GHRESAT TO DADS.
A few words must here be written regarding the country now about
to be traversed—that is to say, from Ghresat, the spot where
we emerged from the valley of the southern slopes of the Atlas
Mountains, as far as Dads. Not only does my sojourn in the latter
place make it a fit opportunity for my description of the road,
but the physical features of the country before us also render
it expedient, for it is immediately to the east of Dads that the
watershed lies that separates the rivers flowing south and west
to the Draa, more especially the Wad Dads itself, and those the
course of which is east, and which form the basin of the western
tributaries of the Wad Gheris. This river, after uniting with the
Wad Ziz at Tafilet, is eventually absorbed by the desert at the
marsh of Dayet ed Daura, to the south of that oasis. This long strip
of country lying between the great range of the Atlas Mountains and
Jibel Saghru, or the Anti-Atlas, consists of a plain some sixty miles
in length and averaging about thirty wide, rather more at Ghresat
and somewhat less at Dads. This plain, with an elevation of roughly
4800 feet at Ghresat and 4700 at the southern extremity of the tribe
of Dads, near Aït Yahia, slopes slightly from north to south and
from east to west, the rivers which leave the Atlas flowing mostly
almost due south until they meet either the Idermi or the Dads, where
these two streams have an easterly and westerly course respectively,
before uniting near Mesgita to form the more important Wad Draa.
The soil of this plain consists for the most part of sand strewn
with small stones of almost black colour, with here and there
large boulders, sometimes of limestone, at others of black igneous
formation. The peculiarity, however, of this strip of desert—for,
with the exception of the immediate river banks and oases, it
consists of little else—is the manner in which the river beds
are sunk below the level of the surrounding country. Usually on
approaching a river one first perceives a flat-topped range of low
hills crossing the plain from north to south. These hills passed,
one comes, generally from half a mile to a mile farther on, to a
steep descent, leading to the bed of the river in question, the same
formations being found on the opposite side. At Dads and in other
spots the cliffs that have to be descended before the bed of the
river is reached are of considerable altitude, and the number of
the population of all the districts hereabouts varies according to
the breadth of the valleys between the cliffs, for on this depends
the amount of land that can be put under irrigation and cultivated,
and accordingly the quantity of life the soil can support by its
products.
The effect is a curious one, for often when one is approaching a
settlement on the river-banks, the fact that the watercourse and
its cultivated surrounding land is far sunk below the level of the
plain renders it invisible until one reaches the very edge of the
decline. Up to that point one’s eye ranges from the level plain
on which one is to where it commences again beyond, its barren
appearance and uniform colouring presenting the effect that both
join, and it seems impossible that a large colony with gardens
and irrigated lands can exist in the neighbourhood. It is easy to
see that the whole formation of the country is due to the streams
poured down from the greater Atlas, which, flowing south as far
as the parallel range of Jibel Saghru, are there obliged to seek a
common outlet by following the direction of the mountains as far as
Mesgita, where the united force of the rivers has formed a passage
through the range.
All the _ksor_ of Ghresat are situated upon the east bank of the
river, and at some height above it, while the west bank is occupied
by a few gardens, where fig and almond trees seem to thrive well. The
stream is clear, and even in this dry season we found a couple
of feet of water in the ford, which was perhaps some sixty yards
across. The river-bed is stony, with larger boulders of limestone
strewn here and there, no doubt carried to this position from the
mountains above.
Several of the _ksor_ are handsome buildings, one, just above the
ford, being particularly so, the decoration and turreted towers
giving it a most imposing effect. The inhabitants, like those of
Agurzga, are a subdivision of the Imerghan tribe of Berbers, who are
continually at war, not only with the surrounding tribes but also
amongst themselves. Sometimes a feud arises between neighbouring
_ksor_ within easy range of one another, when a strict watch
is kept from the roof of each, and shots exchanged whenever the
opportunity presents itself. We were pointed out two _ksor_ where
this unsatisfactory state of affairs was progressing, both in a sad
state of disrepair from constant attack, and from the fact that no
opportunity could be found to reconstruct the damaged portions on
account of the builders being fired upon by their neighbouring
enemy. The only parallel case we can well imagine would be a
blood-feud between two houses exactly opposite one another in a
street. While a bullet from the tiles would lay low the footman
who answered the door on the one side, the host returning from an
evening party would be struck in the back on the other, and so on
until possibly no male member remained in either family.
