Timbuktu: In Time of Chaos, a Hometown Son Returns The first sign of change came as our convoy of food aid and medicine pulled up to the last northern town held by the Malian army. The atmosphere was tense as the heavily armed troops searched our car and baggage. Even my toothbrush was apparently suspect. "We're looking for weapons," a soldier snapped. "But there's only food here," one of the convoy leaders replied lightheartedly. Normally a joke like that would break the tension in Mali, but the soldier just continued his search, stony faced. The reinforced roadblock was erected in a neighborhood on the outskirts of Mopti, 400 miles (600 kilometers) and a daylong drive from the Malian capital of Bamako. To the north lies my hometown, the fabled city of Timbuktu, now in the hands of two armed rebel groups. Two months ago Tuareg rebels declared an independent state in the north amid a power vacuum created by the March 21 coup that ousted Mali's longtime leader. The Malian army was forced from the north as the Tuareg fighters descended on Timbuktu. The first group was secular and claimed to be fighting for an independent homeland for the Tuaregs, a nomadic Muslim people who live in four nations in the region. They were quickly superseded by a group of Islamist fighters known as Ansar Dine, or Defenders of Islam, whose goal is to impose Shariah law in the area they now call the Azawad nation. This photograph taken Friday May 18, 2012 shows AP reporter Baba Ahmed, left, with Elhadji Sidi Yattabar, of Mali's Islamic council, as they cross the Niger River some 16 kms (10 miles) from Timbuktu, Mali, escorted by fighters of the Ansar Dine. Ahmed made an emotional journey back to his hometown of Timbuktu where two months ago Tuareg rebels declared an independent state in the north amid a power vacuum created by the March 21 coup that ousted Mali's longtime leader. The Malian soldiers were especially suspicious of me. Unlike the black African inhabitants of southern Mali - whose members dominate the army - I am light-skinned. I look Tuareg, even though I am from one of the Arab tribes that long ago settled in Timbuktu. That makes me suspect, since I look like the fighters that took over the north. I was faced with aggressive and suspicious looks. When I tried to go out for a walk, a colleague quickly stopped me and told me I was better off staying inside until the convoy was moving again. When dawn came, we headed toward the rebel-controlled zone. We got our first glimpse of the men who now run northern Mali when two pickup trucks flashed their headlights at us through the morning mist. These were the Islamic fighters of Ansar Dine who were to be our escorts to Timbuktu. There were around a dozen of them, dressed in sand-colored uniforms with turbans on their heads. Each had a Kalashnikov. One of the trucks had a heavy machine gun mounted on the back. Despite their fearsome appearance, the men were polite. Later, when some of the cars in the convoy got stuck in sand they helped dig them out. We headed north and came to the first checkpoint - manned by the Tuareg rebels, the National Movement for the Liberation of the Azawad. It felt like we were entering another country. When I was growing up in Timbuktu in the 1990s, the region was for the most part peaceful and open to the outside world. Tourists would picnic under the stars on the sand dunes around the city and visit libraries of ancient manuscripts - a reminder that Timbuktu was a center of Islamic learning as far back as the 12th century. Things have changed. As we approached the city, I was expecting to see the usual crowd of women and children scrambling to meet passing cars to try to sell the goods they produce, like butter, milk and charcoal. This time no one was there. Hundreds of thousands of people have fled northern Mali in the last few months.