewhat disappointing after the grandeur of Djenné. But it is notable for its two major mosques -- the Djingareiber and the Sankore -- as well as the ornate wood and metal doors that adorn some of the larger houses. However, the city's legend as the ancient world's most famous center of Muslim wealth and scholarship continues to eclipse its present-day reality. This is not the "exquisite, pure, delicious, illustrious, blessed city" described by the writer Abderhaman Sadi in 1630. Today, there are only illustrious ghosts.

The city's origins are found in the desert encampments of nomads, dating from before the 11th century. Local lore tells of an old woman named Bouctou who was asked to guard the wells of wandering Tuareg nomads. Tin-Bouctou means "the place of Bouctou's wells."

Tombouctou's heyday came with the wealth of trans-Saharan trade, when local nomads and businessmen became adept at extracting heavy tolls from camel caravans carrying salt and gold. More than 12,000 camels passed through the city each year. The town also grew famous for its university, the Medersa, and its 180 Koranic schools serving 25,000 students from throughout the Islamic world. In 1325, the Malian King Mansa Moussa used his empire's gold wealth to commission a grand mosque, the ruins of which now sit beneath the Djingareiber.

The sea trade that killed Djenné's fortunes gradually eroded Tombouctou's glory as well. Today, the most majestic aspect of the city is its enduring mystique and the endless white desert that encircles it.

We drove an hour out into the sands to a CARE-built water hole visited by the Tuareg, the famous nomads who wander the Sahara from Libya down to Burkina Faso, and who recently ended an armed struggle for development assistance from the government. Despite the social upheaval caused by the conflict, these "blue men of the desert" (named for the indigo headdresses they often wear) still hold fast to their traditional ways. Their camel caravans continue to ferry salt and other commodities across the Sahara. Many of the men carry the traditional takouba, a broad, straight, double-edged sword that is intricately forged from silver, copper, leather and steel. And it is still unusual to see Tuareg women in public; many rarely leave sequestered desert encampments, letting their men search for food and water. The definition of a good husband, according to a Tuareg saying, is "one who brings enough water."

Westerners have romanticized the Taureg, and stories abound in Mali and Niger of enamoured Peace Corps volunteers and other expatriates who have joined these desert warriors. But the reality is that the recent civil war and two devastating droughts have made the Tuareg among the poorest of Mali's tribes. Their misery was compounded by the destruction of much of Tombouctou's infrastructure during the recent conflict. So it is the rehabilitation of this infrastructure -- specifically schools and wells -- to which CARE has dedicated its efforts.

"They see themselves falling behind," says CARE's Dennis Billingsley, who has worked with the Tuareg for more than five years. "So the government and agencies like CARE, in order to promote peace and reconciliation, are trying to help them get back on their feet."

For most Tuareg and Bella tribesmen, the overwhelming priority is water for the camels, goats and donkeys they still herd over thousands of miles of scorching desert.

"It is our biggest problem," says Mohamed Aboubaerine Ag, 37 , who has brought his camels and goats to drink at the CARE well. "Without water, we could die, our animals could die."

CARE is rehabilitating traditional water points throughout the Tombouctou area and hundreds of miles out into the desert. In addition, CARE is also building primary schools, providing school feeding and working to organize parents' associations. For Tuareg -- whose traditional nomadic way of life has in the past precluded formal education -- schooling now represents new opportunities.

"I have been in the desert for 37 years," says Aboubaerine Ag. "Nothing has changed. I now think it is good to seek a new way to live. I would like to send my children to school. Maybe they could get a job working for the government or CARE."

Such views are more prevalent among the young. There are still elderly Tuareg, such as Almohari Ag , 62, who affirms: "We were born this way. We die this way. The other ways we ignore."

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