Tafilet

by Walter Harris

One fact that I had been noticing all along the road here thrust itself before me more than ever—namely, the entire absence of the camel. One would naturally expect to find him in this portion of trans-Atlas Morocco, but except for a few coming from the camp at Tafilet, I saw absolutely none. The fact is, the Berbers have never taken to the camel, and for some reason or other highly disapprove of him—why, I was unable to discover. However, on more than one occasion I have heard the Berber in chaff call an Arab a camel-driver—no doubt a term of reproach in his eyes. For beasts of burden the small mules of the district seem to have taken their place, and no doubt they are more economical with food. The camel, it is true, is easily fed where there is grazing to be found; but in these dry districts where all its fodder would have to be grown for the purpose, his keep would be far more heavy than that of the tiny mules in use, which scarcely eat more than a donkey, and subsist largely on dates.

We left Asrir at dawn on November 15, passing out of the ksar as soon as the gate was open, for it is kept closed during the night, a custom in practice all through these districts.

Our road lay for an hour through the palm-groves, ever crossing the little canals of clear water. We picked up a good supply of dates from beneath the trees for one day’s provisions for the march, and a handful or two were given us now and again by the natives, many of whom were engaged in harvesting the fruit, and who, evidently attracted by the string of big wooden beads round my neck, mistook us for a party of wandering devotees of the sect of the Derkauiya. Whatever may have been their object in bestowing upon us charity, it was welcome enough, and for once we set out on our day’s tramp with the certainty of a mid-day meal.

We forded the Wad Todghrá, first, at a spot where it flows over its wide bed amongst the palm-groves, and then again near where it issues from the oasis to pursue its course to the east. Then desert again, only here a scrubby bush covered the arid waste, thorny mimosas for the most part, called by the Arabs sidra, with spikes all over it that tear one’s clothes as one proceeds. To the north-east the horizon was bounded by a low line of yellow cliffs, close beneath which we could distinguish the oasis of Gheris, to which De Foucauld, after leaving Ferkla, pursued his journey of exploration. Our roads had been parallel, and in some places identical, from Dads to this spot, but from here on to Tafilet I had an untrodden and unmapped way before me. To the east again of Gheris the palm-trees of Tiluin—Aït Iluin—were to be descried. This oasis is said to be the original home of the tribe, which we had already come across near the southern end of Todghrá, and through another territory of which we were to pass the following day.

A few miles outside the limit of the palm-groves of Ferkla the road passes between two conical hills, of no great altitude, that on the right (south) being, however, the larger of the two. On the slope of the smaller one a ruined saint’s tomb stands; but I was unable to find out the name of the man whose bones lie in this desolate spot. On my return journey from Tafilet we followed another road more to the south, which passes to the farther side of the southernmost of these two hills, near the small settlement of Islef, a division of the tribe of Aït Merghad.

Half a mile to the east of these two hills is a ruined kasba, or residence of a governor, who is said to have shared the same fate as his castle—to have been pulled to pieces.

Saint’s Tomb on the Road to Ul Turug.

Ten miles from Ferkla the road takes a turn to the south, and enters a valley of Jibel Saghru, to which range, since leaving Dads, we had been travelling parallel. Through this valley the Wad Todghrá flows, dividing the range into two parts, that on the east being known as Jibel el Kebir, “the great mountain,” though why it is difficult to say, as both in extent and altitude it is considerably smaller than the hills of Saghru on the west and south. It was with no little pleasure that we entered the valley, barren though it was in most parts, for any relief was acceptable after the interminable arid desert we had been crossing for the last six or seven days of our journey. Two villages lie near the northern end, Igli and Maroksha, both inhabited by the Berber tribe of Aït Khalifa, representatives of whom we had not as yet come across. Igli is a most picturesque spot, crowning a knoll in the very centre of the valley, the summit surmounted by a huge tower. With this exception the village is not fortified, though its position above the level of the surrounding land renders it easy of defence. Maroksha lies on the level ground, half-hidden amongst groves of palms, irrigated from the stream of the Wad Todghrá. From Ferkla this river flows slightly to the north of east, the road being some miles on its south side, until almost due north of Igli the stream takes a directly southerly course to enter the valley between Saghru and Jibel el Kebir, half a mile perhaps to the east of the village.

A mile to the south of Igli we crossed the dry bed of a tributary of the Todghrá, flowing from Jibel Saghru, and, fording the main stream a few hundred yards farther on, entered the groves of Milaab, which are protected on the west by a tower perched on a rocky projection. The road at the ford resumes its former easterly direction, the river flowing a little more to the south. Although Milaab is but a small place, I think I saw nowhere else such attention paid to the cultivation of the soil and the date-palm. The road for the mile and a half that it threaded the groves was delightful. On either side of the straight level track ran little canals of fresh clear water, beyond which stretched away a forest of feathery palm-trees. The whole scene resembled more a botanical garden than a desert oasis, so evenly were the trees planted and so well tilled the soil, which, green with fsa—lucerne—resembled a level lawn. The exact distance between each palm seems to have been carefully measured, so that, look which way one would, one’s sight wandered down long avenues of the straight stems and luxuriant leaves.