KUFRA: OLD FRIENDS AND A CHANGE OF PLAN
_Sunday, April 1._ We started at 9:45 A.M. and halted at 2 P.M.,
making 17 kilometers, and arrived at El Taj. At 11:15 we entered a
broken rocky country, very rolling, covered with patches of black
and red sandstone until we reached Taj.
Egaila came to help in loading the camels. He had quite recovered
from his scorpion-bite and was to go with us to Taj. Breakfast was
sent by Bu Helega for me and my men. When I protested that he should
not have taken the trouble, he retorted that I should have given him
an opportunity to provide the customary three days’ hospitality. A
little later a slave-girl came from him with a huge bowl of rice,
chicken, and eggs.
She was evidently dressed especially for the occasion and was quite
charming in her dainty attire of blue cloth with a red sash about
her slim waist.
I told her that we were starting at once and should not need the food.
“You may need it on the way,” she replied shyly. “I cooked
it myself.”
“If that is the case,” I assured her, “I will accept it
gladly.” She was obviously pleased and immediately went back for
another bowl quite as large and inviting. I bowed to the inevitable
and sent my thanks to her master.
We were given a pleasant send-off by the people of Awadel, and I set
out at the head of my caravan on Bu Helega’s horse. We needed no
guide just now, for I knew the way myself.
“Aye, the bey knows the way too well,” said Senussi Bu
Hassan. “He will soon become a guide in this country of ours.”
The approach to Kufra from the north has an element of surprise in it
that makes it doubly interesting. We marched through a gently rolling
country with an irregular ridge of no great height forming the horizon
ahead of us. Suddenly the top of the ridge resolved itself into the
outlines of a group of buildings, their walls hard to distinguish at
any distance from the rocks and sands they match so well in color and
in form. This was El Taj, the headquarters of the Senussi family in
Kufra. As we entered the town, we saw that the ground dropped abruptly
away beyond it, down to the valley of Kufra. This pleasant valley is a
shallow, roughly shaped oval bowl, forty kilometers in extent on its
long diameter and twenty kilometers on the short one. It is dotted
with palm-trees, and across it in an irregular line from northeast to
southwest are strung the six settlements of Boema, Buma, Jof, Zurruk,
Talalib, and Tollab. Close to Jof lie the blue shimmering waters
of a fair-sized lake. At this mid-point in the sand-waste of the
desert this expanse of water is both a boon and an aggravation. The
mere sight of so much water brings refreshment to the eyes weary of
looking at nothing but sand; but to the parched throat it is worse
than a mirage to the vision, for its waters are salt.
On our entry into Taj I was met cordially by old friends. Sayed
El Abid, the cousin of Sayed Idris and the chief Senussi in Kufra,
was ill with rheumatism, but Sidi Saleh El Baskari, the _kaimakam_,
Sidi Mahmoud El Jeddawi, Sayed Idris’s _wakil_, and several _ikhwan_
brought words of welcome from him and conducted me to the house of
Sayed Idris where I was to stay. It was here that we had lived on the
first trip to Kufra two years before, and immediately I felt at home.
“You will have to initiate your men into the ways of Kufra,”
said El Baskari whimsically. “Even Zerwali has not been here for
thirteen years.”
At once the hospitality began, with coffee brought by the commandant
of the troops. I had just time for a short rest before a slave came
to take me to the house of Sayed El Abid for a meal. Led by the same
messenger that came for us two years ago, I walked through the same
streets, and entered the same wonderful house of the Senussi leader
with a curious feeling as though time had stood still or gone back. El
Abid’s house is a labyrinth of corridors, lined with doors behind
which live the members of his family and his retainers. We passed into
the familiar room whose spaces seemed more richly adorned than ever
with gorgeous rugs, many-colored cushions, and stiffly embroidered
brocades. On the walls hang the well-remembered collection of clocks,
barometers, and thermometers in which my host takes naïve delight. The
clocks, of which there are at least a dozen of assorted shapes and
sizes, were all going strong.
[Illustration: THE DESERT FROM THE HILLS OF OUENAT
Ouenat is the bigger of the two oases which the explorer discovered. In
the foreground is the explorer’s tent and camp. The hills are of
granite and are about fifteen hundred feet high.]
