Sahara

by Angus Buchanan

I

One of the rarest occurrences in the Sahara is rain, and the nomads tell that they have known seven years and even ten years pass without any in some localities. Twice, on the trail, I have witnessed the coming of the greatest boon that the Sahara can know; on 3rd August 1920, and again on 13th July 1922. They were memorable occurrences, and one is herein described as an incident of outdoor life not readily forgotten.

We were camped for a few days on a small, rocky knoll on the bank of a dry, deep-channelled river-bed. For months past the heat of the desert had waxed greater and greater, until the weather had become unbearably stifling and oppressive. There was no relief in the surroundings; a wasteland of sad colourings, made up of pale sand and occasional sun-bleached grass tufts. It was the kind of environment that drives men to madness if the mind is not occupied.

There was a subdued tenseness abroad; and almost a gesture of mute appeal, for in truth the whole land was overstrained and panting for relief—and rains were due, if they were to come this year.

For an evening or two heat lightning lit the eastern horizon, and a few distant clouds hung about. . . . And then the great gift of the gods was delivered.

The big storm descended with astonishing suddenness, one early afternoon, and in no time the clear blue sky and sun-flooded land became transformed into a dark inferno of raging elements.

Our first warning of impending events came from a huge, ominous cloud that rolled over the land from the south-west, like a low black column of bush-fire smoke. It was the vanguard dust-churnings of a mighty hurricane, and with something of consternation the frail encampment prepared to crouch before the onslaught. But we had barely time to bundle valued possessions under canvas, and run round tent-ropes to test their security, before a fierce gale, filled with stinging dust and sand, swooped hungrily upon camp. And then the battle raged. All hands struggled to keep the tents intact, orders were bawled that went unheard, for they were torn at the point of utterance and ruthlessly tossed into the vortex of the storm. Lurid lightning flashed and thunder roared above our heads; followed by a hissing deluge of torrential rains. Still we battled with unruly ropes and canvas that buffeted in the gale like ship-sails fouled in a treacherous wind, while all were drenched to the skin, and water literally streamed from our thin clothing. Matches, maps, notes—everything that happened to be in my pockets—was drowned to clammy pulp.

AN ANCIENT SAHARAN WELL

NOTE HOW BEAMS ARE CUT WITH FRICTION OF ROPES. BELOW-GROUND THE SIDES ARE OF MASONRY

Camp-fires hissed and spluttered, and were quickly quenched; and in no time the tranquil camp of half an hour ago was no more than a skeleton of bedraggled possessions and woebegone occupants.

Meanwhile the whole aspect of the country rapidly changed. Miniature streams began to form and gurgle all about us, and grew at an alarming pace. A low murmuring arose in the hills behind and drew nearer and nearer until we witnessed the remarkable sight of a foam-crested, rolling billow advancing down the hitherto empty river-bed. Like a sea-wave on a long, sandy beach it rolled on its way, except that there was no moment when it would break and subside. Impelled by the weight of water behind, it passed our camp hurrying southward, leaving a full river in its wake.

Soon the stream was breast-high; and already soaked beyond the caring, some of the natives, in high glee at the wonderful sight of flowing water, plunged into the stream for a frolic. In the mêlée, Sakari, one of my followers, lost his fez and crossed to the opposite bank to try to recover it. The water was rising so rapidly that when he came to recross, about fifteen minutes later, the stream was a tumbling torrent that nothing could live in; and so he had to sit and shiver on the opposite bank, until the flood subsided some hours later.

At the time of this incident rivers of water were flowing on three sides of the knoll. Immediately to the west ran the true river; on the east, parallel to the river, a waterfall tumbled off a small plateau, and thereafter swung in a broad, shallow stream across our south front over the completely swamped-out picketing ground of our camels. And still the torrential rains kept on.

Then came a time when we grew actively alarmed for the safety of our camp and baggage, and anxiously stood watching the river rise till it threatened to overflow even the high, rocky banks. Slowly the water crept up and up, till part of the bank actually overflowed, and water flooded into the tent nearest the brink. With all haste it was dismantled and removed. A rise of a foot, and everything we possessed would be in the flood and swept away. Gravely we watched the issue. The head camel-man, Elatu, advised trying to move everything away at once along a narrow neck on the north side. It seemed too late for that, and we held on.

And these were the critical moments that saw the tide turn in our favour. For a tantalising period the water appeared, to our anxious eyes, to pause and hold to the one mark—then slowly it was noticed to recede, uncertainly, then decidedly, until we breathed thankfully in relief. A memorable moment was past.

The sky cleared at sundown; and the storm ceased.

Whereupon there was a glorious uplifting of spirits, and sheer delight in the exhilarating new-found freshness of earth and sky, and wealth of bountiful rain.

Masters joked as they changed into dry clothing, camp-boys and camel-men sang their native songs and laughed, while they ran from place to place to marvel at the quantity of water.

“Great rain for our country,” declared the Tuaregs. “Soon our lean camels shall have plenty to eat: Allah be praised!”

And to look upon the flooded land and think that only some hours before we had dug in the river-bed, and dug in vain, in search of good water; that was almost like a far-off dream.

In the dusk, when enough firewood had been salvaged, camp-fires were kindled, and we sat around the golden glow of their friendly warmth to still the shiverings of unaccustomed dampness. And in the hearts of all there was a rich and unusual exuberance because of the rare events of the day that had gifted succour for the present to the Great Lone Land of Thirst.