THE CHANGING DESERT AND A CORRECTED MAP
_Monday, March 26._ At El Harrash Well of the Zieghen group. Highest
temperature 27°, lowest 6°. Fine and clear with northeast wind,
which develops into a bad sand-storm at eleven. The storm continues
until 6:30 in the evening, and the wind does not go down until two
hours later.
Our halt at Zeighen should have been only for a night, but the severe
sand-storm kept us wind-bound for another day. Zieghen is merely a
group of four wells, the two that we passed on Sunday, El Harrash,
where we were camped, and another, Bu Zerraig, twenty kilometers to
the east.
During the day Bu Helega talked to Abdullahi about my coming to
the desert.
“You have audacity, you Egyptians,” he said. “For your bey to
come twice to our country, which no stranger has visited before in my
time, that is boldness. Why does he come here and leave all God’s
bounty back there in Egypt, if not for some secret purpose? He comes
to our unknown country to measure and map it, and, by God, not once
but twice.”
[Illustration: IN THE OPEN DESERT
Study of shadows cast by the camels]
Even my good friend Bu Helega was suspicious of my intentions in
penetrating into his country.
I finally discovered the real basis of the antagonism of those
who live in the desert to the coming of persons from the outside
world. It is not religious fanaticism; it is merely the instinct
of self-preservation. If a single stranger penetrated to Kufra,
the cherished center of the life of their tribe, it would be, as the
Bedouins say, “the camel’s nose inside the flap of the tent.”
After him would come others, and the final outcome would be foreign
domination. That would mean the loss of their independence and the
paying of taxes. They can hardly be blamed for dreading either of
those results.
The changes produced by time in the desert, which we are accustomed to
think of as eternally the same, are interesting. When Rohlfs passed
to the westward of Zieghen on his way to Kufra in 1879 he reported a
broad stretch of green vegetation here. To-day there is no extent of
greenness, merely a great deal of _hatab_, dead brushwood. Rohlfs’s
statement, however, is confirmed by Bu Helega, who says that when
he was a child his father used to take him to Kufra when he went to
get dates, because the Bedouins believe that the waters of Shekherra,
the headquarters of the Zwayas near Jalo, are bad for children in the
summer. Bu Helega used to be carried on his father’s back most of
the way. It was in those days that the trip was made in three days and
five nights, without halts. They gave the camels but one meal between
Jalo and Zieghen; when they reached the latter place the beasts were
fed on the green stuff that was growing there then. What has seemed
like an error on Rohlfs’s part in describing so much vegetation at
Zieghen is thus demonstrated to be merely the result of a difference
in conditions after forty-five years. It is probably a variation in
the water conditions in the soil which has turned the living shrubs
into fire-wood.
Our trek from Buttafal to Zieghen illustrated the uncertainties of
desert travel. In spite of all the precautions that we could possibly
think of, our fuel ran out, one camel died, and two others were so
exhausted that they were to fail us soon. The food for the camels was
used up also, and from Zieghen to Kufra they were fed on date-tree
leaves, gathered at the former place, which was very poor food for
them indeed.
I picked up from a Bedouin a proverb with a cynical slant to it:
“Your friend is like your female camel; one day she gives you milk,
and the next she fails you.”
On the two evenings at Zieghen I took observations of Polaris with the
theodolite. When the observations were worked out I found that Zieghen
was about a hundred kilometers farther to the east-northeast than
Rohlfs had placed it. He did not visit the place and therefore could
make no observations on the spot but relied on what he was told by
the Bedouins. I found also that Zieghen is 310 meters above sea-level.
_Tuesday, March 27._ Start at 8:15 A.M., halt at 8 P.M. Make 47
kilometers. Highest temperature 26°, lowest 8°. Fine and clear, cold
strong northeast wind all day and all night. A few white clouds. From
El Harrash Well the guide points out the direction of Kufra as being
five degrees south of southeast. For two hours we walk among _hatab_,
which extends about 10 kilometers southeast of the well. Then we enter
a region of soft sand, a little undulating. The undulations gradually
increase until we get into the sand-dune country late in the afternoon.
