Arabian Sands

by Wilfred Thesiger

  On the oil-fields the Bedu could find the money of which they dreamt. They could earn large sums by sitting in the shade and guarding a dump, or by doing work which was certainly easier than watering thirsty camels on a nearly dry well in the middle of summer. There was plenty of good food, abundant sweet water, and long hours for sleep. They had seldom had these things before, and now they were being paid into the bargain. Their love of freedom and the restlessness that was in their blood drew most of them back into the desert, but life there was becoming more and more difficult. Soon it might be altogether impossible.

  Here in the south the Bedu were still unaffected by the economic changes in the north, but I knew that they could not long escape the consequences. It seemed to me tragic that they should become, as the result of circumstances beyond their control, a parasitic proletariat squatting around oil-fields in the fly-blown squalor of shanty towns in some of the most sterile country in the world. All that is best in the Arabs has come to them from the desert: their deep religious instinct, which has found expression in Islam; their sense of fellowship, which binds them as members of one faith; their pride of race; their generosity and sense of hospitality; their dignity and the regard which they have for the dignity of others as fellow human beings; their humour, their courage and patience, the language which they speak and their passionate love of poetry. But the Arabs are a race which produces its best only under conditions of extreme hardship and deteriorates progressively as living conditions become easier. Lawrence described the nomad life as ‘the circulation which kept vigour in the Semitic body’ and wrote ‘there were few, if indeed there was a single northern Semite, whose ancestors had not at some dark age passed through the desert. The mark of nomadism, that most deep and biting social discipline, was on each of them in his degree’.

  Now as I rode along, ignoring Sultan’s repeated injuctions to catch up with the others, which I knew were prompted by his craving for conversation that I was in no mood to supply, I reflected on the Arab influence on world history. It seemed to me significant that it was the desert Arabs who had imposed their characteristics on the Arab race and not the more numerous inhabitants of the Yemen, with their traditions of an ancient civilization. It was the customs and standards of the desert which had been accepted by townsmen and villagers alike, and which were spread by the Arab conquest across North Africa and the Middle East, and by Islam across a great part of the world. The civilization of the Yemen had sunk into decay before the time of Muhammad, and the dialects of the south had already been superseded by northern Arabic as the classical language of Arabia. With the establishment of the new religion of Islam the importance of the south declined still further and the centre of power shifted north to Mecca. The northern Arabs had no traditions of civilization behind them. To arrange three stones as a fireplace on which to set a pot was the only architecture that many of them required. They lived in black tents in. the desert, or in bare rooms devoid of furnishings in the villages and towns. They had no taste nor inclination for refinements. Most of them demanded only the bare necessities of life, enough food and drink to keep them alive, clothes to cover their nakedness, some form of shelter from the sun and wind, weapons, a few pots, rugs, water-skins, and their saddlery. It was a life which produced much that was noble, nothing that was gracious.

  These desert Arabs were avaricious, rapacious, and predatory, born freebooters, contemptuous of all outsiders, and intolerant of restraint. In the seventh century, united for the first time in their history, they swept out of Arabia under the banners of Islam and carried all before them. They overran the richest provinces of the Roman Empire and the whole of the Persian Empire. A little over a century after the battle of the Yarmuk in A.D. 636, which decided the fate of Syria, their rule extended from the Pyrenees and the shores of the Atlantic to the Indus and the borders of China. They had established an empire greater in extent than the Roman Empire. They had emerged from the desert craving for plunder and united by a new faith. It would not have been surprising if they had proved to be another scourge similar to the hordes of Attila and Genghis Khan, which swept across the world leaving only devastation behind them. It is one of the miracles of history that they created a new civilization, uniting into one society the hitherto incompatible cultures of the Mediterranean and Persia. Arabic, which had been evolved as the dialect of nomad tribesmen in the deserts of Arabia, was soon spoken from Persia to the Pyrenees and, superseding Greek and Latin, developed into one of the great cultural languages of the world. As the Muslim faith and the Arabic language spread throughout the Empire, the distinction between the Arab conquerors and their subjects largely disappeared, and conquerors and conquered tended to become fellow Muslims in one community. This Muslim civilization was profoundly influenced by Greek thought, for the Arabs translated every available Greek work into their own language; but while this civilization assimilated all it could, it was not merely imitative, and it made its own contribution to the civilizations of the world in architecture, literature, philosophy, history, mathematics, astronomy, physics, chemistry, and medicine. Few of the great intellectual figures of this society were Arabs, and several of them were not even Muslims but were Jews and Christians, but the rulers of the state in which they flourished were Arabs, and it was Arabs who had founded and inspired this civilization. Without them neither the Alhambra nor the Taj Mahal would ever have been built.

