The Sticks

When people say "the middle of nowhere" or "the frontier" what settlement name do they use?

Way out in the prairies, where the waist-high grasses meet the dry scrubbrush of the savannah, there is a bend in the river. It's a shallow river- in the dry season it's barely more than mud. Yet in the rainy season it becomes a hub of life.
That's where The Sticks are. Massive posts adults can only just wrap their arms around, driven deep, deep into the earth. They stand almost perfectly straight, and for much of the year that's all that's there. The mud, and the grass, and The Sticks.
Then the rains begin to fall, and the caravans come. When these people arrive at The Sticks, their purpose becomes clear. Massive waterproof cloths are hung from them, secured to the wagons and metal stakes driven deep enough into the ground to stay secure. Beneath the immense tent a nomad city sprouts up overnight, keeping them safe from the rains.
The nomads who live in these parts scrape out a living by following the herds they hunt from, and trading with the nearest towns to their campsites. They're regarded as great repairmen and for some outskirt villages the projects pile up while they wait for such skill to come closer. Yet they take no money- they have no faith in it's value. They trade their work for supplies: food, drink, raw material.
Though for all their skill, and the respect they earn from the people who need it, these caravanserai are almost never welcome into a town proper. The tribe was originally put together from criminals, outcasts, and misfits with overwhelming wanderlust; from time to time new blood comes in from these same sources. There are Cats and Unguls (especially of the Horse Tribes) among their ranks. And, perhaps most distressingly to the Mother-loving people in towns and villages, a very high incidence of Chimeara.