After following the course of the river for perhaps half a mile,
the road takes a more easterly direction, and one enters upon fifteen
miles of stony desert, which extends, without water at this period,
as far as the Wad Mdri, the easternmost of the rivers of Askura. This
strip of dreary country is known as the “Sebaa shaabat,” or
“seven undulations,” from the fact that such exist. No vegetation
was to be seen but bunches of wild thyme, a few thorny bushes—the
_sidra_ of the Arabs—and a little dry rank grass, and the latter
only where there were signs of water collecting in the rainy season.
The absence of animal life was most noticeable, and scarcely a
bird was seen. From the summit of the Atlas this had been so,
and a few red-legged Barbary partridge, a magpie or two, and a
couple of ravens, were all I had come across. Of four-legged beasts
still less, for though both gazelle and _muflon_ are to be found,
we saw neither, and I can remember having perceived no other signs
of animals than a couple of jerboa.
Anything more dismal than the scene which presented itself could not
be imagined. The two parallel ranges of mountains that bounded the
plain on either hand were clearly visible, though here, I daresay,
some thirty miles apart. The Great Atlas presented an appearance of
grandeur certainly, but of little or no beauty, merely an unbroken
line of immense limestone peaks, here and there capped in snow,
while the Anti-Atlas, more broken and fantastic in character,
loomed up to the south, a forbidding series of black and dark-red
rocks. Nor did the country we were travelling through provide any
relief to the eye, for what little vegetation there was to be seen
was stunted and sun-dried.
A pleasure, indeed, it was to descend by a rocky path to the valley
of the Wad Mdri, the easternmost of the rivers that water the
large and important oasis of Askura, and enters the gardens that
line the bank of the stream. Here the palm-tree, which we had not
seen since leaving Morocco, again appeared, adding an additional
charm to the scene, which boasted, against a background of blue
sky and snow-peaks, a number of betowered and decorated _ksor_
of great size, the largest and most ornamental we had as yet come
across. The gardens, however, showed signs of being neglected,
and the rough walls of loose stone had in many places half tumbled
down. Again an ascent, and again another four miles or so of dreary
stone-strewn desert; but over the latter portion of this we were
cheered by the sight of the long line of palm-trees ahead, that
marked the commencement of the larger portion of the Askura oasis
and our night’s resting-place.
We pushed on quickly, tired though we and our poor animals were, and
an hour or so before sunset entered the groves of palm-trees, which
commence quite suddenly, so that in a minute or two one has lost
sight of the desert and is threading one’s way amongst a forest of
trees. For an hour we passed through the oasis before arriving at the
spot where we were to camp. Often our road led us amongst gardens,
above the top of the walls of which appeared palms, pomegranate,
apple, pear, peach, and other fruit-trees, while clusters of roses
and jasmine spoke of the love of the natives for flowers. A tree
we had not as yet come across, and which I here noticed in large
quantities, was the tamarix (_senegalensis_), which attains a very
considerable size and has a handsome appearance. Large fields,
skilfully irrigated, now and then took the place of the gardens, in
which the natives rear crops of wheat, barley, and maize, the latter
especially. Through these openings one could catch glimpses of the
great _ksor_ of the place, some of which are not only of great size,
but also possess a most imposing appearance, with their decorated
upper storeys and tapering towers. Everything seemed in excellent
repair, which spoke not only for the agricultural character of the
people, but also of their wealth—for, comparatively speaking,
Askura is one of the richest, if not quite the richest, of the
oases in Morocco south of the Atlas Mountains.
We forded two more rivers, the Wad bu Jhila—“father of
madness,” so called on account of its floods and swift current
after rains in the mountains—and the large Wad Askura, from
which the oasis takes its name. Both these rivers contained,
at the time of our passing through, a plentiful supply of water,
flowing in many channels over wide stone-strewn beds. In the centre
of the easternmost—the Wad Askura—on what was at the dry period
an island, a weekly market is held, which in winter is removed to
another and more sheltered spot, for the island is often flooded. The
object of its situation is that the spot is the only one clear from
the forest, and therefore attack and fighting is less likely to
occur than would be the case amongst the palm-groves; for, ignoring
their constant wars with the Berbers of the surrounding country,
the tribes and even villages of Askura are continually fighting
amongst themselves.
