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.
SLAVE AT KUFRA
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.