TWO TUAREGS IN WARRIOR ATTIRE
I had been casting covetous eyes on Bu Helega’s horse since first I saw it in Jalo. Abdullahi had inquired for me whether it could be bought, but the price was too high. So I affected indifference and bided my time. No one of Bu Helega’s family rode the horse but himself. The old man’s dignity would not permit. But he kindly allowed me to use the animal whenever I wanted to ride. In fact, on this journey it seemed more mine than his.
Three of the camels were tired and barrakked (knelt down) without orders. They do not behave in this way unless there is good reason for it, and so we shifted their loads to let them have a rest. We lost time in the process but made it up when the cool of the evening came.
I made it a point to talk with each man in the caravan every day. It kept things running smoothly, and incidentally I picked up some interesting information. I learned on this day that the Bedouins not only knew the tracks of their own camels but can often tell whether camels which have passed belong to men of the same tribe or not. Tebu camels they know at once because of the peculiar shape of their hoofs and the long strides they take. The Tebu camels are hardier than the Bedouin animals and can be used both in the northern desert of Cyrenaica and to the south in the Sudan. The Bedouins change camels at Kufra, when going north or south.
I walked with Senussi Bu Hassan, the guide, and he told me of a trick used by the Bedouins when they are herding camels or sheep. They milk the beasts in the morning and bury the milk in a girba to keep it cool. But desert marauders are clever and can easily find where a girba has been buried. So the wily Bedouin buries two girbas one beneath the other. The bottom one is full of fresh milk and the top one of stale. The thief discovers the upper girba and looks no further, while the owner of the girbas finds his fresh milk safe when he returns at night.
We met flocks of small birds winging their way north. Some of them were tired and eagerly accepted the water we offered them. One perched on my hand to drink.
Sometimes near a well, one of those that is better described as a water-hole, one sees a few wings, feathers, bones of birds that tell their sad tale. They were probably immigrants who came across the well and stayed for a few days to recuperate. The well had just been dug by a passing caravan, water was easily available, and the birds grew accustomed to the spot. Little by little the sand drifted up and filled the well, and one day there was no more water, just a damp patch of sand. Or perhaps the birds arrived there too exhausted to fly another hundred or two hundred miles in search of water, so they remained and died.
In the morning at 10:30 we passed sand-dunes, called El Khweimat, eight or ten kilometers to our left, like small white tents on the desert as their name indicates. At 4:30 we sighted on our left at thirty kilometers the landmark called El Ferayeg, four sand-hills in a row. The name means “the little band” of men. At 6:15 we sighted the top of another landmark known as Mazoul, “the solitary one,” hazy in the distance to the southeast.
We were all cheered by the sight of these landmarks, which indicated our progress. We were confident that we had a skilful guide, but, as the Bedouins say, “the good guide is known only at the well.” It is only when one has reached the end of the journey that there is certainty that the right track has been taken. Senussi Bu Hassan demonstrated his remarkably keen eyesight. Very early in the morning before breaking camp he announced that he saw El Khweimat landmark in spite of the morning mist. It was several hours before other eyes in the caravan could make it out.