A steep bank brings one to the eastern bank of the second river,
and a mile farther on, still amongst palm-trees and gardens,
we pitched our tent for the night in a square _tabia_ enclosure,
used as a caravanserai. But though tolerable immunity from plunder
was secured by the walls around us, a number of the natives crowded
into the place, and it was only owing to our continual vigilance
that we did not lose articles of our baggage. I found the elevation
of our camping-ground to be 4200 feet above the sea-level.
De Foucauld, whose extensive travels south of the Atlas did not
bring him to Askura, merely mentions the place under the name of
Haskura; but, as in the case of all names, I obtained the word
written by native scholars in their own language, and I found none
who placed an aspirate before the word, in all cases the spelling
being identically as I write it here.
It is impossible to give any estimate, except the vaguest, as to
the population of the place or the extent of the oasis; for on
both points great divergence of opinion and universal exaggeration
appeared to exist. Probably, roughly speaking, the total population
is from 25,000 to 30,000 souls, and the extent of cultivated soil
some 20 miles long—_i.e._, north and south—with an average
of 10 wide, giving the result of some 200 square miles, the whole
of which appears to be irrigated and under palm-cultivation. The
dates are not nearly so fine as those of Tafilet, but are largely
exported to Marakesh, as are also almonds.
Four tribes of Arabs inhabit the district; respectively—(i.) Kabyla
el Ostia, (ii.) Kabyla Mzuru, (iii.) Ulad Yakub, and (iv.) Ulad
Magil. Each is governed locally by a sheikh, under the jurisdiction
of the Kaid of Glawa, Sid Madani, whose _kasba_ at Teluet we had
so carefully avoided.
It is curious to find here, in a country almost entirely populated by
Berbers, so large and important an Arab tribe, and I could discover
no tradition extant as to how they came to have remained at this
spot, or whether it was conquered by them at any comparatively recent
date. The most probable solution of the question seems to be that
they are the descendants of the original invaders of North Africa,
amongst whom the name of Ulad Magil, still a tribe of Askura,
is found. Certain it is that the deadly hatred still existing
between the two races is keenly alive to-day, and were the Arabs
less strong, or their position more open to attack, there is no
doubt that they would have been ousted long ago from so fertile and
rich an oasis. However, being surrounded as they are on all sides
by desert has added much to their security; added to the fact that
every man of means—that is to say, every man who can by
[Illustration: _A Village Scene._]
honest, or dishonest if necessary, labour scrape together the
money—possesses a horse and a gun, while almost without exception
the Berber tribes are mountaineers, and in this part of the country
own very few horses. An attack upon the place is thus almost an
impossibility, the Berbers on foot having no chance against the
mounted Arabs, who, by scouring the desert plains, can easily cut
off all retreat.
The inhabitants appear to be well-to-do, and many were handsomely
dressed in spotless _haiks_ of wool. The men are, as a rule, small of
stature and wiry, with keen hungry eyes and fine features, and form
a strange contrast in their appearance of cupidity and rascality to
the honest open countenances of the Berbers. The odds being so vastly
unequal in open warfare, the latter race have almost desisted from
attacking the place—though the innate hatred of the two peoples
finds ample scope in plundering one another’s caravans. Yet,
rascals as are the Arabs of Askura, one cannot help admiring the
immense labour with which they have dug the thousands of canals that
irrigate the gardens, and the excellent manner in which these are
kept in repair. The love of gardening is found all over Morocco;
but the temperament of the race for sudden fits of economy, or
laziness, puts a stop on all progress in this direction, and on many
occasions I have known Moors sink wells and build irrigating canals,
plant fruit-trees and hedges, only to allow the whole to fall into a
state of ruin as soon as completed; and where one year I have seen
flourishing gardens, the next the orange-trees are dried up from
want of water and attention, and cattle are feeding on the leaves
of the young fruit-trees. But there is also another reason for the
constant ruined gardens one is continually passing when travelling
in Morocco—namely, the fact that after the death of the owner
the property is divided, according to the _sherá_ or native law,
amongst his heirs, who each singly wish to reap the entire benefit
without sharing in the expenses of keeping the place in repair. I
knew one most beautiful garden, not twenty miles from Tangier,
which was once the pride of the neighbourhood, and which from the
above cause is to-day a barren field, with here and there the dried
trunks of what were once orange-trees appearing from the soil. At
Askura, however, things are different, and the excellent state of
the gardens, the walls, and means of water-supply was astonishing,
and none the less creditable to the hardy desert-people.
