THE LOST OASES: OUENAT
_SATURDAY, April 28._ We started at 9:30 P.M. for the first
all-night trek, halting at 7 A.M. of the twenty-ninth. We made forty
kilometers. It was fair and clear with a very strong hot wind from
southeast all day. The wind blew from the same quarter, but was warm
rather than hot all night. The ground was _serira_, with large stones
making bad going for the camels. At 6 A.M. we reached the western
corner of Ouenat Mountain and camped an hour later.
The day was spent quietly, chiefly in rest for the coming night
trek. In the early evening we sent men to bring the camels from their
grazing. Bukara hired a camel from a Tebu, to relieve his own, which he
wanted to be able to sell at the end of the journey for a high price. I
hired three Tebus and their camels to go with us, but not for the same
reason. Our transport was inadequate, for the trek from Kufra had shown
me that our loads were too heavy. The camels became quickly exhausted.
The camels were brought in at eight in the evening, and we started
an hour and a half later. They were lightly loaded this time because
we were taking no water from Arkenu. The water there, while its
taste is not particularly unpleasant, is hard on one’s digestive
apparatus. We had three bad cases of dysentery among the men. The
invalids rode camels from the start, and the rest of the men took
turns during the night.
The caravan started out in the best of humor. At intervals some
cheerful spirit stopped and began to chant. In a moment half a dozen
of them were lined up beside him, all chanting, stamping and clapping
their hands rhythmically as the camels filed past. The words of the
song were always the same:
En kán azeéz alaih lanzár
Hátta laú ba-éd biddár
The accents are strongly pronounced and differ in the two lines, as I
have marked them. I would translate the verse thus, without making any
attempt to fit it to the jazz rhythm that would be needed to complete
the effect for the western ear: “O beloved, our eyes gaze after you,
even though your camp is far away.”
[Illustration: A BIDIYAT GIRL, WITH HER SISTER
The necklace of macaroni beads was given to her by the explorer to eat,
but she preferred to make it into a necklace.]
[Illustration: A BIDIYAT GIRL WITH HER CHILD
Note the nose-bead. Her hair is plaited when she is young, and is
oiled from time to time but never combed out.]
Again and again the chant was repeated until the performance ended
in a sudden shout. I had been the whole audience for the little show,
beating the rhythm with my whip, and when the shout went up I called
out, “Farraghu barud!” “Empty gunpowder!” was the signal for
a _feu de joie_ from the rifles, after which we all took our places
in the caravan and went on exhilarated.
A night march has its advantages. The time, unless one is dead tired,
passes more quickly than during the day, and the stars are cheering
company for any lover of nature. On the horizon ahead of us loomed
the dark masses of the Ouenat Mountains. It is so much easier to
march with one’s destination distinct before one than to be walking
on the flat disk of a desert where every point of the compass looks
like every other and the horizon keeps always at the same maddening
distance. We steadily approached the mountains until the sun was
rising over them, tinting and gilding their peaks and throwing out
on the desert a heavy shadow whose edge marched steadily toward the
mountain-foot as we approached it from another direction. Shortly
after sunrise we were opposite the northwest corner of the mountains,
and an hour later we made camp close under their rocky walls. At this
point there was an indentation in the mountain-side, with a well in
a cave at its inner end. We pitched our tents at the mouth of this
little arm of the desert sea, and ten minutes later we were all sunk
into sleep. This was our first full night of travel, and we had some
arrears of sleep to make up.
However, we did not sleep as long as we had expected to, but roused
ourselves before noon and turned our attention to food. The French
saying, _qui dort dîne_, may be true under some conditions, but we of
the desert find it more satisfactory when we are able to do both. We
all found pleasant distraction in roasting parts of the lamb which
was provided by Mohammed as _diafa_ for Ouenat.
I spent the rest of the day in visiting the well, which is situated in
the cave in the mountain-side, in taking observations, and in looking
over our surroundings. At this point the mountain rises in a sheer
cliff, with a mass of boulders, great and small, heaped against it
at its foot. The stones that make up this _tabre_, as the geologists
call it, have been carved by ages of wind and driven sand into smooth,
rounded shapes that giants of the heroic days might have used in their
slings to kill monsters or for some enormous game of bowls. The _ain_
or well lies a few meters away from the camp, in a cavity walled and
roofed with the great rocks. It is a pool of refreshing water kept
cool by their protection from the sun. The desert knows two kinds of
wells, the _ain_, which properly speaking is a spring, and the _bir_
or _matan_, which is a place where water may be obtained by digging in
the sand. We call these wells of Ouenat _ains_, for lack of a better
word, although they are not springs but reservoirs in the rock where
rain-water collects.
There are said to be seven of these _ains_ in the Ouenat Mountains,
of which I was to see four before I moved south again. I also heard
rumors of one or two _birs_ in the oasis, but I did not see them.
In the evening the camp was full of life and gaiety. The men danced
and sang as though there were no tedious days of hot sand and scorching
wind behind or ahead of them.
_Monday, April 30._ Up early and went with Zerwali, Abdullahi,
Mohammed, and Malkenni, the Tebu, to the big _ain_ up the mountain. It
was a stiff climb of an hour and a half. The _ain_ has a plentiful
supply of splendid water and is picturesquely surrounded with
tall, slim reeds. I took some of the reeds back with me to make
pipe-stems. They give a pleasantly cool smoke.
In the early evening I set out on the _hejin_, with Malkenni, Senussi
Bu Hassan, and Sad to explore the oasis. It was a fine moonlight
night with a warm southeast breeze. For four hours we marched over
_serira_, skirting the northwest corner of the mountain, and at
midnight we entered a valley with a chain of low hills on our left
and the sinister mountain with its fantastic rock formations on our
right. The valley is floored with soft sand strewn with big stones,
which made hard going for the camels. At the hour when men’s spirits
and courage are proverbially at the lowest ebb we halted a few minutes
for a draft of strong tea from my thermos flask and then pushed on. But
our spirits were by no means low. There was something magical about the
night and the moonlight and the mountains, to make this an experience
stirring to the imagination and uplifting to the soul. I speak for
myself; but the men seemed to be getting something out of it too.
At five the valley opened out on to a wide plain of flat _serira_,
with hills ten or fifteen kilometers away to the northeast. We
turned sharply to the south, around a spur of the mountain. At dawn
we stopped for morning prayers.
The camels were _barrakked_, and we took our stand on the sands facing
toward Mecca. When Moslems take part in their ceremonial prayers,
they stand before God—not, as some misinformed persons say, before
Mohammed, who was not God but man, a prophet and not the Deity—and
the first essential is cleansing, of body, heart, and soul. In the
desert the cleansing of the body can be only symbolical, since water
cannot be spared. We take sand in our hands, rub it over each hand and
forearm, then gently over our faces. With hands uplifted, palms upward,
we say the prayers appointed, then, kneeling, touch our foreheads to
the cool sands of the morning.
[Illustration: A BIDIYAT PARTY
The explorer came across them after passing through uninhabited
country for a fortnight]
[Illustration: GIRLS AT EL FASHER GOING TO MARKET]
In the desert, prayers are no mere blind obedience to religious dogma
but an instinctive expression of one’s inmost self. The prayers at
night bring serenity and peace. At dawn, when new life has suddenly
taken possession of the body, one eagerly turns to the Creator to
offer humble homage for all the beauty of the world and of life and
to seek guidance for the coming day. One prays then, not because one
ought, but because one must.
Seven o’clock found us entering a wide valley, running a little east
of south, with mountains rising high on both sides. The floor of the
valley is as flat as a table, patterned with tufts of grass and marked
here and there with mimosa-trees and small shrubs, whose leaves when
crushed give off a fragrance similar to that of mint. At intervals the
ground is carpeted with creeping plants of the colocynth, expanses of
green leaves dotted with brilliant yellow globes like grape-fruit. It
is from this fruit that the Tebus and Goran make _abra_. They boil the
pips thoroughly to get rid of their bitter taste and then crush them
with dates or locusts in a wooden mortar. _Abra_ is their staple dish.
For three hours we proceeded up the valley, and at ten we camped hot
and tired but not ill content. We ate a good meal of rice, drank our
three glasses of tea, and went to sleep in the shade of a ridge. It was
uncomfortable slumber, what with swarming flies and the moving shadow
of the ridge, which made each of us shift position from time to time.
As I opened my eyes a figure stood near me that seemed to be part
of a pleasant dream. She was a beautiful girl of the Goran, the
slim graceful lines of whose body were not spoiled by the primitive
garments she wore. She carried a bowl of milk, which she offered with
shy dignity. I could only accept it and drink gratefully. Then she
asked me for medicine for her sister, who had borne no children. When
she refused to believe that I had no medicine that would be helpful to
her sister, I fell back on my malted milk tablets, a harmless remedy
for ailments which were beyond me. I also gave her a Medjidie and a
silk handkerchief for herself.
