AT THE OASIS OF JALO
JALO is one of the most important oases in Cyrenaica. It lies about 240
kilometers from the Mediterranean at its nearest point, beyond Jedabia,
and about 600 kilometers from Kufra, which is directly south. The
oasis is not only the largest producer of dates in all the province,
but it is the trade outlet for the products of Wadai and Darfur which
come through Kufra. Everything from the outside world that goes to
Kufra passes through Jalo.
“The desert is a sea,” said El Bishari, a prominent chieftain of
the Majabra tribe, “and Jalo is its port.” It was at the height
of its importance something like thirty years ago when El Mahdi
maintained the Senussi capital at Kufra. In those days caravans of
two or three hundred camels came and went between Jalo and the south
each week, but when I was there the traffic had shrunk to less than
a tenth of that. In summer, however, it is swollen by the demands of
the date harvest.
[Illustration: HAWARIA, A LANDMARK OF KUFRA
It can be seen for hours before arriving at Kufra, and once it is
sighted the caravan is safe]
There are two villages at Jalo, over a mile apart, Erg and
Lobba. Between and around them are scattered the date-palms in
picturesque profusion to the number of nearly a hundred thousand.
Twelve miles to the west lies Aujila, which is the ancient oasis
mentioned by Herodotus as famous for its dates. In Aujila is the
tomb of Abdullahi El Sahabi, who is reputed to have been a clerk of
the Prophet Mohammed. Whether such is actually the case is somewhat
problematical; but at least the prophet did have a clerk named
Abdullahi El Sahabi, that Abdullahi did come to North Africa, and
the tomb of a man of that name is found at Aujila. Many a tradition
has been based on flimsier evidence. The story is told that the Grand
Senussi found the body of Sahabi buried in a remote spot, and forthwith
saw in a vision the spirit which had once inhabited the body.
“Dig up my body,” said the ghostly visitor, “put it on a camel,
and go forth. Where the camel halts, there you shall build my tomb.”
The Grand Senussi obeyed the injunction and journeyed till he came
to Aujila. There the camel stopped dead and refused to go on, and on
the spot the tomb was built.
The founder of the Senussi sect and all the members of the Senussi
family and even their prominent _ikhwan_ are believed to possess
occult powers and second sight. Sayed El Mahdi is credited with having
particularly strong occult powers which the Bedouins call miracles. One
of the _ikhwan_ at Jaghbub told me the following story about Sayed El
Mahdi. An ignorant Bedouin came to him intending to study under him
at Jaghbub. Suddenly the man realized that it was the sowing season
and that he had nobody to look after the sowing of his land. So he
thought it best to go away till after the crop season and then return
to his studies. He went to say good-by to Sayed El Mahdi. He entered
the room, sat down, and, as is the custom, waited until he was spoken
to. Sayed El Mahdi appeared to ignore him for a few minutes. The
man felt sleepy and just dozed off for a minute or two, awaking to
Sayed El Mahdi’s gentle voice saying, “Now you feel at rest, and
you know that matters have been arranged for you.” In that short
time the man had seen in a dream his brother plowing his land and
sowing the barley crop. “Now you shall be our guest,” continued
the Sayed, “and study and pray that God may guide you to the right
path. All will be provided for, as you have seen, and you will have
no reason to worry. God is merciful, and He looks after us all.”
The man remained at Jaghbub and afterward went home just in time for
the harvest. On his return to Jaghbub he told one of the _ikhwan_ that
not only had his crop been sown as he saw in the dream, but the place
seen and the time of the dream were exactly corroborated by the facts.
Another incident was told me by the _kaimakam_ of Jalo. He was
traveling with a party from Benghazi to Jaghbub to visit Sayed El
Mahdi. They missed a well and were in dire straits. At night a man,
the least enthusiastic of the pilgrims, turned to him and said, “Now
that you have brought us to visit that wonderful man Sayed El Mahdi,
will you ask him to send us some water, if he be as saintly as you
say he is?” That same night at Jaghbub, Sayed El Mahdi, so the story
goes, ordered two of his slaves to take five camels loaded with water
and food, and going out into the open he indicated the direction they
should take, adding that until they met a caravan they must not stop
by the way. In due course they came across the caravan in distress
and rescued it.
