THE END OF THE JOURNEY 299 



the pupils of the zawia lodge, he announced, "We each 

 of us have a house here. Amar has one. I have one. 

 We can come back whenever we like. It is our o^vn 

 country." Thus the zawias hold their pupils long after 

 they have gone out to the cities and deserts. The portly 

 ekhwan, the prosperous merchant, the Beduin sheikh or 

 the wandering scribe may turn into the zawia where he 

 has been educated, sure of finding a room and a welcome. 

 Even the chance traveller may claim the three days' 

 hospitahty of the Senussi and the poorer he is the more 

 generous it will be. 



We spent two days in the high tower above the 

 square, talking simply about simple things with the 

 ekhwan, doctoring some of the students with pathetically 

 inadequate remedies, exchanging the gossip of Kufara 

 for that of Egypt with a few west-bound merchants. 

 Then we set out on the last stage of our journey, deter- 

 mining that for once we would travel slowly and peace- 

 fully, grazing the camels as we went, riding a little by 

 night for the sheer joy of the stars and barraking to 

 make mint tea wherever a haita tempted us with its 

 wood and shade. 



Fate must have laughed in her sleeve, but no echo 

 of her mirth reached us as we loaded our four camels 

 inside the zawia walls or paused beyond the first gherd 

 while Sidi Hussein said the "Fatha." I only realised 

 that this was the last Arabic blessing that would attend 

 my journey and suddenly I felt heartsick for the land 

 I was leaving. The white, clustered walls, the white 

 qubba behind, stood for the effort we had made, the 

 object we had struggled for, far more than Kufara 

 itself had ever done. Mohammed was really broken 

 down by the journey and unable to come on with us, 

 so, with this little land of hope and fear, success and 

 failure, with these winter months of high-pitched excite- 



