Mysteries of the Libyan Desert

by W. J. Harding King

But the name Zerzura itself was suggestive. Zerzur means literally a starling, but is a term often loosely applied to any small bird. Assuming the name to be derived from this source, it would have some such meaning as “the place of little birds,” a name that seemed of such a fanciful nature that it appeared to me unlikely to be applied to any definite place, and, taken in conjunction with the somewhat mystical character of the stories with which the oasis was associated, I concluded that either no place of that name ever existed, or, which seemed more likely, that Zerzura was a generic name applied to any unknown or lost oasis, and that the various legends I had heard of it were, in some cases at all events, garbled versions of events that had really occurred in the past; and judging from the speed with which the story of Rohlfs’ excavations had been distorted, a past that was not necessarily very remote.

Zerzura was said to lie to the south-west of Dakhla, and the other indications, small as they were, all pointed to this being the most promising direction in which to go. Not only was the unknown oasis, with the road running back towards Egypt, marked on the map as lying approximately in this direction, but what was probably the best indication of all, a large migration of birds came up annually from this part of the desert. Certainly there was not much to go upon in deciding to adopt this route, but in the absence of more reliable information, I was compelled to follow such indications as there were. Later on—in my last season in the desert—I was able to collect from various natives a large amount of data as to the unknown parts, from which I was able to construct a more or less complete map. But the information came too late for me to make use of it. It may perhaps be of service in affording an objective for future travellers. If I had had this intelligence to go upon when I first went out into the desert I should have tackled the job in an entirely different manner.

The red camel having recovered from his buttering, and being declared by Qway to be cured of the mange, I decided to start at once.

Much curiosity existed in the oasis as to the direction in which I intended to go. The majority of the natives, influenced perhaps by my enquiries about Zerzura, were firmly convinced that I was bent upon a hunt for the hidden treasure to be found there, and any statement that I made to the contrary only had the effect of strengthening them more strongly in their opinion. No native, when he is starting treasure seeking, ever lets out where he is going, he tries to mislead his neighbours as to his real intentions, and any statements I made as to the object of my journey were invariably regarded from this standpoint.

The mamur came to see me off, and, just before starting, asked me in what direction I intended to go. I told him the south-west. The mamur was too polite to contradict me, but his expression showed his incredulity quite plainly—incredulity and some admiration. His thoughts put into words were: “Liar, what a liar. I wish I could lie like that.”

On my return he was one of the first to come round to “praise Allah for my safety.” Having got through the usual polite formalities, he asked me where I had really been. When I said I had gone to the south-west as I had told him I should, he looked extremely surprised and glanced across to Qway, drinking tea on a mat near the door, for confirmation. Qway laughed. “Yes, he did go to the south-west,” he said.

“But—but—but—,” stammered the mamur, “that’s where you said you were going.”

Even then I don’t think he quite believed it. When asked questions of this kind, I invariably told the exact truth and never made any secret of my plans. I knew quite well they would not believe me, and at first they never did. Afterwards, when they began to realise that my statements were correct, they looked on me, I believe, as rather a fool. They did not seem to understand anyone speaking the truth, when he merely had to lie in order to deceive.

This raises a somewhat intricate question in morality. When you know that if you speak the truth, you will not be believed, and so will deceive as to your real intentions, isn’t it more strictly moral to lie?

I had made somewhat elaborate preparations for crossing the dunes. I had brought with me several empty sacks to spread on the sand for the camels to tread on, and for my own use I had a pair of Canadian snow-shoes, with which I had found it perfectly easy to cross even the softest sand.