In a few places, renowned to-day, and doubly renowned in the legendary history of the Sahara, there exist, in the remote interior, age-old salt-pits of inexhaustible supply. They are worked to-day as of old, and the methods of centuries are unchanged. But the trade is diminishing. The tide of the white man’s advance in Africa is having an influence on distant markets; and that influence is reflected at the remote source of supply. No longer do the great native populations of the Western Sudan depend chiefly on the Sahara for their salt, for to-day whole shiploads of the commercial commodity are imported by way of the west coast to vie with the supply of the renowned salt deposits of the Sahara, that were wont to supply half a continent.
But, despite the strength of the foreign invasion, there has always been a native prejudice against the imported salt and a liking for the natural salt of the Sahara—a prejudice that the importer has been fighting down ever since he entered the field—and it is no doubt that favourable prejudice, along with the existing value of salt as currency, has much to do with the continuance of a curious and primitive trade in the interior of the Sahara.
Like gold in other lands, the famed deposits of salt in the Sahara are not numerous. I know of only three that are of great reputation: Bilma, Tigguida n’Tisem, and Taudeni. There are possibly others, in the great desert, of renown that has not reached me. The two former I have visited, and will endeavour to describe, while Taudeni, about 400 miles in the desert north of the Niger bend, contains the famous mines of rock-salt that, in being transported south through Timbuktu, gives to that world-famous town its chief trade.
I will deal first with Bilma. The oasis of that name lies in a basin in the midst of a great region of loose sand-dunes which offer extraordinary natural protection. No stranger may find his way into Bilma through those dunes unguided, and its position is so secretive, a tiny place in a hollow in one boundless sea of dunes, that its presence is absolutely unsuspected until one comes suddenly, with astonishment, right on top of it.
A long, lake-like stretch of bare sun-cracked flats of soda and salt, glaring fiercely white in the stifling sun, lie before the small town, which is at the south end, while at the other end, a mile or so distant, are the piled-up, uneven hills of the workings of the famous salt-pits. The town, and the French fort that is there, are sheltered to some extent by small groves of date-palms.
The French occupation of Bilma is unique in the territory. It is a far-flung outpost, and the fort stands alone like a Dreadnought in an unknown sea, far from recognised frontiers. That such a fort has been established, and held, is eloquent acknowledgment of the value of the salt-pits and the strategic position that Bilma holds in checking the wanderings of the cut-throat raiders that seek to pass between Tibesti and Aïr, or from the Fezzan to the northern fringes of Hausaland.
Bilma was first occupied by the French in 1906, and the founding of a post so remote, and in the heart of enemies’ country, was filled with dangers and difficulties. To-day, over the door of the sturdy, earth-built post in Bilma, are the words Fort Dromard, and by reason of the name the fort has been made a lasting monument to Lieutenant Amédée Dromard, a soldier-pioneer who, single-handed with native soldiers, fought for the French flag’s erection in Bilma, defended its brave upstanding, and won—to die in completing his noble task.
The record of his career hangs on the walls, worthy of the best traditions of his country; indeed, a record of which any country might well be proud. In the concluding paragraphs one reads:
“He fought conspicuously at Agadem (south of Bilma) on 7th January 1908.”
And finally: