22 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 



We rode out through the deserted stretches of flat 

 white rock and sand to see great herds of camels being 

 watered. Bronze figures, nude but for a scarlet loin 

 cloth, shouted and sang with monotonous rhythm as they 

 let down goatskins at the end of a rope and heaved them 

 up brimming to pour their contents into rough troughs, 

 A white morabit and single palm marked the centre of 

 a cluster of sand-coloured houses. Otherwise, the build- 

 ings were scattered over a broad expanse with a straight 

 line of the suq booths in the centre. We created so much 

 sensation in the latter that I decided that my grey riding 

 coat and felt hat were out of place. We told INIustapha, 

 a resplendent individual belonging to one of the irregular 

 bands, whom the Political Officer at Benghazi had kindly 

 lent to us, to go and discover someone who wished to 

 sell some native clothes. He returned half an hour later 

 with a baffled and at the same time awed expression, in 

 company with Sayed Rida's confident, whose coal-black 

 face looked out from the folds of an immense white 

 kufiya. "You are the Sayed's guests," the latter in- 

 formed us respectfully. "Anything that you need I will 

 get for you at once." Gravely he offered me a bulky 

 parcel. It contained the most beautiful white silk jerd, 

 striped like the one I had silently admired the previous 

 night, with a green and silver agal, and a kufiya that filled 

 my heart with joy, for it was a subdued blending of all 

 rich colours — purple and rose and blue on a silver ground, 

 with long dropping tassels. There was also a tarboush 

 and a pair of wonderful yellow slippers. Before the 

 faltering words were out of my mouth, Hassanein Bey 

 had pounced upon the yellow slippers. His expression 

 was that of a small child when a much-loved doll has been 

 restored to it. "Hamdulillah !" he exclaimed, and fled, 

 clutching his prize. 



I confess to spending a happy half -hour strugghng 



