DISSEI, BROWN ISLAND 45 



We looked at the diver. He remained in the water unper- 

 turbed, hanging on to the boat to take breath. Were they 

 not afraid of sharks, we asked Mohammed. 'Afraid yes,' he 

 repHed, 'but it is Allah's will if we are called away. It is an 

 honour for us.' 



Unlike many of the local pearl-fishermen, these divers and 

 all those working on wrecks around Massawa, did not use 

 nose-grips. 



Long, steep, savage, lovely among the hideous, Dissei is the 

 island I remember with most affection and nostalgia. Dissei 

 was generous and welcoming, even with those rugged red 

 and brown mountains of hers. Hers was a desolation not of 

 desert but of Tuscan hills standing disinherited in the middle 

 of Africa. Dissei is a soft-sounding name that knows of 

 courtesy and limpid things. Limpid was her sea, and court- 

 eous her world. She let herself be discovered without reserve. 

 We were able to head for Dissei after the Negus, the 

 Emperor Hailé Sciassi, visiting Eritrea, had inspected the 

 port of Massawa and become aware of us. The first sign of 

 imperial benevolence was when consent was given that two 

 of us might film him from a few steps away as he went aboard 

 a United States corvette at anchorage. The second act of 

 benevolence was the visit of H.E. the Viceroy of Eritrea, 

 Andergacciou Messai, aboard the Formica. He suddenly 

 arrived on the quayside, without warning, followed by his 

 entire retinue, causing great consternation on board. We 

 were all lounging about, some of us in our bunks snoring 

 our heads off. Waking the sleepers was the most difficult 

 part of our hurried preparations. When we bellowed at 

 them . . . 'the Viceroy's coming', the only answers we got at 



