THE STRANGE VILLAGE OF KIYA BE 391 



causing trouble, but that those found near the towns 

 have taken on all of the white man's vices and none of 

 his virtues, with a result that is far from pleasing. 



On the early morning of June seventh we started to 

 retrace our wheel tracks to Fort Archambault, leaving 

 the village just after dawn, before the heat waves had 

 commenced their dance. The difficulties of the return 

 journey were not great, but we experienced one near 

 catastrophe when we underestimated the number of 

 dugout canoes needed to support the loaded truck. 

 Upon pushing our rustic ferry away from the bank, 

 it began to fill with water, requiring some quick work 

 on our part to prevent the outfit from sinking with 

 all on board. It seemed funny afterwards, but at the 

 time was anything else, for all the valuable equipment 

 of the expedition would probably have been lost. 



My last remembrance of the strange village of Kiya 

 Be was of a group of disked women, with heads bent 

 low, plodding slowly through the dazzling heat toward 

 the queer fort that stared so grimly through its port- 

 hole eyes into the vastness and ominous silence of the 

 great Sahara. 