At 2:30 we sighted a range of sand-dunes to the east, with a few
black stone _garas_ or small hills in between them. They were about
twenty or thirty kilometers away and marched off to the southeast
as far as we could see. Later there were _gherds_—sand-dunes—to
the southwest as well, and at 5:30 the _gherds_ closed in across our
track and we definitely entered them. So far, however, they were not
high or difficult to cross.
The complete separation between the Bedouins and the Tebus on the
march impressed me again. The blacks say that they do not like the
Zwayas and fear them. The Tebu camels were well kept and better
behaved than those of the Bedouins. Each Tebu camel had a lead-rope
and did not run loose as the others did.
In the afternoon we passed the landmark of Jebail El Fadeel. As with
most desert landmarks, its name commemorates some one who lost his
life there.
El Fadeel was one of the best guides in the desert. He was going
toward Kufra from Jalo with a caravan. Sand-storms of great severity
swept down upon them. While there is no direct evidence of what
happened, the testimony of what was finally found told the story
eloquently. Fadeel’s eyes must have been badly affected by the
driving sand. He bandaged them and, thus deprived of sight, had
those who were with him describe the landmarks as they reached
them. Nevertheless they missed the wells of Zieghen and tried to
struggle on direct to Kufra. The desert took them in its relentless
grip, and of the entire caravan but one camel survived. The
beast struggled on to its home at Kufra, led by its infallible
instinct. There it was recognized by the markings on its neck as
belonging to El Fadeel. A rescue party followed the camel’s track
back into the desert, but its help came too late. The bodies of the men
lay stiff upon the sand, near the landmark now known by El Fadeel’s
name, the bandage on the old guide’s eyes revealing the tragic truth.
[Illustration: THE HILLS OF ARKENU
The first oasis that the explorer discovered on his way from Kufra
to the Sudan; the camp can be easily discerned]
_Wednesday, March 28._ There were heavy clouds all day, with little
sunshine. It was cloudy too in the evening. A cold northeast wind
developed at 8 A.M. into a sand-storm lasting for three hours and
a half. The cold wind continued on into the evening. A few drops of
rain fell at 10:30 P.M.
We walked among sand-dunes for two hours, when we entered undulating
country, covered with broken black stone. It was bad going for the
camels. An hour later the black stone belt ended and we came into
the sand-dunes again.
At 11:30 in the forenoon the chain of the Hawayesh Hills were on our
left and sand-dunes and black stone _garas_ on our right. At 12:15
we passed on our left four kilometers away Goor El Makhzan landmark,
hills of black stone ranging from fifty to one hundred and fifty
meters in height. At 1:45 we passed the landmark of El Gara Wobentaha,
which means “the _gara_ and its daughter,” two sugar-loaf hills
of appropriate proportions to suit the designation.
I talked with some of the Bedouins about our losing our way in
1921. They showed no surprise. To these desert dwellers it is all
a part of the day’s work, losing one’s way, one’s camels,
one’s water, or one’s fuel.
_Thursday, March 29._ The lowest temperature this day was not recorded,
as the minimum thermometer was broken in the storm.
The Hawayesh Hills were on our left until mid-afternoon. At 11:30
we entered soft and very undulating sand-dunes, difficult going for
men and camels. At 1:30 we passed Garet El Sherif to the right, the
biggest landmark we had yet seen. It was a ridge-shaped _gara_, one
hundred and fifty meters long and about one hundred meters high, with
three smaller ones beside it, two to the south and one to the north. At
three we got into heavy dunes again and two hours later passed into
flat country, with harder sand and patches of black stone. At 3:30
in the morning the worst sand-storm we had encountered began. It
swept the tents from the moorings, and mine collapsed on top of me,
smashing a few of my instruments and also the small chronometer.