A Tebu appeared with a parcel of meat of the _waddan_ or wild sheep. I
gave him macaroni and rice, and he went away happy.
After we had eaten I went to see some relics of the presence of men in
earlier times. At Arkenu I had got to talking with one of the Gorans,
and, having satisfied myself about the present inhabitants of Ouenat,
I asked him whether he knew anything about any former inhabitants of
the oasis.
He gave me a startling answer: “Many different people have lived
round these wells, as far back as any one can remember. Even _djinn_
have dwelt in that place in olden days.”
“_Djinn!_” I exclaimed. “How do you know that?” “Have they
not left their drawings on the rocks?” he answered.
With suppressed excitement I asked him where. He replied that in the
valley of Ouenat there were many drawings upon the rocks, but I could
not induce him to describe them further than saying that there were
“writings and drawings of all the animals living, and nobody knows
what sort of pens they used, for they wrote very deeply on the stones,
and Time has not been able to efface the writings.” Doing my best
not to show anything like excitement, I inquired whether he could
tell me just where the drawings were.
“At the end of the valley, where the tail of the valley wags,”
he answered.
The whole time I remembered this, and after a little time spent
in making sure about the water, which is the most important thing,
and having a look round from the top of the hills at the surrounding
country, there came the exciting task of going round the oasis. But
the most exciting part of it was to find these rock inscriptions,
especially as the history that I had been able to collect about the
oasis was very scanty. I gathered that Ouenat was the _pied-à-terre_
of Tebus and Goran who were going eastward to attack and despoil the
Kababishe. Arkenu and Ouenat, indeed, were very well placed for that
purpose, since they provided water for the attacking party and at
the same time were too far away for the Kababishe to dare attempt
reprisals or try to recover their own belongings.
With these drawings in mind, then, I took Malkenni, who had joined the
caravan at Arkenu, and toward sunset he led me straight to them. They
were in the valley at the part where it drew in, curving slightly
with a suggestion of the wagging tail. We found them on the rock at
the ground level. I was told there were other similar inscriptions
at half a day’s journey, but as it was growing late and I did not
want to excite suspicion, I did not go to them.
There was nothing beyond the drawings of animals, no inscriptions. It
seemed to me as though they were drawn by somebody who was trying to
compose a scene. Although primitive in character, they betrayed an
artistic hand. The man who drew these outline figures of animals had
a decorative sense. On their wall of rock these pictures were rudely,
but not unskilfully carved. There were lions, giraffes, and ostriches,
all kinds of gazelles, and perhaps cows, though many of these figures
were effaced by time. The carving is from a quarter to half an inch
in depth, and the edges of the lines are weathered until in some
parts they can be scraped off easily with the finger.
[Illustration: BIDIYAT WOMEN]
[Illustration: ZAGHAWA GIRL AND HER INFANT]
I asked who made the pictures, and the only answer I got came from
Malkenni, the Tebu, who declared his belief that they were the work
of the _djinn_.
“What man,” he demanded, “can do these things now?”
I did not find any traditions about the origin of these interesting
rock-markings, but I was struck by two things. There are no giraffes
in this part of the country now; nor do they live in any similar
desert country anywhere. Also there are no camels among the carvings
on the rocks, and one cannot penetrate to this oasis now except with
camels. Did the men who made these pictures know the giraffe and not
the camel? I reflected that the camel came to Africa from Asia some
five hundred years B.C.
At 5:30 we started for the home camp. We wound our way up a steep
mountain path, hardly wide enough in places for a single man and
exceedingly dangerous going for the camels. We reached the highest
point of the path and then picked our way down to the desert level
south of the mountains. At the highest point we reached there were
a few peaks around, some two or three hundred meters higher than we
were. The camels went up and down the steep path wonderfully well
in spite of the darkness, and at 10:30 we were at the foot of the
mountains.
It seemed best to give the camels a rest, and we halted at eleven for
two hours. We had tea, and a Tebu family whose camp was near came to
visit us. We snatched a brief sleep and awoke refreshed. There was
a cool wind blowing, and the ride home over the level desert was a
pleasant relief after the hot work of climbing about among the rocks.
We reached camp at 10 A.M. of the second and were met with firing of
rifles and an agreeable welcome.
_Wednesday, May 2._ On reaching camp we found Sheikh Herri, the Goran
chief who is called King of Ouenat and its one hundred and fifty
inhabitants. He came the day before to visit me and waited for my
return. He was a very nice old man with a calm, dignified face. He
brought two sheep, milk, and _abra_ for _diafa_. He was keeping
Ramadan, and I insisted on his staying the night with us. Otherwise
I could not offer him hospitality, since he might not eat or drink
until sunset.
