Afterwards we got on the subject of natural history. The sheykh woke up and became interesting. I had a long conversation with him on a variety of subjects. Towards the end he rather overcame his reserve and seemed to be trying to please, for on my expressing regret that my knowledge of his language was insufficient to enable me to converse with him, except through an interpreter, he volunteered to teach me Arabic, if I would come to his zawia.
I own I was tempted. The chance of completing my education in a Senussi monastery was unique; but it would have been an “eye-washy” sort of job, and I had other work to do—besides I doubted his motives, so I declined. He seemed genuinely disappointed. He had hoped, I suppose, to keep me learning Arabic in his zawia, instead of going off to explore the Libyan Desert that the Senussi looked upon as their private property.
After some further conversation, the sheykh invited us all to be his guests for the night at the ezba belonging to his son, Sheykh Ahmed.
Sheykh Ahmed’s ezba lay some five miles to the west of the zawia. The first part of the way was mainly over uncultivated land. As soon as he was removed from the restraining influence of his father’s presence, Sheykh Ahmed shook off his odour of sanctity and appeared in his true character of a very cheery and slim young scamp. He and his two brothers, Sheykhs Mohammed and ’Abd el Wahad—both of whom joined us before reaching the ezba—had by no means the reputation in the oasis for sanctity that their father possessed. Sheykh Ahmed was reported to be an extremely slim fellow to deal with, and, even among the natives, had the character of being “the biggest liar in the oasis.” ’Abd el Wahad, the youngest brother, was still in his ’teens, and had not then attracted the gossip of the oasis. But Sheykh Mohammed was considered to be even more tricky than his elder brother.
It was the old, old story; too much pious teaching in the youth is apt to lead to a reaction later on. One meets clergymen’s sons, for instance, who are famous for many things, but excessive piety is seldom one of them. History being based on human nature is proverbially apt to repeat itself, and those in loco parentis would, I fancy, always do well to remember that Robert the Devil was the son of Richard the Good—he frequently is!
Old Sheykh Mawhub’s religion was obviously a very real and genuine thing, but that of his sons was, from all I heard and saw, largely a matter of conforming to the outward formalities of their order. But the prestige of the sect they belonged to was so great that, with the simple inhabitants of the oasis, their backslidings were overlooked, and almost regarded as one of the privileges of their holy character. In North Africa it is only necessary to label yourself as a holy man, to say enough prayers and fast occasionally, and you can do pretty much what you like in the meantime.
A ride of something over an hour brought us, just as the sun was setting, to Sheykh Ahmed’s ezba. His guest house, like that of the ’omda of Rashida, was built on to his private dwelling, where his wives and family lived. The house, and its guest house, were surrounded by a series of open yards forming the farm buildings, and used as places in which to house the stock at night, as threshing-floors and so on.
A Tea Party in Dakhla Oasis.
Enormous quantities of very strong tea are drunk by the natives, the making of which is a regular ceremony. Note the large copper urn on the left. ([p. 39]).