There are some of the old _ikhwan_ still living whom even members
of the Senussi family themselves avoid displeasing because they
fear their occult powers. One of these who lives at Kufra was the
_ikhwan_ of a _zawia_ in Cyrenaica. A Bedouin once brought some sheep
to water at the well, and some of them strayed into the patch of
ground attached to the _zawia_ and ate the young barley. The _ikhwan_
warned the Bedouin to stop his sheep from doing this, and the man
pretended to pay attention but was really determined that not only
these sheep but the whole flock should go in and help themselves
to the crop. And when the _ikhwan_ came out again it was to see all
the flock feeding on his barley. “May God curse them,” he cried,
“the sheep that eat the crop of the _zawia_.” The story goes that
not a single sheep emerged alive from the _zawia_ garden.
Until this day the Bedouins fear the Senussi family not so much
because of any temporal power but on account of the spiritual powers
with which they credit them. A Bedouin cursed by one of the Senussi
family lives the whole time in fear of something awful about to happen
to him. His friends, even his own people, try to avoid his presence
lest the curse upon him should account for a harm to them also.
There is the famous case of the chief clerk of Sayed El Mahdi who lies
in Kufra now half paralyzed. I went to see him. He was quite happy and
very content in spite of the fact that he could not move his body. On
my second visit he was getting confidential and—half believing,
half disbelieving—asked if I had any medicine for his malady. I
hesitated, for I did not want the man to lose hope entirely. He saw
this and, without even giving me the chance of answering him, said:
“No, it is decreed that it should be thus. It was my fault. Sayed
El Mahdi wanted me to journey north. I could not disobey him, but I
tried to avoid the journey. I went as far as Hawari and there wrote
to him pretending to be ill. The answer came by a messenger that if
I were ill I should certainly be relieved of the journey. The next
day I was struck with paralysis and brought back to Kufra and have
been here ever since. That was twenty-five years ago.”
[Illustration: CAMELS CROSSING THE SAND-DUNES]
The _kaimakam_ at Jalo told me a story when we were discussing
miracles. He said that on one occasion there was a very severe
sand-storm which nearly covered the whole of the tomb at Aujila. So
they brought the slaves to dig it out again. As it was being dug out
the _kaimakam_ came into the chamber which contained the shrine and
noticed a very strong smell of incense. He called one of the slaves and
asked whether he had burned any incense. The man denied it, yet till
now, upon occasion, a visitor to the tomb will smell this incense,
though it is known that none has been burned.
Jalo is the headquarters of the Majabra tribe of Bedouins,
the merchant princes of the Libyan Desert. A few Zwayas are also
found there, but the Majabras make up the great majority of the two
thousand inhabitants of the two villages. The Majabras have wonderful
business instinct. The Majbari boasts of his father having died in the
_basur_—the camel-saddle—as the son of a soldier might boast that
his father died on the field of battle. When I was in Jalo, the Italian
authorities, who were then on unfriendly terms with Sayed Idris, had
prohibited the sending of goods from Benghazi and the other ports
of Cyrenaica into the interior. Consequently prices of commodities
at such inland places as Jedabia went up with a leap. Majabra
merchants, arriving at Jalo with caravans of goods from Egypt,
heard of this abnormal situation in the north. Without a moment’s
hesitation they changed their plans, trekked north instead of south,
and sold their goods to splendid advantage in Jedabia. Then back they
dashed—if the camel’s pace of less than three miles an hour can be
so described—to Egypt or the south for another caravan-load. Arrived
again at Jalo with their merchandise, they inquired carefully as to
comparative conditions in the markets of Jedabia and Kufra and directed
their further journey accordingly. Considering the remoteness of the
desert places—Jalo five days from Jedabia, Kufra from twelve to
eighteen days from Jalo—and the snail-like speed of a caravan, news
travels across the desert with surprising swiftness. At least it seems
so. I suppose the true explanation is that all things are relative,
and while news moves at the camel’s pace, so does everything else.
While the Majabras are the great traders of the Libyan Desert, the
Zwayas have also their claims to prominence. The rivalry between the
two tribes is always present under the surface, and occasionally it
flashes forth into the light.
There is some envy of the Zwayas by all the other tribes of Cyrenaica
because the man second in importance to Sayed Idris among the Senussis
is Ali Pasha El Abdia, who is a Zwayi. Abdia is a splendid soldier,
a powerful support to Sayed Idris and a man much trusted by the
Senussi leader.
