54 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 



dates evenly with him at noon and we felt that after 

 a good night's sleep, if we could ride nine hours on end, 

 they could too. It was an absolutely perfect day, cloud- 

 less and still, but the sun was very hot at noon. It 

 scorched through the thin folds of my barracan and 

 made one wonder why Europe and not Africa invented 

 parasols. 



The character of the country remained unchanged. 

 Always the same sandy scrub stretched away as far as 

 the eye could see. Occasional jerboas or lizards scuttered 

 into their holes as we approached. Once a dozen gazelle 

 fled swiftly across our path. Mohammed tried a shot at 

 them, but he was too slow. Another time we passed a 

 large rabbit warren and a couple of white scuts dis- 

 appeared into the labyrinth of holes. We struck a main 

 track about noon and I noticed a sage bush covered with 

 bits of different coloured threads. It appears that every 

 wayfarer adds a piece of cotton or wool from his attire 

 to show that this is a desert "road" and that caravans 

 pass that way. Yusuf contributed a white thread from 

 his girdle, and I a red one from my long hezaam. 



All that day we met only two travellers. I discreetly 

 covered my face while they exchanged greetings with 

 our retinue. The desert telephone was at work again. 

 They brought news from Jalo which they exchanged 

 for tales of Jedabia. They were not interested in us. 

 Mrs. Forbes had disappeared into space, and in her place 

 was a Mohammedan woman called Khadija, travelling 

 with a kinsman, an Egyptian Bey, son of a Sheikh 

 el-Azhar. She wore Beduin clothes, followed their 

 customs, prayed to their God, lived their life. Her 

 language was certainly different, but the Arabic varies 

 so immensely between Baghdad and Marrakesh that my 

 faltering conversation was attributed to my being accus- 

 tomed only to the classical language. Even Hassanein 



