68 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 



"Who did you meet on the way?'* "What news of 

 such and such a family?" "One of their slaves has 

 run away," or "he has married another wife," and so 

 on until all information was exhausted. 



We actually left our low ridge above the wadi at 

 1.30, but we had ceased to worry. The fatalism of the 

 East had begun to grip us. We decided to put our 

 trust in Allah and join the caravan of She-ib and his 

 kinsman, Musa She-ib, merchants from Jalo who had 

 sometimes travelled to Wadai, a route that takes anything 

 from forty-five to sixty days, with bales of cotton stuffs, 

 to return with ostrich feathers, ivory, camels and hides 

 for the markets of Kufara. We asked them how long it 

 would take to reach Jalo, and they replied, "There is 

 no time. If you walk quickly you may arrive the fifth 

 day," but evidently they had no intention of hurrying 

 themselves. They were a delightful party of six men, 

 with eight heavily laden camels and one or two foals 

 clumsily trotting alongside. 



We made quite an imposing caravan as we struck the 

 track a little to the east and the camels began to march 

 together. It was headed by old She-ib, sitting upright 

 on the top of great green boxes of merchandise, a rifle 

 on his back, a huge revolver slung beside him in a scarlet 

 holster, his ebony face half-covered, against the dust, in 

 the folds of his white kufiya. Hassanein's brilliant kufiya 

 — orange, yellow and emerald — made a gorgeous flash of 

 colour on another camel and I followed, huddled under 

 the shrouding barracan, for I must not show my face to 

 the strange caravan. Thus fate played a new card and 

 decided that we should wander slowly south with the 

 Mojabra merchants and learn yet another phase of 

 Beduin life. 



Time forgetting and by time forgot, indifferent to 

 the caravan of stores that might or might not be follow- 



