Morning brings new vitality; night brings peace and serenity. These are the hours wherein one learns the desert’s charm.
In the silence of these vast open spaces human sensitiveness becomes so sharpened that eventually the desert traveler feels the nearness of some inhabited oasis. Likewise his instinct tells him of the few hundred miles that separate him from any breathing thing. In the silent infinity of the desert, body, mind, and soul are cleansed. Man feels nearer to God, feels the presence of a mighty Power from which nothing any longer diverts his attention. Little by little an inevitable fatalism and an unshakable belief in the wisdom of God’s decree bring resignation even to the extent of offering his life to the desert without grudge. There are times when he feels that it really does not matter. . . .
The desert brings out the best that is in every man. Civilization confronts the crowd with danger, and each one fights for himself and his own safety. In the desert self becomes less and less important. Each tries to do the best he can for his comrades. Let disaster threaten a caravan, there may be one man who can see a chance to save himself, but I do not believe there is a Bedouin who would desert his comrades and so save his own life. One of the most appalling things that can happen in the desert is a shortage of water, and you would think that in such a case you would try to keep what water you have for yourself. Instead of that, you find yourself with your favorite water-bottle, taking it in your arms, going round the men asking would any of them like a drink, as nonchalantly as though there were plenty of it and to spare. The question of personal safety is eliminated. Whatever happens, let it happen to the whole caravan; you do not want to escape alone. That is the feeling that gets hold of you.
MAP OF THE LIBYAN DESERT
I never cease to marvel at the Bedouin serenity and courage, which nothing disturbs. In desert travel there are three elements: camels, water-supply, the guide. Camels, the best of them, and for no apparent reason, give in, as it happened when I left Kufra and one of my best camels died on the second night, while, on the other hand, the weakest camel of the caravan, which left Kufra tottering under its load, went through the whole trip, about 950 miles, and arrived tottering at El Fasher. “God will protect it,” said its Bedouin owner when rebuked for bringing such a sorry animal, and in truth God did protect it. The death of a camel is a serious matter, for it means throwing away most, perhaps the whole, of its load. Water is carried chiefly in sheepskins, and the best of sheepskins, tested for days and weeks beforehand, have suddenly started to leak or the water to evaporate from them; or in night trekking two camels may bump together and cause one or two sheepskins to burst. And then the guide, for various reasons, may say that his head has gone round and round, which means he has lost his head; if there are clouds that hide the sun for a few hours, or one mistake in a landmark, it may cause the guide to lose his way. But there is one thing still more necessary than these three items: camels, water, guide. It is Faith, profound and illimitable Faith.
The desert can be beautiful and kindly, and the caravan fresh and cheerful, but it can also be cruel and overwhelming, and the wretched caravan, beaten down by misfortune, staggers desperately along. It is when your camels droop their heads from thirst and exhaustion; when your water-supply has run short and there is no sign of the next well; when your men are listless and without hope; when the map you carry is a blank, because the desert is uncharted; when your guide, asked about the route, answers with a shrug of the shoulders that God knows best; when you scan the horizon, and all around, wherever you look, it is always the same hazy line between the pale blue of the sky and the yellow of the sand; when there is no landmark, no sign to give the slightest excuse for hope; when that immense expanse looks like, feels like a circle drawing tighter and tighter round your parched throat—it is then that the Bedouin feels the need of a Power bigger even than that ruthless desert. It is then that the Bedouin, when he has offered his prayers to this Almighty Power for deliverance, when he has offered up his prayers and they have not been granted, it is then that he draws his jerd around him, and, sinking down upon the sands, awaits with astounding equanimity the decreed death. This is the faith in which the journey across the desert must be made.
The desert is terrible, and it is merciless, but to the desert all those who once have known it must return.