GHARDAIA AND ADJOINING TOWNS
During the journey south we have passed Berriane, the outpost of
the Mzab, and of later foundation than the other towns. Guerrera
is on the journey to Touggourt; the remaining five towns of
the confederation are before us in this kind of desolate rock
crater. The most important and the largest of them is Ghardaïa,
lying at the foot of the military _bordj_, where it is necessary to
pass the night. On a rocky eminence to the east is Melika, further
on, the holy city of Beni Sgen, and out of sight, but only a few
miles distant, are Bou Noura and El Ateuf.
To the south again there is another oasis called Metlili, which
some people erroneously comprise in the confederation of the Mzab,
but though in many ways it has Mzabite characteristics it is in
reality a town of the tribe of the Chambas, nomads who inhabit a
vast area of the Sahara beyond Ghardaïa.
The first thing that strikes one as one looks at Ghardaïa is the
way the houses pile themselves up into a heap, rather like a giant
ant-hill which is, in its turn, surmounted by the minaret made of
mud, resembling an obelisk with little holes in the top. Moreover,
if we turn and look at Melika and Beni Sgen we are struck by the
same similarity of construction which we saw at Berriane and which
we shall see in all the towns of the Mzab.
The origin of these cones is easy to find. As each town was founded,
the group of elders whose duty it was to carry out this rite first of
all built the mosque on a hilltop; this mosque was at the same time
a store for food and arms as well as a fortress. Consequently the
people grouped themselves on the slopes beneath. This again is
evidence of the great antiquity of the race, for is it not known
that all early religious orders frequented heights and that nowadays
theosophists refer a great deal to the influence of high places on
their mysticism? The effect is very curious, and even if the aspect
of the people does not create an impression, their architecture
surely will. Descending from the eminence on which is situated the
_bordj_, a narrow street will be followed, which suddenly leads out
into a broad square, surrounded by unsymmetrical arcades. If the
_caïd_ is at home he will probably permit the visitor to mount to
his roof and look down on this animated center and up toward the tall
minaret. In the middle of the square is a kind of stone stage where,
on certain days, justice is administered, while close by will be seen
a curious group of stones set out in a horseshoe formation. This
strange circle marks the site where the elders of the city first
sat down in the open plain a thousand years ago to found Ghardaïa.
Leaving the square, the route to take is up a narrow street leading
direct to the mosque. The houses almost meet, and in certain places
the alley is tunneled through the habitations. A narrow passage
leads up to the mosque, and if one has a competent guide a dark
chamber can be visited which is a place of ablution, but which,
in days gone by, was the scene of political conspiracies. The
mosque itself is quite unlike anything one has seen before. The
pillars are neither Turkish nor Roman, the architecture has no
sort of connection with any known style. In the wall are holes to
place shoes before going into the sanctuary to pray; hanging from
the roof is a skin full of water, the greatest sign of charity in
this country where water is more valuable than gold.
Above, a kind of cage covered in with wire netting, reminding one
of a chicken-run or rabbit-hutch, leaves one wondering. A hundred
guesses will not elucidate the mystery—it is the lost-property
office!
Climbing on to the roof, a panoramic view of the town spreads itself
below. To the east the Jewish quarter, with a curious pyramid-like
synagogue; to the west the Arab quarter, with an insignificant
mosque; to the south the more modern buildings, with the house of the
White Fathers, while away in the distance can be seen the beginning
of the great oasis, brilliant green against the barren hills.
If one is lucky one may see from here the strange sight of a man
selling his house. There he stands on the roof while the would-be
purchasers squat round making bids.
The walk can be continued through the narrow streets past wells
three hundred feet deep with the eternal skin dangling at the end
of a long rope. A visit is recommended to the Convent of the White
Sisters, who teach the little girls to weave carpets in the patterns
peculiar to the country, and if souvenirs are wanted it is advised
to buy them here. Likewise at the house of the White Fathers leather
goods of the country can also be had at moderate prices.
Returning toward the fort a series of cemeteries will be passed,
as well as a broad open space, where on special occasions the
public prayer takes place. A morning will suffice for Ghardaïa,
and the afternoon can be devoted to the other cities.
The most interesting place to see is the holy city of Beni Sgen and
its oasis, but as this will not take the whole afternoon part of the
time can be devoted to Melika, Bou Noura or El Ateuf. I would suggest
Bou Noura. Melika involves a very steep climb up a cliff and El Ateuf
a motor drive over a very bad road. Moreover, all these cities are
much alike. What strikes one most is their poverty in comparison
with Ghardaïa; all the rich merchants are there, and even the
inhabitants of the other towns come to the capital to do business.
After visiting Bou Noura, therefore, a walk can be taken in the
oasis behind Beni Sgen. A wide area of verdure relieves the eye,
and though the palm-trees are squat like the inhabitants, it is
a very refreshing place. There is a barrage of brick drawn right
across the oasis to catch any stray water which some unforeseen
storm may bring. Here the wells and the method of working them may
be seen at close quarters.
Beni Sgen should be reached about the middle of the afternoon, and
this for a reason to be explained later. Of all the curious towns
in this strange country the holy city is the most curious. It is
entirely walled in, with three gates piercing the walls at the north,
the east, and the west. No Arab, Christian or Jew is permitted to
linger within its keep after sunset; no smoking is allowed in the
houses nor in the streets; even the French school is built outside
the wall. At the entrance of the northern gate the skin of water
hangs in sign of charity.