One evening after dinner at Jalo some expression of this rivalry was
given by Sidi Saleh, who belonged to no tribe in Cyrenaica and was
in fact a _sherif_ or descendant of the Prophet, in an argument with
Moghaib and Zerwali, who were both Zwayas. Moghaib launched into a
little history of the achievements of the Zwayas. Sidi Saleh listened
to the Zwayi’s eulogy of his tribe, shook his head, and remarked,
“Their history may be as glorious as Sidi Moghaib tells you, but
they do not fear God.”
At this Moghaib burst forth: “By God, Sidi Saleh, they may not fear
God, but neither do they fear man. Woe to him who dares molest their
caravan or attack their camp.”
Then he came quickly over to me and continued, “We have the blessing
of El Mahdi upon us, for it was to our headquarters in Kufra that
Sidi El Mahdi came and from which he disappeared.”
The Senussis will never say that El Mahdi died, but always that he
“disappeared” or some equivalent expression. In fact there is a
legend among them that he is not dead but wandering over the earth
until such time as he shall come again to his desert people. To the
Zwayas El Mahdi is the most beloved of the Senussi leaders because it
was he who moved the center of activity of the brotherhood to Kufra,
their headquarters. The _kubba_ of the mosque that he built is the
glory of Kufra.
In my own experience the Zwayas at times showed hostility and made
it clear that, although I was a Moslem, the son of a religious man,
and a confidant of Sayed Idris, they did not want me in Kufra. Some of
them even expressed the hope that they would have seen the last of me
when I left Kufra. In spite of this scarcely veiled antagonism to me,
however, I never expect to find better men for a desert journey than
the Zwayas who formed part of my caravan. Zerwali in particular,
a typical Zwayi Bedouin, was the best of companions and the most
reliable of associates.
[Illustration: SAYED MOHAMMED EL ABID
Ruler of Kufra and cousin of the head of the Senussi sect]
[Illustration: THE HOUSE OF SAYED EL ABID
Sheepskins of water are seen hanging from their tripods to cool in
the shade, and beneath them are shallow copper pans. In the foreground
is a tea-pot.]
The Bedouin of Cyrenaica has in him the blood of the Arabs who passed
through the north of Africa on their way to Spain. Although he has
mixed with other native tribes of North Africa, he still preserves
the old Arab tradition. In the case of murder, among the Senussis,
the Bedouins have their own law. As a rule the Senussi _ikhwan_
intervenes as a peaceful intermediary. He takes the murderer and
an old member of his tribe and goes to the murdered man’s camp,
pitching camp near-by. The _ikhwan_ then approaches the family of the
murdered man, saying, “He who murdered your man is here”; and,
taking him by the hand, he adds: “This is he who murdered your son. I
hand him over to you that you may do as you will with him.” Usually
the answer is, “May God forgive him, and may God’s justice and
mercy fall upon him.” Thereupon the _ikhwan_ starts arranging for the
blood-money, which is generally three thousand dollars and a slave, the
market value of the latter being known. The injured party may choose
between accepting the money or having its equivalent in camels, sheep,
or other commodities. The money may be paid in instalments extending
over from one to three years, and the arrangement is generally carried
through. In very rare cases or a deep-rooted feud the family of the
deceased refuse to accept blood-money, which means that they intend to
kill the murderer himself, or else one of his relations or a leading
member of his tribe.
Bedouin boys and girls mix freely; it is only in the higher families
that the women are kept in seclusion. As a rule a boy knows his
sweetheart, and he goes to her camp and sings to her, generally in
verse of his own making. If she likes him, she comes out and answers
his song, not rarely in words of her own composition also. The boy
then goes and asks for the girl from her people, paying a dowry if an
agreement is reached. Then with ceremonial he goes with his friends
and takes the girl home to his camp amid displays of horsemanship
and much firing of guns. Cases have been known of elopements, which
usually end in feuds between tribes, for the Bedouins look upon the
man as having stolen the girl from them. There is a marriage contract,
in many cases drawn up by the _ikhwan_, and the marriage takes place
according to the Moslem religion. Marriages take place at a very early
age, according to the development of the girl, who may be thirteen
or fourteen, while the boy is between seventeen and twenty. Bedouins
who can afford it marry more than one wife, but in that case the first
wife remains the mistress of the house and takes precedence even over
the favorite wife in anything that has to do with household management.