With the whole tent on top of me, weighted down with the constantly
growing load of sand, I was threatened with suffocation, but
fortunately I got hold of a tent-peg, with which I held the canvas
away from my face. Some of the men tried to come to my assistance,
but I shouted to them to put the sacks of flour and pieces of luggage
on their tents and mine to keep them down. I lay in my uncomfortable
position under the tent for two hours or so. The sand came hurtling
through the gap in the tent like shot from a gun. The men and the
camels suffered badly. Had the pole of my tent fallen a fraction of
an inch to one side, it would have smashed my big chronometer, and
then what a difference it would have made to the scientific results
of the expedition!
To the outside world the work of an explorer is either failure or
success with a distinct line between them. To the explorer himself
that line is very hazy. He may have won his way through, amassed
all the information that he sought, be within a score of miles of
his journey’s end; then, suddenly, his camels give out. He must
abandon the best part of his luggage. Water and food take precedence;
the boxes containing his scientific instruments, his records, have
to be left behind. Maybe his plight is still worse, and he must
sacrifice everything, even his own life. To the outside world he
would be a failure; generous critics might even call him a glorious
failure, but in any case he has failed. Yet how much is that failure
akin to success! Sometimes on those long treks the man who fails has
done more, has endured more hardships, than the man who succeeds. An
explorer’s sympathy is rather with the man who has struggled and
failed than with the man who succeeds, for only the explorer knows
how the man who failed fought to preserve the fruits of his work.
The Bedouins understood this. There is a trait in their character
that surprised, even astounded me sometimes, until I grew to
understand it. There was often no hilarity, no rejoicing when the
day’s march came to its appointed end. “To-day we have arrived,
but to-morrow—” they seem to say. Because you have succeeded
to-day it is nothing to brag about. It was not by your skill; it
was destiny. To-morrow you may start an easier journey and fail
horribly. On my first long trip in the Libyan Desert in 1921,
between the oases of Buseima (one of the Kufra group) and Kufra,
a three days’ journey, we came across the remnants of a perished
caravan. There was a hand still sticking out of the sands, the skin
yellow like parchment. As we passed, one of the men went reverently
and hid it with sand. A three days’ trip, and yet those men had
lost their way and died of thirst.
[Illustration: THE EXPLORER’S CAMP AT OUENAT]
[Illustration: THE CARAVAN APPROACHING THE GRANITE HILLS OF OUENAT]
There are many gruesome tales of the remnants of a caravan perishing
within sight of the well. So far from being deterred from taking the
same route, the Bedouin only says that it was God’s decree that
they should die on the road. “Better the entrails of a bird than
the darkness of the tomb,” one Bedouin told me, meaning that he
preferred to be eaten by vultures.
It was a very tiring day, what with the disturbance to our rest during
the night and the heavy going through the soft dunes. But the men
were cheerful because we were getting near to Kufra. The news that Bu
Helega, who lived at Hawari, the first halting-place on the outskirts
of Kufra, was going to slaughter a sheep and provide a feast was an
added incentive.
The camels were weak and thin, but three of them whose home is in
Kufra led the way all day without being driven, in spite of the
difficult walking over the dunes.
At 6:45 we sighted Garet El Hawaria, the great landmark that indicates
the approach to Kufra.
_Friday, March 30._ We started at 7:45 A.M., halted at 5:45 P.M., made
thirty-five kilometers, and arrived at Hawari. A few drops of rain
fell in the late evening. The ground was flat, soft sand, undulating
a trifle, and marked with patches of black and red stone. At 9:30 we
entered upon the zone of red sand of Kufra. We came across pieces of
petrified wood all day. At 1:15 we passed Garet El Hawaria, and at
3:30 sighted the date-trees of Hawari. An hour and a half later we
entered the oasis and soon camped at Awadel.
We had arrived at the first outpost of Kufra. This name was given
in Rohlfs’s time to the four somewhat widely separated oases of
Taiserbo, Buseima, Ribiana, and Kebabo—Rohlfs’s designation for
the present-day Kufra—but now it is restricted to the last named.
