The camels were barrakked, and we took our stand on the sands facing toward Mecca. When Moslems take part in their ceremonial prayers, they stand before God—not, as some misinformed persons say, before Mohammed, who was not God but man, a prophet and not the Deity—and the first essential is cleansing, of body, heart, and soul. In the desert the cleansing of the body can be only symbolical, since water cannot be spared. We take sand in our hands, rub it over each hand and forearm, then gently over our faces. With hands uplifted, palms upward, we say the prayers appointed, then, kneeling, touch our foreheads to the cool sands of the morning.
A BIDIYAT PARTY
The explorer came across them after passing through uninhabited country for a fortnight
GIRLS AT EL FASHER GOING TO MARKET
In the desert, prayers are no mere blind obedience to religious dogma but an instinctive expression of one’s inmost self. The prayers at night bring serenity and peace. At dawn, when new life has suddenly taken possession of the body, one eagerly turns to the Creator to offer humble homage for all the beauty of the world and of life and to seek guidance for the coming day. One prays then, not because one ought, but because one must.
Seven o’clock found us entering a wide valley, running a little east of south, with mountains rising high on both sides. The floor of the valley is as flat as a table, patterned with tufts of grass and marked here and there with mimosa-trees and small shrubs, whose leaves when crushed give off a fragrance similar to that of mint. At intervals the ground is carpeted with creeping plants of the colocynth, expanses of green leaves dotted with brilliant yellow globes like grape-fruit. It is from this fruit that the Tebus and Goran make abra. They boil the pips thoroughly to get rid of their bitter taste and then crush them with dates or locusts in a wooden mortar. Abra is their staple dish.
For three hours we proceeded up the valley, and at ten we camped hot and tired but not ill content. We ate a good meal of rice, drank our three glasses of tea, and went to sleep in the shade of a ridge. It was uncomfortable slumber, what with swarming flies and the moving shadow of the ridge, which made each of us shift position from time to time.
As I opened my eyes a figure stood near me that seemed to be part of a pleasant dream. She was a beautiful girl of the Goran, the slim graceful lines of whose body were not spoiled by the primitive garments she wore. She carried a bowl of milk, which she offered with shy dignity. I could only accept it and drink gratefully. Then she asked me for medicine for her sister, who had borne no children. When she refused to believe that I had no medicine that would be helpful to her sister, I fell back on my malted milk tablets, a harmless remedy for ailments which were beyond me. I also gave her a Medjidie and a silk handkerchief for herself.