4. A Day’s Fishing in Southern Algeria
Jelloul ben Lahkdar, bash agha of the Larba tribe about the oasis of Laghouat, is a man with the presence of an emperor, and when I meet him I feel that I ought to kneel down and kiss his hand.
I do not do this, however, partly because it would be misconstrued, and partly because the bash agha is a charming old gentleman with a sense of humor, and one whose soul is simplicity itself. He is rather a tyrant with the younger members of his family, and I know that they are very frightened of him, and that they are like young schoolboys when he is with them.
However, this does not prevent his being a very entertaining companion, and though he rarely maintains a lengthy conversation, what he says is wise and to the point. When I met him, therefore, in Chellala, a little market-town nestling among the hills some two hundred miles north of the Sahara, I was delighted.
“Why, what are you doing here, bash agha?” I exclaimed, after we had passed through the lengthy Arab greeting which is very poetical but rather tedious in the long run.
“I have taken up my summer quarters with the Caïd Ali, my cousin,” he replied. “And you, my friend?”
“Oh, I’ve just come up for the sheep-market.”
“You dine with us to-night,” he went on, “you will taste some fish.”
“Thank you,” I replied, “it will be a pleasure to dine at your hospitable table and a luxury to eat fish from the sea.”
“They do not come from the sea,” he replied. “They are fish from the river at Taguine, forty kilometers from here.”