[Illustration: THE VILLAGE OF DADS.]
Our passage through the oasis, though I felt nervous lest amongst
Arabs my foreign accent should lead to my detection, was a delightful
relief after the weary days of barren mountain and still more barren
plain. Leaving the spot where we had camped before daylight, we
fell, just outside the caravanserai, into the hands of thieves; and
although the presence of the old Shereef saved our personal property,
the caravan of Dadsmen suffered considerably, and we left them behind
trying to regain possession of their stolen mules and merchandise.
Just as some fifteen miles of desert separate Askura from Ghresat
on the west, so some twelve miles more intervene between the oasis
and the next spot where water is to be found—namely, Imasin. Like
the Wad Mdri, the Imasin, from which the district takes its name,
is sunk considerably below the level of the plain, and bounded
east and west by a low range of flat-topped hills. Here again we
were amongst Berbers, the inhabitants belonging to the tribe of
Imerghan, a division of the same tribe as are found at Agurzga and
Tiurassín. This same people own a large territory along the lower
portion of the Wad Dads, from the south-west corner of Aït Yahia
almost to Mesgita, near which the Dads, uniting with the Idermi,
becomes the Draa. Although entirely Shelha-speaking people, the
inhabitants of Imasin claim to be Shereefs—that is, descendants
of the Prophet Mohammed, and therefore of Arab origin. One is
constantly coming across these so-called Berber Shereefs, and a
few words are necessary to explain the incongruity. When first
the descendants of the Prophet reached Morocco, either at the
same time as the first invasion, or later with Mulai Idris, the
founder of the original dynasty of Sultans, they spread themselves
over the country, settling down amongst the Berbers, who, with the
exception of the Arab invaders and their children, were the sole
inhabitants. These Shereefs, or “nobles,” as the word implies,
soon became much respected, the more so as Islam spread, though no
doubt their superior education and surroundings of civilisation had
much to do with it. However it may have been, they in time became the
arbitrators in cases of dispute, the propounders of the new faith,
and as such, with but little difficulty and objection, married into
the Berber families. The result of this is apparent. Separated from
Arab people and brought up solely amongst Berbers, their children
and descendants forgot the language of the forefather’s country,
and spoke solely that of the people amongst whom they lived. Every
circumstance led to their living the lives of Berbers, while still
professing the religion of Islam. Their wives were taken from
the tribes-people of their mothers, and to all practical purposes
they lapsed back into Shloh tribesmen. Still the blood of the Arab
ancestor had instilled into their veins the strain of the Prophet,
and the male descendants, according to the rights of Islamic law,
which recognises only paternity in this respect, still continued—as
they had
[Illustration: _A Berber Family at Dads: Woman mealing Corn._]
every possible authority to do—to call themselves Shereefs;
and many of these “noble” Berber families, to whom Arabic is
an unknown tongue, possess probably no more than the original Arab
blood of their first Shereefian ancestor. In the same way many of
the Berber tribes south of the Atlas are tainted with Arab blood,
and the most powerful of all, the Aït Atta, are proud of claiming
descent from the tribe of the Koreish, which gave to the world the
Prophet Mohammed.