  Today sixty million people speak Arabic as their native tongue and most of them claim to be Arabs, although in fact few of them are of Arab descent. A seventh part of the human race professes Islam, the religion which Muhammad founded in Arabia in the seventh century. It is a religion which claims to regulate not only a Muslim’s religious beliefs and the ritual of his religious observance, but also the structure of his society and every aspect of his daily life, even how he should wash after sexual intercourse. The customs and conventions which Islam imposed upon its adherents were those of Arabia. I knew that wherever I went among Muslims, whether it was in Nigeria or in China, I should find much that was familiar to me in the pattern of their lives. It seemed to me not altogether fanciful to suppose that if the civilizations of today were to disappear as completely as those of Babylon and Assyria, a school history book two thousand years hence might devote a few pages to the Arabs and not even mention the United States of America.

  The others were unloading their camels on a patch of hard sand when we caught up with them. From afar off they had seen the wisps of greyish grass which distinguished this hollow from other hollows they had passed on their way across the flint-strewn plain, and had turned aside to stop. Luckily, camels had grazed here years before, and their bleached droppings gave us a little fuel; but not enough to cook a proper meal.

  Tonight while I was warm in my sleeping-bag the others would shiver under the cold north wind. They were Bedu, and these empty spaces where there was neither shade nor shelter were their homelands. Any of them could have worked in the gardens around salala; all of them would have scorned this easier life of lesser men. Among the Bedu only the broken are stranded among the cultivations on the desert’s shore.

  5. The Approach to the Empty Quarter

  The Rashid meet us at Shisur well

  and we travel to Mughshin on the

  edge of the Sands. An accident

  deprives me of all but two of the

  Rashid.

  We watered at Shisur, where the ruins of a crude stone fort on a rocky mound mark the position of this famous well, the only permanent water in the central steppes. Shisur was a necessary watering-place for raiders and had been the scene of many fierce fights. At the bottom of the large cave which undercuts the mound there was a trickle of water in a deep fissure. This water could only be reached with difficulty down a narrow passage, between the rock wall and a bank of sand, thirty feet in height, which half filled the cave. When we arrived at the well the water was buried under drifted sand and had to be dug out. I offered to help but the others said that I wa
s too bulky for the job. Two hours later they shouted that they were ready, and asked us to fetch the camels. In turn they scrambled up the slope out of the dark depths of the cave, the quaking water-skins heavy on their shoulders. Moisture ran down their bodies, plastering the loin-cloths to their slender limbs; their hair, thick with sand, fell about their strained faces. Lowering the water-skins to the ground, they loosed jets of water into leather buckets, which they offered to the crowding camels, while they sang the age-old watering songs. Showers of camel-droppings pattered on to the ground, and rolled down the slope into the water, and small avalanches of sand, encrusted with urine, slipped down to add more bitterness to water that was already bitter. Each camel, as soon as she had been watered, was couched near by. Every now and again one of them rose jerkily to her feet, anxious to wander off, and her owner ran across the gravel stream-bed to bring her back, shouting her name, Farha (joy), Matara (rain), Ghazala (gazelle), Safra (the yellow one), or some other name which in battle might be his war-cry.