Sidi Saleh came to bear me company and to apologize for the enforced
absence of my host, Sayed El Abid. There was set before me a feast
fit for the gods, or for mortals fresh from the monotonous living
of the desert: lamb, rice, vegetables, _mulukhiah_, an Egyptian
vegetable rather like spinach, delicious bread, sweet vinegar, milk,
sweets, followed by coffee, milk with almond pulp beaten up in it,
and finally the ceremonial three glasses of tea, flavored with amber,
rose-water, and mint.
When the meal was over and I had returned to my house, I had barely
time to see about the disposition of my baggage and discuss the
question of camels for the next stage of the journey when the slave
came to conduct me again to El Abid’s house for dinner. El Baskari
was again my host, a dignified, kindly figure in a beautiful _gibba_ of
yellow and gold, having changed the classical soft Bedouin _tarbush_,
which he had been wearing, for a white silk _kufia_ and a green and
gold _egal_.
When this second meal had reached the point of scented tea and incense,
suddenly the clocks began to strike, each with its own particular tone,
the Arabic hour of three—which then meant nine by the standard of
the outside world. I closed my eyes for a moment and felt myself
back in Oxford with the hour striking in endless variety of tones
from all the church towers of the university town.
I went out into the moonlight with the fragrance of the rose-water
and the incense lingering about me. I stood on the edge of the ridge
overlooking the waters of the lake and reflected on my former visit
to Kufra when this was my goal. Now it was the beginning of the
most interesting part of my journey. I heard the voices of _ikhwan_
and students reading the “Hesb” in the evening quiet. Abdullahi
slipped out of the shadows and stood beside me.
“This is the night of half-Shaban” (meaning the middle of the
month before Ramadan), he said in a low tone as of a man who thinks
aloud. “God will grant the wishes of one who prays to-night.”
For several minutes we two stood there silently. My face was toward the
southeast, where lay an untrodden track and oases that are “lost.”
But Abdullahi turned to the northeast, where lies Egypt and his family
and children. I did not need to ask him for what he prayed.
_Monday, April 2._ At Hawari I had been told by the Bedouin caravan
from Wadai that a French patrol had come north as far as the well at
Sarra over the main trade-route from Wadai to Kufra. This was the
route I had intended at first to follow, but it seemed that only
the small portion of it which lay between Sarra and Kufra remained
unexplored. Again I had heard vague stories of the “lost” oases
on the direct route south which I had planned some time to explore,
although I knew that this direct route to Darfur in the Sudan was
practically never used either by Bedouins or by Sudanese because of
its supposed difficulties and dangers. The story of the French patrol
turned my mind again to these oases, and I determined to try and find
them rather than to follow my original plan.
I set out decided to do all that was possible to explore these lost
oases, but, failing that, I was to cross the Libyan Desert by the
beaten road through Wajunga and Wadai and then turn eastward toward
Darfur.
Zerwali and Suliman Bu Matari, a rich Zwaya merchant, came to discuss
the trip southward. Bu Matari had discouraging counsel to offer as
to the route I had now decided to take.
“Eight years ago,” he said, “the last caravan to go that way—of
which my brother Mohammed was the leader—was eaten up and slaughtered
on the frontier of Darfur. They went, not as you wish to go, but by
the easier route from Ouenat to Merega”—a small oasis about 290
kilometers southeast of Ouenat. “This journey you propose to make
is through territory where no Bedouin has passed before. The _daffa_
[a long waterless trek] between Ouenat and Erdi is a long and hazardous
one. God be merciful to the caravan in such heat. Your camels will drop
like birds before the hot south winds. Even if you get through safely,
who knows how the inhabitants of the hills over there will receive
you? Do not let your anxiety to travel fast overrule your wisdom and
keep you from choosing the safe trade-route to Wajanga and Abeshe.”
I thanked him for his advice; but I knew that I should not take it.
[Illustration: THE KING OF OUENAT
He is holding his Mohammedan rosary in his hand]
After luncheon royally provided by El Abid, I went to visit his son
Sharrufa. He is an intelligent young man, thirsting for knowledge. He
has gone as far into the outside world as Benghazi and that by no
means metropolitan community is still for him “the” city of the
world. He apologized for the illness of his father, and I offered to
send medicine which might possibly help him.
