And these were impressions they eventually carried back to spread far afield. And in this way, all unbeknown, the character of a nation may sometimes go forth broadcast before the world.
From London, Ali and Sakari accompanied me to my home in Scotland. They were made comfortable in an adjoining outhouse, and allotted a suitable place to make a camp-fire outdoors, where they delighted to sit and cook their meals in natural fashion.
Here, again, their pleasure in everything new afforded constant amusement.
Scotland does not lack for water. The river Tay, flowing near the house, was a feast indeed for eyes that well knew the drawbacks of an arid land, and the dreadful thirst of the desert. And the two natives were content to sit for hours, lost in contemplation of the swiftly flowing perpetual water that would represent unbounded prosperity if only it could be transported to their own land.
But this worship of water had its drawbacks when Ali made the gleeful discovery that all he had to do to get water in the house was to turn on a tap. Thereafter we caught him, repeatedly, standing wrapt before the scullery sink with taps full on watching to see:
“If them water be fit ever go run dry.”
When it rained thoughts always veered to the Sahara, and more than once Ali remarked:
“Allah send plenty rain for this country, and so He go forget the desert all the time.
“Suppose Sahara fit look this rain all the people catch plenty food.”
During the first morning at home I took the two natives on to the golf-course. For a little time they walked, feeling the closely knit turf under their feet, then they dropped to their knees and ran their hands over the grass, looking about them with delight.