I had a long talk with him and with Mohammed. The old chief was
still fond of his own country north of Wadai and sighed when it was
spoken of. He belonged to the Hezzi family, which is a ruling family
of Goran in northern Wadai. He came to Kufra as a voluntary exile,
when the French entered Wadai, and later he settled in Ouenat.
I found myself tired after our twenty-eight hours of trekking with
only nine hours of rest, but a bath, a meal, and a short sleep made
life worth living again in the evening.
Bukara had organized a chorus among the men, and the evening was
spent with Bedouin, Tebu, and Sudanese songs.
_Thursday, May 3._ Herri came to my tent with a bowl of milk when I
got up. When I thanked him, he shook his head sadly.
“This is all I have to offer,” he said. “It is not worthy
of you. But you will forgive us for not being able to give you the
hospitality that you should have.”
I assured him that it is the spirit that counts in these matters
and not the intrinsic value of the offering. The day was spent in
preparations for the start south, which I hoped would be made on
the morrow.
_Friday, May 4._ I made an arrangement with Herri to go with us to
Erdi, as an additional guide. Mohammed had not been through this
country for a number of years, and I felt that Herri should know
it better.
In the afternoon I went for a long walk and took photographs of the
mountains. By this time all the Tebu and Goran settlements, which are
scattered about the oasis wherever there is grazing for their beasts,
had heard of our presence, and the people came to visit us. There
were many guests for dinner, and it was a very gay camp. It was one
of the pleasantest evenings of the trip.
Before we leave Ouenat I must say something about Bukara, who is one of
the most interesting people in the caravan and a romantic figure. He
is tall, slim, and wiry, a typical Bedouin, always cheerful and with
a song at his lips at those critical moments in the day, early in
the morning or late at night, when the men are tired with the night
march and need encouragement.
I did not know that he smoked until one day, as I was saddling my
horse, I caught him collecting the cigarette-ends from the spot where
my tent had stood. After this I shared my cigarettes with him. It
was great fun to hand him a packet of the precious articles and see
him break into a song and dance of joy.
[Illustration: MARKET AT UM BURU]
Bukara is one of the most traveled Bedouins that I have come across. He
is only thirty-three, and yet he has traveled to Wadai, Borku, Bornu,
and Darfur. He has seen days of good fortune in the past, but to-day he
owns but one camel. He has thrown in his lot with my caravan, arranging
with Bu Helega that he is to have a share of the money received for
the latter’s camels when they are sold at the end of the journey.
He speaks most of the dialects of the black tribes and knows a great
deal about them. He is also a wonderful mimic. One evening he put
on the green cloth that formed a partition in my tent as a _burnoos_
and, with Sad and Hamid bleating like sheep behind him, came to the
camp pretending to be a Bedouin _sheikh_, bringing the two sheep as
_diafa_. We were kept in roars of laughter, and suddenly Bukara flung
away the green cloth and, snatching a spear from one of the Tebus,
broke into a Tebu war-dance. A Tebu assisted him by beating a rhythm on
one of the small empty _fantasses_. This droll exhibition was followed
by a concert of Bedouin songs from Cyrenaica, Fezzan, and Tripoli.
I have seen Bukara refuse to mount a camel to ride when all the
Bedouins have yielded to the temptation.
“Why don’t you ride, Bukara?” I asked. “There are several
unloaded camels.”
“What would my _washoon_ [wife] say if she heard that her Bukara
had ridden between Arkenu and Ouenat?” he replied with scorn in
his voice for the thought.
He told me that on one occasion he had been intrusted with some
fifty camels to take to Ouenat for grazing. He was alone and ran
short of food.
“For twelve days I ate no meal, except the pips of colocynth,
which upset my digestion,” he replied simply. “Then I reached
Kufra. The men at Kufra who had sent me for the camels had forgotten
to send me food. They had expected me at Kufra earlier.”
“But why didn’t you slaughter a camel?” I inquired.
“Should I permit the men of Kufra to say that Bukara could not
endure hunger and had killed a camel?” he retorted proudly.
Bukara is very fond of his wife. When we reached Arkenu he said to
me: “I am feeling better now, but I cried like a child when I said
good-by to my _washoon_ at Kufra. It is always like that when I begin
my journeys. If the company is good I forget more quickly.”