_Tuesday, April 3._ It was very warm, with heavy clouds and a bad
southwest wind. After luncheon as usual I went to visit Shams El
Din, a cousin of Sharrufa, and his younger brother. The older boy
is very intelligent and has eyes that seem to be asking questions
of the world. They offered me three cups of milk with almond pulp
and home-made jam. I knew that to refuse such an offer is to offend;
so I left the house in a state of torpor. Dinner later at Sayed El
Abid’s did not improve matters internally.
Again I discussed the plan of going by way of Arkenu and Ouenat. I
was more determined than ever. We would see what Bu Helega had to
say when he arrived from Hawari.
_Wednesday, April 4._ I was awakened by Jeddawi, who as usual brought
me a pot of fragrant tea.
This is comparative civilization, I thought, as I saw Ahmed preparing
my shaving-kit. There are of course times when one welcomes the
conveniences and comforts of civilization, but having trekked so far
one feels more at home when on the move than when resting in an oasis.
The early part of the day was spent in cutting down most of the wooden
boxes and rearranging the luggage in preparation for the long trip
south. It required particular care, since from now onward there would
be no chance of changing the camels until our arrival at El Fasher
in the Sudan, about 950 miles.
The question of providing new shoes for the men of my caravan had to
be attended to, as the Bedouin shoes that were made for them at Jalo
had been worn out. Before lunch I had a visit from a few Zwaya chiefs,
who came officially to pay their respects, and also unofficially to
satisfy their curiosity and suspicion as to the size of my caravan
and the equipment I was carrying, and if possible to find out what
plans I had made for my journey to the Sudan.
Lunch, as usual, at Sayed El Abid’s. I had the cheerful news that
the medicine I gave to him had a good effect. The afternoon I spent
in attending to the question of arms and ammunition. Later I took a
long walk in order to make compass observations of the vicinity of Taj.
_Thursday, April 5._ Zerwali had a long talk with Bu Helega, who
arrived in the night from Hawari. The latter refused point-blank to
go to El Fasher by the Ouenat route.
Bu Helega came to visit me and tried to persuade me to go by way of
Wadai. When he saw that his advice would probably not be taken he
became desperate. I had clearly pointed out to him that nothing could
change my decision to cut across by the Ouenat route to El Fasher.
“By God, it’s a dangerous route,” he said, “and many a caravan
has been eaten up by the inhabitants of the hills on the way. They do
not fear God, and they are under the authority of no man. They are
like birds; they live on the tops of mountains, and you will have
trouble with them.”
“We are men, and we are believers,” I responded. “Our fate is in
the hands of God. If our death is decreed, it may come on the beaten
track to the nearest well.”
“Many a Zwaya beard has been buried in those unknown parts,” he
declared. “The people are treacherous, and they fear neither God
nor man.”
“May God’s mercy fall on those Zwayas who have lost their lives,”
I replied. “Our lives are no more precious than theirs. Shall our
courage be less?”
“The water on this route is scarce and bad,” he argued
again. “God has said, ‘Do not throw yourselves with your own
hands unto destruction.’”
“God will quench the thirst of the true believer,” I answered,
“and will protect those who have faith in Him.”
He felt himself in danger of being beaten in argument and shifted
his ground.
“None of my men are willing to accompany you on this route,” he
asserted, “and I cannot send my camels either. It is sending them
to death. If you find anybody who is willing to hire his camels I am
ready to pay for them, but neither my men nor my camels are going to
take you on this journey.”
“Do what you like,” I retorted with spirit. “I am going by this
route. It will be between you and Sayed Idris when he knows that Bu
Helega has not kept his word.”
There the argument rested. I had already learned that the few owners
of camels at Kufra had been urged by Bu Helega and his men not to
help me in my new plan. He hoped by so doing to force me to accept
his plan of the safe route through Wadai.
An enormous lunch was provided by Jeddawi. The three days of official
hospitality of El Abid having ended yesterday, Jeddawi, as Idris’s
_wakil_ at Kufra, can now entertain us.
Bu Helega was about to leave, but I invited him to partake of our
meal, and he accepted. He hoped still to persuade me to change my
mind. I hoped even more strongly to convince the old man that the
route was not as dangerous as he made it out to be. After the third
glass of tea we parted, neither of us having succeeded in convincing
the other. But I felt that my last words had an effect on him.
[Illustration: THE EXPLORER’S KITCHEN IN A CAVE
It was very hot, and the party had to take shelter from the sun]
[Illustration: THE ROCK VALLEY WELLS FOUND AT OUENAT
They are full of rain-water every year, and as they are in small
caves sheltered from the sun they keep the water during the greater
part of the year.]
In the afternoon the slave came to tell me that his master, Sayed
El Abid, would like to see me. I had already intimated that he need
not be in a hurry to give me an audience, as I knew he was suffering
badly from his gout and it was very difficult for him to come down
to the reception-room. But he was not willing to have me think that
he had violated the rules of hospitality by delaying the audience,
and so he very kindly allowed me to see him in spite of his suffering.
It was the first time that I had seen Sayed El Abid on this journey,
and as I was ushered into his presence I thought that he might
have come out of a gorgeous illustration of “The Thousand and
One Nights.” He was dressed in a yellow silk _kuftan_ embroidered
with red braid, a rich white silk _burnoos_ carelessly hung on his
shoulders. On his head he wore a white turban with snow-white gauze
flowing from the sides. This is the classical head-gear of the chiefs
of the Senussi family. He carried in his hand a heavy ebony stick with
a massive silver head. He was a picture of simple and benign dignity,
and no one would have suspected him of being the redoubtable warrior
that he really is. He was sitting on a big upholstered arm-chair, and
as I entered he tried to get up. I hastened to him, grasping his hand,
and begged him not to make an effort to rise. He was suffering badly
from his gout, and the conversation started easily on the subject of
his ailment. He has been suffering for many years. At times at night,
he said, when the pain is at its worst, “I pray to God that He
may shorten the number of my days in this world, for I cannot even
perform my prayers as I should.”
We then discussed the question of my trip to the Sudan, and he too,
I found, had been prevailed upon to urge me to take the safer route
through Wadai. I pointed out to him that Sayed Idris was now in Egypt
and that I had to hasten to my country to try to repay a little of
the hospitality that had been lavished upon me by the Senussis. It
was fortunate that the route to the Sudan through Ouenat is known to
be shorter than that through Wadai.
“You are a dear friend of ours,” he said; “and the Sayed, I am
sure, would rather have you arrive in Egypt late and safe than hear
that any harm had befallen you.”
“Our fates are in the hands of God,” I replied; “our efforts
are decreed by Him, and I carry with me the blessing of the Senussi
masters.”
I spoke with an air of determination. Sayed El Abid was pensive for
a few moments. Slowly he raised his head and lifted his two hands
toward heaven.
“May God make your efforts succeed and send you back safe to your
people,” he said, yielding to my desire. “You have visited the
tomb of our grandfather at Jaghbub and the _kubba_ of Sidi El Mahdi
here, and you have their blessings. ‘He who struggles and has faith
is rewarded by God.’” He quoted from the Koran. We then read the
“Fat-ha”; he gave me his blessing and again prayed that God might
guide our steps and give me and my men fortitude. I felt very happy as
I wound my way through the multitude of corridors and courtyards. I
was relieved to know that I had an ally in Sayed El Abid, and that
he would not prove an obstacle in my new plan of going to the Sudan
by way of Ouenat.
All the men of my caravan were there when I entered the house. One look
at their faces told me with what suppressed excitement they had been
waiting since my departure to Sayed El Abid to hear his verdict on the
journey south. Slowly I made my way to my room and asked them to come
in. I too had to suppress my excitement; but mine was the excitement
of success and not of expectation. There was a long pause before I
could control my voice and make it as indifferent as it should be.
“The Sayed has blessed our journey to Ouenat and has given me the
‘Fat-ha’ for it.”
I dared not even look in the men’s faces.
“We have the blessings of the Senussi masters with us, Sayed El
Abid has assured me, and God will give us fortitude and success;
and guidance comes from Him.”