We opened a package of dates and ate. They were of poor quality and coated with sand, but there were plenty of them. Later we made porridge from the wheat, squeezing some dates into it to give it a flavour. After we had fed, al Auf said, ‘If this is all we are going to have we shall soon be too weak to get on our camels.’ We were a depressed and ill-tempered party that evening.
The past three days had been an ordeal, worse for the others than for me, since, but for me, they could have ridden to the nearest tents and fed. However, we had not suffered the final agony of doubt. We had known that the others would return and bring us food. We had thought of this food, talked of this food, dreamt of this food. A feast of rich and savoury meat, the reward of our endurance. Now all we had was this. Some wizened dates, coated with sand, and a mess of boiled grain. There was not even enough of it. We had to get back across Arabia, travelling secretly, and we had enough food for ten days if we were economical. I had eaten tonight, but I was starving. I wondered how much longer I should be able to face this fare. We must, get more food. AI Auf said, ‘We must get hold of a camel and eat that’, and I thought of living for a month on sun-dried camel’s meat and nothing else. Hamad suggested that we should lie up near Ibri in the Wadi el Ain, and send a party into Ibri to buy food. He said, ‘It is one of the biggest towns in Oman. You will get everything you want there.’ With difficulty I refrained from pointing out that he had said this of Liwa.
Musallim interrupted and said that we could not possibly go into the Dura country; the Dura had heard about my visit to Mughshin last year and had warned the Bait Kathir not to bring any Christians into their territory. AI Auf asked him impatiently where in that case he did propose to go. They started to wrangle. I joined in and reminded Musallim that we had always planned to return through the Dura country. Excitedly he turned towards me and, flogging the ground with his camel-stick to give emphasis to his words, shouted: ‘Go through it? Yes, if we must, quickly and secretly, but through the uninhabited country near the sands. We never agreed to hang about in the Dura country, nor to go near Ibri. By God, it is madness! Don’t you know that there is one of the Imam’s governors there. He is the Riqaishi. Have you never heard of the Riqaishi? What do you suppose he will do if he hears there is a Christian in his country? He hates all infidels. I have been there. Listen, Umbarak, I know him. God help you, Umbarak, if he gets hold of you. Don’t think that Oman is like the desert here. It is a settled country – villages and towns, and the Imam rules it all through his governors, and the worst of them all is the Riqaishi. The Dura, yes; Bedu like ourselves; our enemies, but we might smuggle you quickly through their land. But hang about there – no; and to go near Ibri would be madness. Do you hear? The first people who saw you, Umbarak, would go straight off and tell the Riqaishi.’
Al Auf asked him quietly, ‘What do you want to do?’ and Musallim stormed, ‘God, I don’t know. I only know I am not going near Ibri.’ I asked him if he wanted to return to Salala by the way we had come, and added, ‘It will be great fun, with worn-out camels and no food.’ He shouted back that it would not be worse than going to Ibri. Exasperated by this stupidity, al Auf turned away muttering There is no god but God’, while Musallim and I continued to wrangle until Mabkhaut and Hamad intervened to calm us.
Eventually we agreed that we must get food from Ibri and that meanwhile we would buy a camel from the Rashid who were ahead of us in the Rabadh, so that we should have an extra camel with us to eat if we were in trouble. Hamad said, ‘You must conceal the fact that Umbarak is a Christian.’ Mabkhaut suggested that I should pretend that I was a saiyid from the Hadhramaut, since no one would ever mistake me for a Bedu. I protested, ‘That is no good; as a saiyid. I should get involved in religious discussions. I should certainly be expected to pray, which I don’t know how to do; they would probably even expect me to lead their prayers. A nice mess I should make of that.’ The others laughed and agreed that this suggestion would not work. I said, ‘While we are in the sands here I had better be an Aden townsman who has been living with the tribes and is now on his way to Abu Dhabi. When we get to Oman I will say I am a Syrian who has been visiting Riyadh and that I am now on my way to Salala.’ Bin Kabina asked, ‘What is a Syrian?’ and I said, ‘If you don’t know what a Syrian is I don’t suppose the Duru will either. Certainly they will never have seen one.’
I then asked him about Liwa. He said: ‘There are palms, good ones, and quite a lot of them on the dunes above the salt-flats. The houses are of mats and palm fronds. I never saw a mud house. The villagers were all either Manasir or Bani Yas, an unfriendly lot. One slave noticed at once that the pads under my camel’s saddle were made of coconut fibre and not of palm fibre. He called out, “This boy is from the south. He does not belong to the same party as the other two. He is probably with some raiders who are hiding somewhere and has come in to get food for them. They would all have come in if they were honest men.” I told them that I was with two other Rashid, who had come north to fight for Al bu Falah, and that one of them had fever and that the other had remained to look after him.’
Mabkhaut exclaimed, ‘They are devils, these slaves; they notice everything.’
Bin Kabina went on: ‘By God, I would like to lift some of their camels, not that the ones I saw were worth taking. They are a wretched crowd, these villagers, not like the people at Salala. Their women refused even to grind our corn. Bad luck to them. I had to borrow a grindstone and do it myself after dark.’