  Suddenly the sentinel on the slope above gave the alarm. We seized our rifles, which were always at hand, and took up our position round the well. The camels were quickly collected behind the mound. In the distance we could see riders approaching. In this land all strangers are counted hostile until they declare themselves. We fired two shots over their heads. They came on steadily, waving their head-cloths, and one of them jumped off his camel and threw up sand into the air. We relaxed. As they drew near, someone said, ‘They are Rashid – I can see bin Shuas’s camel.’ Bedu can always recognize camels much farther off than they can distinguish human beings. Meeting a stranger, they can tell which tribe he belongs to by numerous signs perceptible at once to their discerning eyes: whether he wears his cartridge-belt buckled tightly or sagging low in front, whether he wears his head-cloth loosely or more closely wound round his head; the stitchings on his shirt, the folds of his loin-cloth, the leather cover in which he carries his rifle, the pattern on his saddle-bags, the way he has folded his rug above them, even the way he walks, all these reveal his identity. But above all they can tell from a man’s speech to which tribe he belongs.

  The riders were close now. The Bait Kathir could identify them. ‘That is bin Shuas’. ‘That is Mahsin’. ‘That is al Auf’. ‘That is bin Kabina and Amair – and Saad and bin Mautlauq.’ There were seven of them, all of them Rashid. We formed up in line to receive them. They halted their camels thirty yards away, couched them by tapping them on their necks with their sticks, got off, and came towards us. Bin Shuas and bin Mautlauq wore only loin-cloths; the others were dressed in head-cloths and shirts of varying shades of brown. I recognized the tattered shirt which bin Kabina wore as the one which I had given to him when we had parted in the Hadhramaut. Only he was unarmed, without rifle or dagger. The others carried their rifles on their shoulders. Bin Shuas and al Auf had their rifles inside covers made of undressed hide and decorated with tassels. When they were a few yards away Mahsin, whom I identified by his lame leg, called out ‘Salam alaikum,’ and we answered together ‘Alaikum as salam.’ Then one behind the other they passed along our line, greeting each of us with the triple nose-kiss, nose touching nose on the right side, left side, and again on the right. They then formed up facing us. Tamtaim said to me, ‘Ask their news’; but I answered ‘No, you do it. You are the oldest.’ Tamtaim called out, ‘Your news?’ Mahsin answered, ‘The news is good.’ Again Tamtaim asked, ‘Is anyone dead? Is anyone gone?’ Back came the immediate answer, ‘No! – don’t say such a thing.’ Question and answer were as invariable as the responses in the Litany. No matter what had really happened, they never changed. They might have fought with raiders; half their party might have been killed and be lying still unburied; their camels might have been looted; any affliction might have befallen them – starvation, drought, or sickness, and still at this first formal questioning they would answer, ‘The news is good.’ They now returned to the camels, unsaddled them, and, after hobbling their forelegs, turned them loose. We had meanwhile spread rugs for them, and Tamtaim shouted to bin Anauf to prepare coffee. As soon as this was ready Musallim set a dish of dates before them; then, standing, he poured out coffee and handed the cup to Mahsin and to the others in their order of importance. They drank, ate dates, and were again served with coffee. Now at last we should get the real news.

