The wide stretches of country beyond the walls were sandy and bare, with only a sparse growth of a heather-like plant on which the camels fed. There were herds of a hundred or more, brown or fawn-coloured or sometimes white. They are the Arabian species having but the one hump, over which is fastened a large mat that fits down over it and looks like a hat, I suppose serving as a protection. The herds are taken out to graze during the day and brought back at night. These are the beasts that belong to town owners and that are hired out for caravans. The foals run by their mothers’ sides, as furry and long-legged as young donkeys. A good deal of trade is carried on with the Bedouins, who bring grain and wool, honey, eggs and butter into the town, and go out again laden with sugar, salt and other goods.
There was a fondouk close by the hotel, and from my window I could hear the roaring of reluctant camels being loaded in the early morning and the cries of their drivers. Looking out I could see them standing in the road, one knee bent, and fastened up by a rope by way of hobbling them. They are wonderful animals, for at a pinch they will eat anything from thorns to cactus leaves, and in times of scarcity they are even fed on date stones. I saw heaps of these being sold in small market-places for this purpose.
But though he does not disdain such accessory diet, the camel requires a large quantity of food, and possesses the useful gift of being able to store up any superfluity of nourishment in his hump, on which to live in hard times. The popular fallacy that he can go for days without food is erroneous, but he lays no stress on the punctuality of his meals as a horse does, and this is a valuable trait in a beast that is used for long journeys across the desert where fodder is scarce. His strange figure with its thin, fragile-looking legs that fold up like a pocket ruler when he lies down, and the small cynical head set on the long swaying neck, suits the sandy wastes and the exotic charm of the East. He walks with slippered tread, wrapt in aloofness. One is baffled by his haughty indifference. He groans and protests as his load is being fastened on, but only as a matter of form, for his docility is remarkable. Overload him, or force him to journey when he is ill, still his protests are no louder. He just dies. Quite quietly and without warning, he lies down and refuses to live, baffling, in death as in life, the comprehension of the bewildered European.
CHAPTER II
SECTS AND SUPERSTITIONS
Mohammedanism is the national religion of Tunisia, but it is not always realised that there are many sects, each basing its belief on the teaching of different religious leaders during the first centuries after the death of the Prophet. The divergences arose in the first instance from varying interpretations of the words of the Koran, and doubtless these divergences have crystallised since into very marked tenets. There are, I believe, more than eighty religious “orders” in the Moslem world, but the word does not bear the same signification as it does in European countries. The follower of an order belongs to an association which does not interfere with his family life or with his profession. At the head of each denomination is a “sheik” who takes up his dwelling, as a rule, near the tomb of its founder.
The sect of the Aïssaouia is remarkable for its extraordinary religious dances. It was founded by Si Mohamed ben Aïssa who died in 1524 at Meknès. Its disciples claim a complete immunity from the effect of poison. According to the legend, its founder was exiled by the Sultan of Morocco on account of his popularity with the people. Crossing the desert his followers suffered greatly from hunger, whereupon their leader told them they might safely eat scorpions, snakes, stones and thorns. This the votaries of his religion still do during their celebrations, endeavouring to prove that the faithful can at will suspend his bodily sensations through fasting and prayer.
Their services are usually held once a week, and I went to one at Kairouan in the Mosque of the Three Doors. It began at 5 p.m. The worshippers squatted in two rows on a square of matting facing each other and reciting prayers. One man after another called out the phrase in a high nasal voice, and the rest made a response in chorus. They kept swaying backwards and forwards and getting more excited. Sometimes the recitation was followed by a low abrupt sound from the rest, that sounded like the growl of a tiger. Meanwhile a boy handed round a cup of water at intervals to the worshippers, and afterwards brought in a brazier of hot coals at which he busied himself warming the parchment of the native drums.
It was fast getting dusk. In a corner sat a group of European spectators, and behind them was a pierced door through which came the fanatical ull-ul-la of women devotees. It was a weird scene. The floor of the mosque was paved with narrow bricks set edgeways, with here and there a slab of mosaic. Stone pillars lost themselves in the gloom of the roof, from which hung common kerosene lamps, strings of ostrich eggs and the coloured glass balls beloved of natives. Shadows gathered in the dim corners, and through the open doorway one could catch a glimpse of the evening sky; whilst interminably the rows of squatting figures swayed backwards and forwards and the chant grew more and more insistent. After what seemed hours, they rose to their feet, and the thudding of tom-toms began. The worshippers ranged themselves standing in a row, and a wretched unhealthy looking creature in a ragged brown burnous was brought forward. Louder and louder came the throb of the music, faster and faster the figures intoned and swayed. It seemed a whirlpool of sound, with that sinister group of devotees at the centre of it.