58 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 



but the bellowing brutes staggered away again, their 

 roars mercifully fading in the distance. "Is this likely 

 to happen often?" I asked Yusuf. "Yes, when it is 

 cold," he answered indifferently. "Two things increase 

 in winter, the camels and the sea!" 



We enjoyed the rare luxury of sleeping late next 

 morning and woke to another gorgeous day. The 

 water from the well was almost undrinkable — it was so 

 salt and muddy — but we washed in it triumphantly. 

 Unfortunately, Hassanein was temped to wash his hair, 

 with the odd result that it thereafter stood up like a 

 tuft of coarse ostrich .feathers. Everything dries appall- 

 ingly in the desert. One's skin is cracked and lined 

 after a few days. One's nails break. One's hair dries 

 and becomes brittle. Yet one does not mind. The 

 desert has a subtle and a cruel charm. She destroys 

 while she enthralls. She is the siren from whom there 

 is no escape. Cynthia Stockley, whom I met years ago 

 in Bulawayo, writes in one of her vivid stories of 

 African life that once the desert has stuck her claw into 

 a man, he must return to her, for only she can heal the 

 wound she has made. 



The preceding night the wadi had been empty. 

 Th^t morning it was crowded. Half -naked brown figures 

 hauled water for a great herd of camels who crushed 

 round the low mud walls of the well. A flock of sheep 

 waited their turn at a short distance. More camels 

 strayed slowly down the rise, grazing as they walked. 

 Some white figures came up to greet us, rifles slung across 

 their backs. They were the dwellers in the nuggas whose 

 fires we had seen the night before. The desert wires had 

 informed them of our imminent arrival before we had 

 left Jedabia! They sat round om- brushwood fire and 

 drank tea sweetened with crushed dates, as the sugar 

 had run out. Hassanein and I left them to "fadhl" with 