I knew that this was a woman’s job and that he would have been ashamed to be seen doing it. I asked what he had been given to eat, and he laughed and said, ‘Bread, dates, and a stew made from skinks.’ He was always sickened by lizard-meat. This started a discussion on what was lawful food. Arabs never distinguished between what is eatable and what is not, but always between food which is lawful and food which is forbidden. No Muslim may eat pork, blood, or the flesh of an animal which has not had its throat cut while it was still alive. Most of them will not eat meat slaughtered by anyone other than a Muslim, or by a boy who is still uncircumsised, although in Syria Muslims will eat meat killed by a Christian or a Druze. Otherwise the definition of what is lawful varies endlessly and in every place, and usually bears little relation to reason. I asked if a fox was lawful food, and Hamad explained to me that sand foxes were, but mountain foxes were not. They agreed that eagles were lawful, but ravens were forbidden, unless they were eaten as medicine to cure stomachache. Musallim said that the Duru ate the wild donkeys which lived in their country, and the others expressed incredulity and disgust. I said I would far rather eat a donkey than a wild cat, which al Auf had just declared was lawful meat. The differences which had arisen between us a short while ago were forgotten.
Among these people arguments frequently become impassioned, but usually the excitement dies away as quickly as it arises. Men who were screaming at each other, ready apparently to resort to violence, will sit happily together a short while later drinking coffee. As a rule Bedu do not nurse a grievance, but if they think that their personal honour has been slighted they immediately become vindictive, bent on vengeance. Strike a Bedu and he will kill you either then or later. It is easy for strangers to give offence without meaning to do so. I once put my hand on the back of bin Kabina’s neck and he turned on me and asked furiously if I took him for a slave. I had no idea that I had done anything wrong.
In the morning our camp was enveloped in thick mist. I could just make out an abal bush less than twenty yards from where I lay; beyond it was a drifting whiteness, dank as sea fog. Suddenly, somewhere, a camel roared, indicating that a human being had approached it. I felt for my rifle and glanced round to see if anyone was missing. Bin Kabina was puffing at a smoking pile of sticks; Musallim was piling lumps of dates on a tray; Hamad and Jadid were praying; and I realized it must be Mabkhaut and al Auf with the camels. I got up. The cloak which had covered my sleeping-bag was drenched. Each night for the past week we had had this soaking dew, the result o
f the northerly winds which carried the moisture inland from the Persian Gulf. I had noticed that in the southern Sands dew and morning mist coincided with a southerly wind off the Arabian Sea. I do not think that much dew falls in the Empty Quarter itself, but nearer the coast the dew must freshen the herbage. I was always astounded when al Auf maintained that dew burnt it up.
Hamad now volunteered to accompany us as far as Ibri, an offer which we gladly accepted since he knew the Sands and the present distribution of the tribes. He said that we had better keep along the southern edge of Liwa, where the country was at present empty. Normally the salt-flats south of Liwa were filled with camel herds belonging to the Manasir, but recently they had been raided by a force from Dibai and had suffered losses. Now most of the Manasir were assembled farther to the west. Hamad explained to me that the Manasir pastured their camels on salt-bushes, which made them very thirsty, so that they had to be watered three or even four times a day. In consequence they were tied to the neighbourhood of the wells. Salt-bushes were little affected by drought and provided abundant and permanent grazing on the flats around Liwa. Our own camels would not eat these bushes, and bin Kabina asked if we should find anything for them on our route. He said, ‘The wretched animals don’t deserve any more starvation. It has made me miserable to watch their suffering.’ Hamad assured him that we should find enough for them during the next few days and plenty as soon as we reached Rabadh. We therefore agreed to his suggestion.
We ate some dates, and Jadid then went back while the rest of us set off in an easterly direction, the mist still thick about us. I hoped we should not stumble on some Arab encampment. The mist did not lift for another two hours.
The dunes ran from west to east so that we were travelling easily. They consisted of great massifs similar to the qaid which I had seen in Ghanim, but there they were linked together to form parallel dune chains about three hundred feet in height, the broad valleys between them being covered with bright-green salt-bushes. We passed several palm groves and a few small settlements of dilapidated huts made, as bin Kabina had described, from matting and palm fronds. They were all abandoned.
At midday, while we were eating more of our revolting dates, two Arabs accompanied by a saluki appeared on a distant dune. They stood and watched us, so al Auf went over to them. They shouted to him not to come any nearer, and when he called back that he wanted ‘the news’ they answered that they had none and wanted none of his and threatened that they would shoot if he came any closer. They watched us for a while and then made off.
We travelled slowly to rest our camels and reached the Rabadh sands five days after leaving Balagh. Sometimes we saw camels. It did not seem to matter how far off they were; my companions were apparently always able to distinguish if they were in milk. They would say, There are camels’, and point to some dots on a dune a mile or more away. After a further scrutiny they would agree that one or more were in milk. We would then ride over to them, for travellers in the desert may milk any camels they encounter. These camels were feeding on salt-bushes and gushes of liquid green excrement poured constantly down their hocks. Al Auf told me that camels which fed on salt-bushes always scoured like this, but that it did them no harm provided they had plenty of water. Certainly most of these looked in excellent condition.