I have heard of many cases of lads going off their heads through
falling in love with a girl they could not marry. A Bedouin boy once
came to me to ask for medicine. He looked very frail. He was slim,
with a rather refined face, and spoke very little. “I have come to
ask you for medicine to give me health,” he said. He shook his head
when I asked what was his ailment and answered, “God knows best.”
There was something queer about the boy, something that puzzled me,
but as usual in these cases a few malted milk tablets were wrapped up
carefully in paper and given to him with strict orders not to take more
than three each day. When the boy had gone, an elderly man came to my
tent. He squatted on the floor. “May God give you health and make
your hand give recovery. My son came to you just now, and you gave
him medicine. I have come to explain his ailment. He is always weak
and afflicted by headaches. When night falls he shuns everybody and
seeks solitude; often he goes out to spend the night in the open.”
I told the old man that the medicine I had given the boy was the
only one I had that might give some relief. “Recovery comes from
God,” replied the man in a sad voice. “We know his remedy, but
it is decreed that he should not have it. The boy is in love with a
girl whose parents refused to give her to him in marriage.”
“Why don’t you make an effort, if you know this is the reason
of your son’s illness, and try to get the girl in marriage for
your son?”
“It is too late, now,” replied the father. “She is already
married. But God knows best . . . She may be many days’ journey
away from here, but she is suffering from the same ailment.” With
that he rose and left my tent, a resigned, pathetic figure.
At Jalo, as at Jaghbub, there were no camels waiting for me when
I arrived. But the reason was not the same, nor the uncertainty so
disturbing. The hire of the necessary camels had been arranged for,
and Omar Bu Helega, their owner, was ready to start just as soon as the
beasts returned from grazing. No good Bedouin starts out on a long trek
until his camels have been fattened and especially have had their fill
of green fodder. A long stretch like that to Kufra, with no grazing on
the way, means feeding the camels on dried dates exclusively. Dates,
say the camelmen, are hot on the liver. Therefore, they prepare their
animals for the ordeal by a course of green feeding before they start.
Bu Helega’s camels had been taken to near-by grazing grounds for
this course of preparation, and on the appointed day for their
return they did not appear. The next day I wondered about them,
the second day I was concerned, and the day after worried, lest,
when taken from grazing, the beasts might have run away. However,
they had not done so. They put in their appearance on the fourth day,
and when they came they were in excellent condition.
[Illustration: TEBU GIRL WEARING BEDOUIN CLOTHES]
[Illustration: A TEBU WITH HIS CAMEL]
I hired thirty-five camels, paying a high price for them. I could
have bought the beasts outright for from twelve to eighteen pounds,
while Bu Helega demanded thirteen and a half pounds for their hire
for the two or three months’ journey to Abeshe in Wadai. But it
was better so. If I had owned the camels myself the responsibility
for their welfare would have been all mine. It would have been my
men who had them in charge, with no motive beyond the general one of
loyalty to the leader and the job for carrying the camels through in
good condition. But when Bu Helega’s men went along with his own
animals they were sure to have the best of care. During the trek
to Kufra he kept his eye expertly on each one of them. If a camel
weakened or seemed ill, he shifted loads to meet the emergency. He
did everything to keep them fit to the journey’s end, and his care
of them was worth to me all that it cost.
In addition to camels I needed more men. The four who had been hired in
Cairo, Sollum, and Siwa were still with me: Abdullahi, Ahmed, Hamad,
and Ismail. I now added five more: Zerwali; Senussi Bu Hassan, the
guide; Sad, who came from Aujila; Hamid; and Faraj, a slave. Bu Helega
had with him his son and two camelmen. The list was supplemented
at the last by five Tebus, nomadic blacks from Tibesti, a region
northwest of Wadai. Abdullahi and Zerwali were the two headmen of the
caravan. The former was in command of the luggage and the commissariat,
while Zerwali was in charge of the camels and the men. They were the
best companions that any man could have on a desert trek.
We needed clothing, certain articles of food, and shoes, especially
the last. The heelless Bedouin slipper is the only possible wear for
the desert, but it will wear out, and it often has to be repaired
on the way. It was necessary to be sure that each of us had not only
shoes but the leather that we should need for patching them until we
reached Kufra.
