As we passed El Lebba, the second village of Jalo, a pleasant incident occurred to send us cheerfully on our way. The solitary graceful figure of a girl appeared beside our path, her face hidden from us by the Bedouin veil. With one voice the men nearest her called out the traditional greeting:
“Wajhik! Wajhik! Your face! Your face!”
The girl turned and demurely drew aside her veil to disclose the finely chiseled features, the clear olive skin, and the shy yet dignified expression of a Bedouin maiden. The men shouted with delight at her beauty and her courtesy. To complete the tradition I ordered them to “empty gunpowder” at her feet. Hamad and Sad performed the graceful ceremony, first one and then the other. The man danced lightly toward her as if to the imaginary rhythm of a Bedouin drum, his rifle held in both hands over his head, the muzzle pointing forward, shouting a desert love-song as he went. Just in front of her he dropped lightly on one knee, brought his gun to the vertical position butt upward, and fired, a hair’s breadth from her feet.
THE OASIS OF HAWARI
The explorer’s camp on the most northerly oasis of Kufra
So close was the shot and so accurate his aim that the girl’s slippers were singed by the powder-flash. She did not flinch at the explosion but stood gracefully erect in her pride at the honor done her. Singed slippers are a mark of distinction in the desert that any Bedouin girl cherishes.
When Sad had followed Hamad’s example, another shout rose from the men of the caravan, and we moved on.
The girl smiled after us, as flattered by the homage that had been paid her as we were by the good omen of a pretty face crossing our path at the outset of our journey. Within an hour we were in the open desert again.
Eight hours’ trekking brought us to Buttafal Well, where we were to stop a day. We took matters easily that first night, with singing and conversation about the camp-fire till after midnight.