GUERRERA AND THE SAND DESERT
To cross over from the rock desert of the Mzab to the sand of
Touggourt it is advisable to be very certain of the reliability of
the car, and, if possible, to go accompanied by another vehicle. The
country to be traversed is terribly desolate, and, except when the
mail bus runs, once a week, it is very seldom that one meets any
traffic; if one has a serious breakdown one must wait in the desert
for the passage of the _diligence_, which may be some days.
Water—plenty of water—and some food should be carried, a rope and
a spade to help one out of the sand, and all necessary spare parts.
The road on leaving Ghardaïa is the same by which one arrives,
but, after following it for ten kilometers, one turns sharply to
the right along the desert track. There is at once an impression
of desolation and loneliness—no more telegraph poles, no more
milestones, little to mark the sides of the road. At first the
flat-topped hills are on either side, then gradually they give way
to great rolling expanses stretching away, away on all sides; even
the scrub has disappeared; it is the first real impression of the
Sahara, and, though the noisy rush of the car makes one forget the
solitude, the silence and loneliness appal one at any stop one makes.
Some twenty kilometers along the track another track branches off
to the right. It must not be taken, as it leads to Ouargla, to
the Hoggar, to the far south until it reaches Timbuctou. A little
farther on, as if nature wished to fool the traveler, one suddenly
sees a splash of green winding about among the stony plain. It
looks like some lovely river shaded by trees, and, though there is
no water running between its banks, it is a river making its way
below the surface of the ground, to spring up later at some oasis.
But it is soon left behind, and the country becomes more and more
desertic, though, curiously enough, it has not such a cruel aspect
as the land about Ghardaïa. The hills are of a delicate rose color
and the lines less hard; it is the prelude to the sand.
The road starts climbing, then all of a sudden, as it tops the
rise, the oasis of Guerrera appears, solitary in the middle of
these pink hills. It is the most impressive sight of the whole
journey. Battlemented walls surround the town, as it piles itself
into a pinnacle surmounted by the cone-like minaret. At its feet
lies the oasis, with its thirty thousand palm-trees bowing in the
breeze. It is one of the most amazing spectacles any traveler can
wish to see—an impression of desolation, of solitude, of green
vegetation, of a town of a past age.
There is quite comfortable accommodation in the _bordj_, and, though
the food is almost entirely Arab, it is cleanly cooked. In the
itinerary set out at the end of Chapter XXV it has been suggested
that Guerrera should be passed through on the way to Touggourt,
without stopping, but, though it differs little from the other six
towns of the Mzab, its oasis, its remoteness from civilization,
make it well worth a longer break in the journey.
On entering the town by one of the turreted gates, one is first
of all struck by the business and bustle of the people. Arriving
here out of the desolation of the Sahara, one almost expects to
see savages or, at any rate, dark people living in a primitive
state, but not at all; the houses are solidly built and are clean
and well-kept; the people are gracefully robed in white, shops
abound, and practically every one speaks a little French. It is the
civilization, the business instinct of the Mzabite, the inherited
perseverance of the Carthaginian which permits these squat little
people to thrive in this lost city of the Sahara.
But the most beautiful place is the oasis. Unlike those we have seen
before, there are none of those high walls which screen the gardens
and which prevent our seeing anything behind them. Here there are
no walls, the palm-trees grow all about, with vegetables and grass
at their feet; vines are trained from stem to stem, and give an
impression of virgin forest. Little paths and sun-baked alleys
lead one past wells and fruit-trees until, coming suddenly out of
the shade, one finds oneself on the desert again. A small group
of palm-trees cuts the horizon, and then, away, away, the Sahara
as far as the eye can reach. The sun sets in an orange radiance,
wrapping the palm-trees in a mantle of gold-dust; the breeze springs
up and rustles through the oasis; peace and silence are everywhere,
and one is tempted to remain in this quiet for a few days. It is
free to the traveler to do as he pleases, but our journey must be
accomplished, and sooner or later we must push on toward the east.
After Guerrera the road continues across this rose-colored
landscape. It is impossible to describe it adequately, photographs
do not give the impression of delicate color or of the limitless
horizon, neither can the mind of him who has not been in the real
Sahara visualize the vast expanse of sky which seems to cover
the world.
Some fifty kilometers before reaching Touggourt one comes into the
sand. It is an impression as different as possible from anything
which has been passed up to the present. Soft white dunes rise up
before one, curling back and looking like great waves of the Atlantic
about to break into foam. In all directions this sea extends without
any sort of break, and one realizes a little what it must be to
lose one’s way in a desert where there is nothing to guide one,
nothing to differentiate one dune from another.
If the wind is not blowing, it is a pleasant drive through this
area of sand, but if it is, the drifting grit blinds, gets into the
engine, and covers the track, and it is practically certain that
sooner or later the car will stick and that it will take infinite
trouble to free it.
Touggourt itself is a typical southern town, of little interest
beyond its situation in the sand; moreover, it has lost a good deal
of its charm by the presence of the railway and the consequent
invasion of tourists. Hotels have sprung up, and the streets are
infested by guides. It is one of the great date centers of Algeria,
and the sweet luscious fruit eaten in England at Christmas-time
comes from the one hundred and seventy thousand palm-trees which
form its lovely oasis. If one is here in November one can see the
Arabs swarming up the trees in a miraculous fashion and cutting off
the bunches of golden dates, which are let down to earth by means
of a rope slung over one of the branches.
In March and April one will see a still more curious sight, the
fertilization of the palm. The flower of the male tree is carried
to the top of the female by an Arab who places it in a cleft in
the head of the tree while he chants religious airs. A date-palm
does not bear fruit for twelve years, but when it does it goes on
for over a hundred, and those who own palmeries in the areas which
produce the right kind of fruit are excessively rich.
One night will suffice to see Touggourt, and the sunset over
the sand-dunes is a spectacle never to be forgotten, while if a
caravan from the south arrives it affords a wonderful impression
of a period of the past. It is hard to realize that in this sandy
country the only really adequate mode of transport is the camel.
Some men ride horses, but even then they have a hard time, whereas
the ship of the desert, with its spongy padded feet, its nostrils
and eyelids hermetically closed to the dust, and its endurance
without food or water, prove that it was created for this purpose,
and that traveling by any other means is hazardous. It is not a
very rapid conveyance, but one can average a good twenty-five miles
a day and be certain of reaching one’s destination.
Further south one finds the _mehari_, or trotting white camel, which
moves along at a great pace, but it is reserved almost entirely
for the Meharistes, or French African camel corps, who guard the
lonely caravan tracks of the Sahara.
On leaving Touggourt the road follows the railway through a country
of sandy patches which gradually get stonier as it progresses
north. Pleasant little oases are passed, as well as salt lakes which
are usually practically dry but which give excellent mirage effects.
We are now in the confederation of the Zibans, one of the most famous
tribes of the south, and to-night we shall be at their headquarters,
the world-famed city of Biskra.