At Jalo I found a famous shoemaker, Hemaida, whom I had met at
Kufra two years before. I had with me the very shoes that he had
made for me then, with soles badly in need of patching. Great was
his delight when I took them to him for his ministrations. He was a
venerable-looking personage, whom it would have been easy to take for
a judge or a member of the council at least. He came to my house day
after day to work on the five pairs of shoes he made for me, on the
making of shoes for my men, and on the repairing of our saddles and
other leather accoutrement. It was a pleasure to give him a meal and
then to invite him to a friendly glass of tea. One day he was coughing
as the tea was brought, and I expressed sympathy for his ailment. He
looked at me across his glass of tea and answered in his quiet voice:
“But your tea always stops my cough, Sidi El Bey. Not other tea,
but yours always does.” I did not ignore the hint so gracefully
given. Hemaida received his little packet of the miraculous tea as
a present before we left Jalo.
Besides my shoes and the leather, I bought cloth for clothing for my
men, butter, oil, barley, fire-wood, and eight _girbas_. Ali Kaja,
who was the favorite slave of Sayed Idris and had been made by him
his trusted personal _wakil_ in Jalo, told me that his master had
directed him to put all his store of supplies of every kind at my
disposal. I thanked him but did not avail myself of the offer. I had
just come from Egypt, well equipped, and I knew how much these stores
meant to those who lived in this isolated spot.
Besides the making of preparations, my ten days in Jalo were spent
in receiving and giving entertainment and in scientific work. The
entertainment was up to the best Bedouin standards. The first day I
dined with Senussi Gader Bouh, the _kaimakam_ or governor of Jalo. The
second day I lunched at the house of El Bishari, the most important of
the Majabra merchant chiefs, waited on by my host and his sons. The
third day luncheon was sent to me by the members of the council,
and I was joined in the repast by Zerwali, the _kadi_ or judge,
Ali Kaja, and Moghaib. After the meal I had a talk with the _kadi_
on Senussi history and was shown letters from the Grand Senussi and
from El Mahdi, his son. Dinner that day came from Haj Farahat, another
Majbari merchant, with the _kaimakam_, Zerwali, Ali Kaja, Moghaib,
and Abdullahi as sharers of the feast. We discussed the custom of Bu
Zafar, which all agreed must not be a meal but the slaughtering and
eating of a sheep.
On the fourth day I lunched at the house of Haj Ali Bilal, a
Majbari. My diary records the fact that there was the “usual
crowd” and a “very good lunch.” Dinner was sent to me by
Haj Seid, also one of the Majabra merchants, and the _kaimakam_,
Zerwali, and the _kadi_ joined me in it. On the next day I lunched
at the house of Haj Ghraibil, and that evening my most interesting
experience in the way of hospitality took place. There were living
at Jalo several ladies of the Senussi family, including the wife of
Sayed Idris and his sister. Shortly after my arrival at Jalo they
sent me an invitation to dinner. This was an unusual occurrence,
for Bedouin women of high class do not offer entertainment to men as
women of the western world may do with perfect propriety. I realized,
of course, that I would not actually dine with my hostesses in person,
but I was appreciative of the unprecedented honor nevertheless.
[Illustration: SLAVE AT KUFRA]
[Illustration: TEBU GIRL CARRYING BURDEN ON HER HEAD]
At the appointed hour Zerwali and the _kaimakam_ came to escort me to
dinner. The house which the ladies occupied was the former government
house of the days of Turkish rule. We were ushered into a spacious room
where the soft light from a magnificent brass lantern and innumerable
candles served to deepen the mellow tones and the rich combinations
of color of priceless rugs and silken cushions. Sidi Saleh, who was
the husband of one of the Senussi ladies, acted as host on their
behalf. Under his hospitable direction, a splendid banquet was served
to us by half a dozen slaves. When we had eaten all that was demanded
by courtesy, and, I am afraid, much more than was required by nature,
the banquet was completed with the washing of our hands in basins
brought by the slaves, the ceremonial three glasses of tea, the
sprinkling over us of rose-water, and the burning of incense before
us. Then the chief slave came and deferentially whispered in my
ear. Would the bey care to hear some music? There was a gramophone,
with records made by the famous singers of Egypt. The bey had only
to command.