The principal and best known Berber Shereefian families are without
doubt the descendants of Sid Ben Nasr of Tamgrut, on the Wad Draa,
and those of Mulai Brahim, and Mulai Abdullah Ben Hoseyn of Tamslot,
to the north of the Atlas, and some ten to fifteen miles south
of Marakesh. In each, too, are visible the traces of the effect
their surroundings has had upon them; for both in appearance and
dialect the Shereefs of Tamgrut resemble the Haratin population of
the Draa, amongst whom they reside, while those of Tamslot bear a
greater resemblance to the northern Atlas Berbers. The _zauias_,
or sanctuaries, of both attract a large number of pilgrims, that
of Tamslot being of course far more accessible, and therefore much
richer. Mulai Brahim, who lies buried on the northern slopes of
the Atlas, above Agorgoreh, shares with Sid bel Abbas, the local
saint of Marakesh, the title of patron saint of southern Morocco;
and the present representative and head of the family, Mulai el Haj
ben Said, is one of the best known and richest men in that part of
the country. His palace at Tamslot is a large place, and though sadly
wanting in repair, is still a building of considerable magnificence,
while his stable of horses is certainly the finest in the south.
Probably of far purer origin than the Berbers of the trans-Atlas
portion of Morocco are those of Aït Yussi, Ghiata, and Beni Mgild,
on the northern extremity of the same range, to the south and east of
Fez. They seem to have lost none of their pristine fierceness, and
to have adopted none of the manners and customs of their conquerors
beyond their religion; for the brown tent in which they moved from
place to place long before the Arab invasion is still found amongst
them, and their traditions, pre-Arab, are still handed down from
mouth to mouth. Inhabiting the immense forests of that district,
they live a wild gipsy life, at war with all men, and paying no
more than the most nominal obedience to the commands and laws of
the Sultan. In the south, however, it is different; and when,
after having reached Tafilet, I found myself in the Sultan’s
camp, surrounded by Berber and Arab tribesmen, not only I, but
natives of the country, often found it impossible to distinguish
between them, so greatly did they resemble one another in feature
and dress. In the other case, that of the northern Berbers, the
type is quite distinct, the high cheek-bones and narrow eyes and
reddish colouring distinguishing the Shleh from the Arab at once,
and showing clearly his Hamitic origin.
Imasin is a poor little place enough. The few scattered _ksor_
are all more or less in a state of ruin, and the gardens seemed
uncared for and empty. Fording the river, we did not stop, but
pushed on for another ten or twelve miles of desert, until a steep
descent led us to the bed of the Wad Dads, at the point where the
tribe of Aït Yahia is settled, and where the Imguna empties its
stream into the larger river.
The tribe of Aït Yahia are a division of the Berbers of Seddrat,
who, like all the other tribes, are much split up. The junction
of the Wad Imguna and Wad Dads forms a triangular plain about
two and a-half miles across, shut in on all sides, except on the
actual course of the rivers, by high cliffs, on the summit of which
stand numerous _äudin_ or watch-towers. While the Wad Dads forms
the base of the triangle, the Imguna bisects the plain, on which
are to be found some four-and-twenty _ksor_, forming the district
of Aït Yahia. The spot where the waters of the Imguna flow into
the Dads is known as Tagnit bu Hammu. A few words must be said
about the Wad Imguna. Rising on the southern slopes of the Atlas,
near the snow-capped peak of Jibel Trekeddit, its upper valleys are
inhabited by a small tribe called Aït Sakri. A few miles lower down
the stream leaves the mountains, its banks at this spot being peopled
by the Aït Ahmed, who in turn give place, as the river descends,
to the tribe of Imguna, through whose territory for some twenty
miles it flows, and from which it takes its name, or _vice versa_.
Choosing the village of Idu Tizi for our halting-spot, for the old
Shereef had friends there, we pitched our little tent in a walled
enclosure adjoining the _ksar_ in which our hosts lived, for they
had come out to meet us, and soon made us welcome. Poor though they
were, they brought us an excellent supper of _kuskusu_ and boiled
turnips, the first hot food we had tasted for some days—and very
welcome it was. In return we were able to entertain our host and his
companions with sugar and tea, both luxuries far beyond the reach
of ordinary man in this far-away part of Morocco—the carriage
alone, with its physical difficulties of road, not to mention the
constant plundering of caravans, rendering the price demanded for
such luxuries exorbitant, even to our extravagant European ideas. The
people knew but little Arabic, so I ran no fear of detection, and
poured out the sweet green tea in true native fashion with great
success. Askura passed—the only Arab settlement between the Atlas
and Tafilet—I began to feel far more certain of the success of my
journey, and thought nothing or little of my disguise. So accustomed
was I becoming to my _rôle_ that I found it no exertion to keep the
part up, and became most orthodox and regular in saying my prayers,
&c., with the rest of our little band. It is only fair to state
that I had lived for considerable periods of time in the interior of
Morocco previously, and the various customs and habits of the people
had gradually become part and parcel of my life, so that I performed
the necessary duties without any anxiety or mental exertion.
