As soon as the men have rested, sheepskins are filled and left for the night. Early next morning two or three men go to see which of the sheepskins has leaked and, if possible, detect the cause of the leakage. They also make a point of separating the bad sheepskins from the good ones, so that on the journey water should be taken on the first day or two from those which leak or are unreliable.
The first night at a well, however tired the caravan may be, is always made the opportunity for great rejoicing, singing, and dancing. Before arriving at the well one’s idea of a rest has been at least four or five days’ stay and plenty of water to make up for past privation. Thoughts dwell on the pleasing idea of really having water to splash about with. Curiously enough, after a single day’s rest, a fever of restlessness gets hold of one again, and the luxury of abundance is left most eagerly for the privations of the road. No matter if it be a big well surrounded by a fertile oasis, full of the comforts of life, yet one returns with a sigh of contentment to the twelve hours’ trek and the lunch of dried dates.
The well, when scraped out, is probably about the size of a tea-table for two. The moist sand holds the walls together. Usually one leaves it alone a little for the sand to settle, but the water is always sandy, and it is too much bother to strain it. Not on one single occasion did I drink a glass of water that was not cloudy, and never did I see the bottom of my zinc cup while drinking. The filter which kind friends said I must take with me I never used at all until we got to the Sudan, and there the water was really bad; in an inhabited area you do not know what may have happened to it. And then when we tried to get this famous filter working, we found there were no washers for it, so that was the end of the story of the filter.
Dirt in the desert, it may be necessary to remark, is quite different from dirt anywhere else. It is not unwholesome, for the sand is a clean thing, and the clothes of the Bedouins let in the air. Vermin is there, but it is inevitable, and the Bedouin pays no heed to it. I might have just had my bath, and then I would go and sit down for a glass of tea with my men and—well, you are bound to collect these things!
CHAPTER XIII
THE CHANGING DESERT AND A CORRECTED MAP
Monday, March 26. At El Harrash Well of the Zieghen group. Highest temperature 27°, lowest 6°. Fine and clear with northeast wind, which develops into a bad sand-storm at eleven. The storm continues until 6:30 in the evening, and the wind does not go down until two hours later.
Our halt at Zeighen should have been only for a night, but the severe sand-storm kept us wind-bound for another day. Zieghen is merely a group of four wells, the two that we passed on Sunday, El Harrash, where we were camped, and another, Bu Zerraig, twenty kilometers to the east.
During the day Bu Helega talked to Abdullahi about my coming to the desert.