Perhaps to the disappointment of my companions—I do not know—but
quite to my own satisfaction, I courteously declined the offered
entertainment. There was something rare and precious in the perfumed
atmosphere of that softly lighted room which the coming of voices from
beyond the desert would have profaned. Partly the beauty of the place,
the remoteness from the world, but especially the sense that I was the
guest of noble Bedouin women, who were hidden from me by the customs
of our eastern lands, but were in a real sense present through their
gracious hospitality and kindly thoughtfulness, made of that evening
a unique memory. I told the slave to convey my respectful salaams
to the ladies and to tell them how much I had been touched by their
courtesy. Then I went out into the clear desert night with the soft
breeze stirring little breaths of incense from the folds of my _jerd_
to remind me vividly of the peace and mystic calm of the room from
which I had come.
The next day I returned the hospitality of those who had entertained
me so generously. My room, with its dry mud floor, and travel-stained
luggage ranged about the walls, could not bear comparison with the
charming apartment in which I had dined the night before. But Ali
Kaja took it upon himself to see that we were made as presentable as
circumstances would permit. With a pair of beautiful brass lanterns
and a few rugs borrowed from Sayed Idris’s house and some other
accessories, he created a very decent imitation of a banquet-hall. My
guests included the _kaimakam_; the members of the council; the
two _ikhwan_; the judge; Ali Kaja; Musa, the captain of the Senussi
artillery; and Zerwali. Dressed in my best Bedouin robes I waited on
them as a Bedouin host should, and when some of them, who had been
out into the world, asked me to sit with them and eat, I assured them
that I would—when they were my guests in Cairo. Ahmed, my cook,
had laid himself out to provide several distinctively European dishes
to give a note of novelty to our entertaining, and the delight of my
guests was great at his achievements.
My banquet ended the round of entertaining, and for a day or two I
was permitted to lunch and dine in peaceful solitude. It was a relief,
grateful though I had been to my generous hosts for their hospitality.
An important part of my activities at Jalo was the making of scientific
observations. I observed the sun and the stars to determine the
latitude and longitude and took regular readings of the aneroid
barometer and thermometer for the determination of the altitude. My
observations on the latter point, when finally worked out in relation
to barometric records made on the same days at Siwa, disclosed the
interesting fact that the level of Jalo is sixty meters higher to-day
than it was when Rohlfs ascertained it in 1879. He found Jalo almost
exactly at sea-level; I found it sixty meters higher. I saw the
explanation of it going on before my eyes. The drifting sands were
climbing slowly up the trunks of the palm-trees and against the walls
of the houses, threatening to engulf them. Some of the inhabitants had
already moved their houses and rebuilt them on higher levels. It is
the steadily accumulating sand, driven by sand-storms and gathering
wherever trees and houses stop its progress, that has raised Jalo
nearly two hundred feet above sea-level in forty-four years. The house
I was living in, and at which the barometric readings were recorded,
was from fifteen to twenty meters higher than the rest of the houses
at Jalo.
In the taking of my observations I had to be cautious, for the Bedouins
are suspicious of anything so elaborately scientific looking as a
theodolite. They were sure to say that I was making a map with a
view to coming back and conquering their land. The first time that a
Bedouin chief and the man who was to guide us to Kufra caught me at
my theodolite I had to explain hastily and persuasively that I was
getting data for the making of a calendar for the month of Ramadan.
[Illustration: KUFRA
The native dwellings and date-palms are in the foreground with lake
in the background]
Abdullahi, who was of course not a Bedouin, was invaluable to me in
the camouflaging of my scientific activities. In fact he was rather
a specialist in the manufacture of those little inaccuracies that
smooth the path of life and preserve the social amenities. One day
we were using the theodolite some distance from the town. A native
demanded what we were doing, and Abdullahi said we were taking a
picture of Jalo.
“How can that be, at such a distance?” demanded the Bedouin.
Abdullahi had his explanation ready.
“The machine attracts the picture, so that it comes right out and
flies into it,” he asserted glibly.
“But how can a box attract a picture?” demanded the incredulous
Bedouin.
Abdullahi struck an attitude. “Ask the magnet how it attracts the
iron,” he commanded rhetorically, and the debate was closed.