The gardens of Aït Yahia have a poor appearance, and the irrigating
canals in many places were dry, a sure sign, as was the case, that
the people were constantly at war with outside enemies and amongst
themselves. The soil, too, is not suited for cultivation, for it
consists entirely of patches of a poor yellow clay interspersed
with rocks. Fig-trees seemed to thrive best, and even these were
small and wretched, while the date-palm was absent altogether.
Although up to now the direction of our road had been almost due
east, we had gradually been leaving behind the main chain of the
Atlas and approaching Jibel Saghru,—the Anti-Atlas,—both of
which ranges, parallel to one another, take a slightly northerly
direction as they proceed east; and here at Aït Yahia we found
ourselves with only the river and a few miles of sloping plain
between ourselves and the southern range. It is at Aït Yahia,
in fact, that the Wad Dads, having flowed south from the Atlas
across the plain, meeting the lower northern slopes of Jibel Saghru,
alters its course to a westerly one.
Anything more unlike the Atlas than this parallel range could
scarcely be imagined, for in place of the long line of limestone
cliffs there presents itself a chain of peaks of no very great
altitude and of every colour and shape, the whole torn and twisted
by volcanic action, and of an alternately deep red, purple, and
black hue. Probably none of the peaks of the range that I saw are
above 2000 to 3000 feet above the level of the plain, which would
give an altitude of from 6000 to 7000 feet above the sea-level,
for I found that we at Aït Yahia were at an elevation of 4700
feet. In one respect only was any resemblance noticeable between
the two ranges—namely, the utter absence of vegetation on each;
and anything more dismal than the intervening strip of desert, shut
in by grey limestone and snow-capped mountains on the north, and
dreary black hills on the south, it would be difficult to imagine.
We crossed the Wad Imguna before daylight on the morning of November
9, and ascending the cliff to the level of the plain which we had
left the evening before, turned slightly to the north, and for two
or three hours travelled over the dreary barren plain. It was most
curious to note the suddenness with which one comes into sight of,
and loses again, the settlements in the wide valleys of this part of
the country; for no sooner had we reached the summit of the cliff
than Aït Yahia was entirely lost to view, the plain seeming to be
one with the gradual slope of Jibel Saghru, on the farther side of
the river. Ten minutes later not a habitation was to be seen, the
_äudin_, or watch-towers, along the line of the valley being the
only signs of any inhabitants in the dreary surroundings. Except
for these we might have been in the centre of the Sahara, and even
the half-ruined towers seemed the work of a long-departed people.
The news of the coming of the old Shereef and members of his family
had travelled before us, and one forgot all the weariness of the
landscape in the pleasant reception that awaited us. An hour or two
before we arrived at Dads we caught sight of little bands of people,
black specks in the bright sunlight, and as they recognised their
relations they ran toward us. The old man dismounted from his mule
and proceeded on foot, the better to embrace the ever-increasing
flow of welcomers. It formed one of those charming pictures which
one now and again comes across in travelling in Morocco,—the old
man, the centre of a little crowd of men, women, and children,
all laughing and singing, being escorted after years of absence
back to the home of his ancestors. I came in for my share of the
welcome—for was not I one of his party?—and I shook hands with,
and was kissed by, a score of men and women and children, before,
just as suddenly as we had lost sight of Aït Yahia, the wide
valley of Dads burst into view. Here at the summit of the cliffs
more friends awaited us, and as we descended, all happy that a stage
at least of our journey was over, our band formed quite a caravan,
the children laughing and tumbling over one another in their glee,
the men alternately singing and crying out words of welcome, and
the women, with their hands to their mouths, uttering the shrill
cry of the _zakerit_.
So our little procession turned and twisted down the steep path,
every moment being met by more people, one and all eager to welcome
us, until, surrounded by a rejoicing crowd, we entered the narrow
streets of the village of Zauia Aït bu Haddu, and reached the
dwelling of the old Shereef.