234 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 



hours after sunrise, while yet Tolab was far ahead, 

 Sheikh Suleiman called a halt. A cold north wind had 

 arisen and was finding the old tender spot in my shoulder, 

 so I was glad when he chose the largest sandhill for our 

 picnic breakfast. Bright scarlet rugs were spread on 

 the lee side for the men and a faded rose-red carpet in 

 the shelter of a smaller mound for me, as a woman could 

 not eat with the soldiers. I fancy it would have hurt 

 the Zouia's susceptibilities if he had been obliged to 

 encoimter feminine fingers in the common bowl. 



After that meal we had an idea of what the Beduin 

 means by travelling comfortably. A complete portable 

 kitchen must have been hidden in the capacious brightly 

 striped khoorgs that hung on either side of the blue- 

 eyed camel. The most delicious odours were soon wafted 

 from a pot stewing on a brushwood fire. A soldier 

 brought me a long-necked brass ewer and a towel before 

 my breakfast was shyly handed me by an ancient and 

 dignified servitor of the sheikh, by name Mohammed, 

 who had run beside his chief the whole way from Jof 

 without protest, though he carried a heavy rifle. I had 

 been given a brass tray of dates to eat and I was con- 

 templating writing a monograph on the various uses of 

 the date in Kufara. It is used for all sweetening purposes 

 in cooking. Mixed with some other local ingredient it 

 makes a sticky sort of glue. A soft date, slightly 

 squashed, takes the place of a cork and every tin of oil 

 is sealed that way. The stones apparently make studs 

 for the nostrils of Tebu girls. I feel sure there are other 

 uses, but the appearance of food prevented my thinking 

 of them that morning among the bristling mounds of 

 hattab. 



I lifted a plaited cover of palm leaves embroidered in 

 red and there were nearly a dozen hard-boiled eggs 

 surrounding a mound of crisp, flat bread. Another 