Hawari is the northernmost part of the present Kufra, a comparatively
small oasis with the three villages of Hawari, Hawawira, and
Awadel. Seventeen kilometers south lies El Taj, the seat of local
government and the principal settlement. It is situated on a rocky
cliff overlooking the depression of the oasis proper, which lies to
the south and contains the villages of Jof, Boema, Buma, El Zurruk,
El Talalib, and El Tollab.
I had intended to go straight on to El Taj, the chief town of Kufra,
the next day, but Bu Helega claimed the right of hospitality and
insisted that I should stop a day at the oasis which is his home. After
a good night’s rest—undisturbed by sand-storms or collapsing
of tents—and a shave, I was quite ready to do full justice to the
breakfast sent by the Bedouins of a caravan which had just arrived
from Wadai. At the same time I gathered some interesting information
which made me consider making a change in my plans.
I sent a messenger on to El Taj with letters to Sayed El Abid, the
cousin of Sayed Idris and the chief Senussi in Kufra, and to Jeddawi,
Sayed Idris’s personal _wakil_.
In the afternoon Zerwali escorted me to Hawari, where I was received
at the _zawia_ by the _ikhwan_ and the notables of the town. After
the usual words of welcome and exchange of compliments, I went to
dinner at the house of Zerwali’s uncle. The Bedouin chiefs protested
that I should not have come direct to Hawari but should have camped
outside to give them an opportunity for a ceremonial reception. They
had apparently heard how I was received at Jalo and would have liked
to duplicate it for me here. I heard rumors of intrigues among some of
the Zwaya chiefs, who were suspicious of my purpose in coming a second
time to Kufra and, as a protest, had refused to attend the dinner. They
were influential chiefs, and the news made me determined to press on
to El Taj before they could send word there in prejudice of my coming.
After the meal I rode home through the beautiful moonlight and on
my arrival found a difficult task before me. Egaila, Bu Helega’s
eldest son, had been bitten by a scorpion. With more confidence in
my medicine-chest than I had myself, Bu Helega asked that I should
cure him. I took the anti-scorpion serum and went to the house,
where I found the boy very ill indeed, burning with fever.
At the last moment before leaving Cairo these serums had been included
in my equipment, and a doctor friend, while he was shaking my hand and
I was saying good-by to people all around me, explained to me (perhaps
most lucidly) just how to employ the serums. It was the first time
I had ever attempted that kind of injection, and I tried to conjure
up the scene and recall fragments of those parting instructions,
but it only struck me how different was that dimly lit room with the
anxious friends and relatives watching my every movement from the
hearty send-off when the serum had been added to my stock in trade.
However, in spite of my doubts whether the case was not too far
advanced for treatment, I administered the serum and went to my camp
wondering what the outcome would be.
Before long I heard a crowd approaching my tent with loud outcries
which sounded hostile to my ears. Probably, I thought, the boy was
already dead, and his death would be laid at my door instead of at
that of the scorpion.
[Illustration: VALLEY OF ERDI
While there remained many miles of travel for the expedition, after
this valley was reached the long waterless desert treks were at an
end. The march to El Obeid was by easy stages through fertile country
from village to village.]
[Illustration: DESERT BREAKING INTO ROCK COUNTRY SOUTH OF OUENAT]
I summoned my men to protect the box of instruments, which I suspected
would be the first object of attack, and prepared myself for a hostile
approach. It was a disturbing moment.
But great was my relief when I detected in the cries of those who
were coming a note rather of rejoicing than of hostility. Presently
Bu Helega entered my tent and thanked me with impressive warmth for
the relief which I had given his son.
“It was like magic,” he declared with fervor, “Allah is
great. That medicine of yours has made the boy well again.”
In appropriate terms I answered, “Recovery comes from God.”
Already the fever was abating and the boy evidently on his way to
recovery. I thanked God internally for the good fortune which had
attended my ministrations. If the boy had died, my position would have
been a dangerous one. When my visitors had left, I went out into the
moonlight for a walk among the graceful palms.