  They were small men, none more than five feet six inches in height, and very lean. They had been weathered by life in the desert until only the essential flesh, bone, and skin remained. They sat before us, very restrained in their movements, and quiet and slow of speech, careful of their dignity in front of strangers. Only their dark, watchful eyes flickered to and fro, missing nothing. Mahsin sat with his crippled leg stiffly out in front of him. He was a compactly built man of middle age, with a square face. His thin lips were pinched, and there were deep lines round his mouth and nose. I knew that until he had been wounded two years ago he had been famed as a raider, and that he had killed many men. He was reputed to be very rich in camels. But it was Muhammad al Auf who interested me most, for the Rashid had talked much about him when I was with them the year before. They said he had never recovered his old light-hearted gaiety since his brother had been killed by the Saar. He had a fine face. Skin and flesh were moulded over strong bone, his eyes, set wide apart, were large and curiously flecked with gold, while his nose was straight and short and his mouth generous. He had a thin moustache and a few hairs on a dimpled chin. His hair, very long and wavy, was unbraided and fell round his shoulders. I thought he was about thirty-five years old. He gave me an immediate impression of controlled energy, of self-confidence and intelligence. Bin Kabina called out to me. ‘How are you, Umbarak? Where have you been since you left us?’ I thought he looked gaunt. He had grown an inch since I parted from him in Tarim. I was glad to see him again, for I had become much attached to him during the time he had been with me. I listened to the news. The Dahm had raided the Manahil, and the Manahil under bin Duailan, who was known as ‘the Cat’, had taken many camels off the Yam. The Saar had raided the Dawasir. They told us who had been killed and who had been wounded. There had been good rain two months before in the steppes, but the drought which had lasted for seven years near the Jiza was still unbroken. I asked about bin al Kamam and they told me that he had gone to the Yemen to seek a truce with the Dahm, and that the other two Rashid whom I had told Amair to fetch were far away in the Sands. I asked news of the other Rashid who had been with me, and they in turn asked where I had been and how my tribe had fared in my absence. We talked for a while and then dispersed.

  Bin Kabina and I climbed to the ruined fort above the well and kept watch across the empty, shimmering landscape, while the others finished watering the camels and filling the water-skins. Bin Kabina asked me where I was going and I told him that I planned to cross the Sands, but pledged him to secrecy for I had not yet spoken to the others. He said, The Bait Kathir the other Rashid who had been with me, and they in turn asked where I had been and how my tribe had fared in my absence. We talked for a while and then dispersed.

  When it stopped they thought it was because I was dead. There were eight of us and we were circumcised by one of the sheikhs of the Bait Khawar in the valley of the Kidyut. One of us was a Manahil, a grown man with a beard, the others were Bait Khawar. They were all older than I was. Before the operation our families rubbed our bodies with butter and saffron so that they shone. We were circumcised in turn sitting on a rock. Everyone had come to watch and there was a large crowd.’

  I asked him if he had been afraid, and he said, ‘Of course I was. Everyone is afraid when they know that they are going to be hurt, but they don’t admit it. I was most afraid that I should flinch. As I was the youngest I was done first. The old man tied my foreskin very tightly with a piece of string and then left it to die. By God it hurt! It was almost a relief when he cut it off, though his knife was blunt and he went on hacking away for what seemed ages. One of the others fainted.’

/>   I interrupted to ask if they put anything on the wound. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘a mixture of salt, ashes, and powdered camel dung –it stung like fire.’ He went on: ‘We were operated on in the evening. I started to bleed during the night. I had been asleep and woke to feel a warm wetness on my thighs. The sheepskin on which I lay was soaked with blood. It was pitch dark and we could not see anything until my mother lit a fire. I had bled very little when they cut it off.’ He added with pride, ‘The people who were watching said that I showed no sign of pain while I was being done.’ He told me that he had healed in three weeks, but that two of the others, one of them the Manahil with the beard, were still unhealed and very swollen when he left them two months later. When I asked why they waited till they were grown up to be operated on, he said that it was their custom, and added with a grin that some of the Mahra waited until the eve of their marriage. I wondered what effect it had on a boy to grow up anticipating this ordeal. Probably he was resigned, for he had no choice but to submit to it. Certainly during the operation the fear of lasting ridicule if he flinched gave him courage to endure, and his pride made him anxious to face the test. In southern Iraq I have seen fourteen- and fifteen-year-old boys thrusting each other aside, as they crowded forward, as eager to be circumcised as boys to buy sweets at the counter of a school shop in England; and in the Sudan I have met Arab boys who had circumcised themselves because their fathers had delayed giving permission for the operation. Yet among Arabs, circumcision is not a coveted sign conferring special privileges and marking the emergence of a boy into manhood, as it is among many primitive tribes such as the Masai.