102 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 



gap in the folds of the barracan — dark-robed women 

 peeping from low doorways, shouts of flying children as 

 the thonged whip of the commissaire swept them from 

 our path, thick sand, pale walls and the white crowd 

 of kindly smiling elders pressing round us. We stumbled 

 through an arched door into a dark anteroom, on by odd 

 little yards and passages, into a small court. "This 

 house is all yours," said the kaimakaan, "and the gov- 

 ernment is at your service. Food will be brought you 

 and all that you ask for we will gladly give." 



The last scene remains in my mind. We stood ii\ 

 the doorwaj^ of the largest room, a mud-walled chamber 

 twelve feet square, with a central pine trunk holding up 

 the flat roof made of plaited leaves, the floor of the desert's 

 own sand, thick and unmatted. The most reverend 

 ekhwan gathered in the court, and the Sayed's letters 

 were formally read. "Good! Very good!" came a 

 contented murmur, and then the kisses and the formula, 

 "The Sayed's orders are on our heads," as they touched 

 turban and jerd and ma-araka! 



By this time it was 5 p.m. and dark, so we thought it 

 was time for the day's second meal. The first had been 

 eaten at 7 a.m. at Aujela. Mohammed would not hear 

 of it. "They will come back. They will bring every- 

 thing. We must make ready." From somewhere he 

 produced mats and a carpet, his own I beheve, which he 

 spread on the sand. It is difficult to arrange bulging 

 sacks of tinned food and cereals artistically, but he did 

 his best, while I made a royal illumination by sticking a 

 lighted candle on the top of every sack. Just as we 

 finished the ekhwan trooped back, all bearing gifts — one 

 brought dates, another bitter native butter, a third great 

 bowls of camel's or goat's milk. A white fluttering hen 

 was pressed into my hands, and a huge horned sheep 

 dragged to our feet. Bread enough for a regiment was 



