194 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 



the black Sudani girl may be the mother of a Mahdi! 

 There is no shadow of democracy in the untainted East. 

 There is only heredity. A man lives by the glory of 

 his father and his father's father and when he may 

 not take pride in them it is to the glory of his tribe 

 he clings. 



With the grave, massive figures in spotless white 

 jerds, under which gleamed the richest colourings, orange, 

 red and purple, in splendid embroidered jelabias, we 

 entered the first big house on the edge of the cliff. It 

 was the dwelling of Sidi Idris, so a great honour was 

 done us. Along one side of the big central court ran 

 one of the high arched loggias we had seen from 

 the hill and this opened into an equally long room, 

 immenseh' high, thickly carpeted, its white plaster 

 walls decorated with texts from the Koran and small, 

 regular alcoves wherein were unglazed windows pro- 

 tected by green shutters, over which hung immense 

 glass balls like those we put on Christmas trees. The 

 ceiling was covered with gay chintz and a row of 

 huge ornate lamps, with more pendant green and blue 

 balls hung from it. We found ourselves seated in a circle 

 facing the open door with four of the reverend ekhwan. 

 In the place of honour was Sayed Saleh el Baskari, a 

 cousin of Sidi el Abed, his wakil and the acting 

 kaimakaan of Kufara, in daffodil yellow and black, with 

 purple lining to his wide sleeves. He had a broad, 

 intelhgent brow and dimples in his bronzed red cheeks, 

 a long, drooping black moustache above a firm-lipped 

 mouth and tiny thin beard. His eyes were kind and 

 his smile frank, but he was the typical Eastern states- 

 man of few bland words to hide much thought. 



Next to liim sat Sayed Abdil Ralmian Bu Zetina, a 

 small man with broad, grey beard and dark, reflective 

 face, level brows and fine-cut nostrils. He might be a 