Climbing up a steep alley one comes to a tower; the key is usually
available, and, entering, one can ascend the winding steps which
lead one successively to three stories which at one time were
guardrooms. From the summit one obtains a magnificent view of the
town itself as well as of the oases of Ghardaïa, Melika and Bou
Noura. Immediately below the tower is a little cemetery where one
will note the offerings to the dead in the shape of plates and
jars. To the east are two broad platforms for the public prayer.
[Illustration: _Photograph by Mr. Julian Sampson_
The Market-Place of Beni-Sgen]
[Illustration: Channel for Watering the Garden of an Oasis]
[Illustration: Street in Bou Saada]
As the afternoon draws on, flocks of goats can be seen wandering
slowly in from the barren hills. They have a public shepherd,
paid for by the town, who is responsible for the animals up to
the gate of the city; at this point he leaves them and the goats,
separating themselves, go independently up the narrow streets to
their respective homes. When they reach the door they butt it with
their heads or tap with their hoofs until they are let in.
The doors of the houses in the Mzab, and especially the locks,
are very curious. The door itself is usually made of heavy planks
studded with nails and closed with a lock usually associated with a
prison gate. This, however, is a modern institution, for the native
key is unique in the world. It consists of a piece of wood about a
foot long, at the end of which is arranged a pattern of nails. This
piece of wood is pushed into a kind of deep slot running from the
doorpost diagonally toward the door. From the wall and running into
the door is a wooden bar or bolt on which is a pattern of nails
corresponding to those on the wooden key. The proprietor slips in
his piece of wood until its nails coincide with those inside and
then he pulls, the bar gives and it is possible to open the door.
It is, I suppose, the origin of the latch-key, as no two combinations
of nails are the same, and it means absolute safety to the designer
of the piece of wood.
At each turn the traveler is experiencing something new, and though
he has seen a series of strange customs common to all the cities of
the Mzab, the most curious, which is peculiar only to Beni Sgen,
has been left to the last. For some reason, which at present it
has been impossible to fathom, there are practically no shops
in the holy city, and everything is sold by auction. This sounds
quite incredible until, climbing down the steep streets, one comes
suddenly into a triangular “square” about fifty yards long.
At one end on a raised platform sits the _caïd_, surrounded by
his counselors, while all around squat men of venerable countenance
dressed in white robes.
In the middle of the square are a few goats, some camels, a mule,
a heap of charcoal, while the auctioneers solemnly carry round the
goods to be disposed of, stopping before each person to hear his bid,
which is said in a whisper. So he proceeds round and round until
the required price is attained. He may be selling a costly carpet
or a bottle of pickles, a piece of firewood or some embroidered
shoes—it is all the same. The goods can pass only to the highest
bidder. Moreover, as the price can only be raised half a franc at a
time it often takes days to acquire the object required. Sometimes
one sees a man riding round the square on a mule or a donkey which
he wishes to dispose of, but it is all the same, and the richest
Mzabite can not alter the procedure for untold cash. The spectacle
of this auction market is one of the most impressive sights in all
North Africa. An atmosphere of an old world, long past and forgotten,
is before us, and as one looks at the faces of the men one can not
help being reminded of scenes from the Bible, and the legend of
the lost tribe springs up unconsciously.
The colored burnous of the Arab has vanished, the bustling merchant
of Ghardaïa is no longer before us, there is calmness of demeanor,
a whiteness of clothing which speaks of ages and ages in the dim
realm of history when Europe was a land of wild beasts and the
Britons painted themselves blue.
At times one is almost inclined to cry out:
“But this can’t be real, this is got up for me, it is part of
Wembley; in an hour all these men will be settling down to chops
and beer in the nearest pub!”
But it is not so. Every day, except on great feasts, year in and year
out, for two hours before sunset these silent old gentlemen assemble
before the _caïd_ and purchase what they can by auction, and when
it is over they repair to the mosque before retiring to their homes
to eat a silent meal prior to returning to bed. The Mzabite is not
a gay personality, and he takes life very seriously. Unfortunately
some of their more ancient characteristics have disappeared by
the appointment of civil _caïds_. In the early days of the French
conquest of Algeria these people surrendered to the invader before
they had even thought of pushing as far as the Mzab, and they still
have a separate treaty with France, making of the country a sort of
independent little republic exempt from all obligations to the main
Government. They kept all their religious dignitaries who ruled
the whole confederation as they had done for centuries before,
and the _caïd_-ship was not imposed on the tribe till after the
whole of Algeria had been pacified. Lately the French seem to have
rather forgotten their old friends and have voted conscription. This
caused great consternation until it was discovered that there was a
subparagraph permitting a Mzabite to send an Arab in his place to
serve. The authority to spend a thousand francs to find some poor
loon to shoulder the rifle brought back the smiles to the smooth,
round, white faces, and the placid atmosphere returned to the busy
shops of Ghardaïa and to the silent streets of the holy city.
Generally speaking nothing has changed since the foundation of the
cities, and even if in some far-off day the railway reaches the
Mzab it will probably only have the effect of stimulating trade.
The haunt of the children of Carthage will remain as it was when
their forefathers imposed their commerce on the whole of the
Mediterranean basin as they are now beginning to impose it on the
easy-going Arabs of North Africa.