Once we passed a dozen camels tended by a woman with two small children. AI Auf said, ‘Let’s get a drink’, and we rode over to them. He jumped from his camel, greeted the woman, a wizened old thing bundled up in black cloth turned green with age, took the bowl which she handed him, and went towards the camels. She shrilled at her sons, ‘Hurry! Hurry! Fetch the red one. Fetch the two-year-old. God take you, child! Hurry! Fetch the red one. Fetch the two-year-old. Welcome! Welcome! Welcome to the guests!’ Al Auf handed us the bowl and in turn we squatted down to drink, for no Arab drinks standing, while the old woman asked us where we were going. We answered that we were going to fight for the Al bu Falah and she exclaimed, ‘God give you victory!’
On another occasion we came upon a small encampment of Manasir. Hamad insisted that we must go over to them, or we should arouse their suspicions since they had already seen us. We were on foot at the time and I suggested that they should leave the camels to graze and that I should herd them until they returned. After some argument they agreed. I knew that they wanted milk, and I should have liked a drink myself, but it seemed stupid to run the risk of detection. When they returned, bin Kabina grinned whenever he looked at me, so I asked him what the joke was. He said, The Manasir gave us milk but insisted that we should fetch you, saying, “Why do you leave your companion without milk?” Al Auf explained that you were our slave, but they still insisted that we should fetch you.’ I knew that among Bedu even a slave is considered as a travelling companion, entitled to the same treatment as the rest of the party. Bin Kabina went on, ‘Finally al Auf said, “Oh! he is half-witted. Leave him where he is”, and the Manasir insisted no more.’ Mabkhaut said, ‘True, they said no more, but they looked at us a bit oddly.’
Next morning while we were leading our camels down a steep dune face I was suddenly conscious of a low vibrant hum, which grew in volume until it sounded as though an aeroplane were flying low over our heads. The frightened camels plunged about, tugging at their head-ropes and looking back at the slope above us. The sound ceased when we reached the bottom. This was 4he singing of the sands’. The Arabs describe it as roaring, which is perhaps a more descriptive word. During the five years that I was in these parts I only heard it half a dozen times. It is caused, I think, by one layer of sand slipping over another. Once I was standing on a dune-crest and the sound started as soon as I stepped on to the steep face. I found on this occasion that I could start it or stop it at will by stepping on or off this slip-face.
Near Rabadh, Musallim suddenly jumped off his camel, pushed his arm into a shallow burrow, and pulled out a hare. I asked him how he knew it was there, and he said that he had seen its track going in and none coming out. The afternoon dragged on until we reached the expanse of small contiguous dunes which give these sands the name of Rabadh. There was adequate grazing, so we stopped on their edge. We decided to eat the rest of our flour, and Musallim conjured three onions and some spices out of Ms saddle-bags. We sat round in a hungry circle watching bin Kabina cooking the hare, and offering advice. Anticipation mounted, for it was more than a month since we had eaten meat, except for the hare that al Auf had killed near the Uruq al Shaiba. We sampled the soup and decided to let it stew just a little longer. Then bin Kabina looked up and groaned, ‘God! Guests!’
Coming across the sands towards us were three Arabs. Hamad said, ‘They are Bakhit, and Umbarak, and Salim, the children of Mia’, and to me, ‘They are Rashid.’ We greeted them, asked the news, made coffee for them, and then Musallim and bin Kabina dished up the hare and the bread and set it before them, saying with every appearance of sincerity that they were our guests, that God had brought them, that today was a blessed day, and a number of similar remarks. They asked us to join them but we refused, repeating that they were our guests. I hoped that I did not look as murderous as I felt while I joined the others in assuring them that God had brought them on this auspicious occasion. When they had finished, bin Kabina put a sticky lump of dates in a dish and called us over to feed.
Feeling thoroughly ill-tempered I lay down to sleep, but this was impossible. The others, excited by this meeting with their fellow-tribesmen, talked incessantly within a few yards of my head. I wondered irritably why Bedu must always shout. Gradually I relaxed. I tried the old spell of asking myself, ‘Would I really wish to be anywhere else?’ and having decided that I would not, I felt better. I pondered on this desert hospitality and, compared it with our own. I remembered other encampments where I had slept, small tents on which I had happened in the Syrian desert and where I had spent the night. Gaunt men in rags and hungry-looking children had greeted me, and bade me welcome with the sonorous phrases of the desert. Later they had set a great
dish before me, rice heaped round a sheep which they had slaughtered, over which my host poured liquid golden butter until it flowed down on to the sand; and when I had protested, saying, ‘Enough ! Enough ! ‘, had answered that I was a hundred times welcome. Their lavish hospitality had always made me uncomfortable, for I had known that as a result of it they would go hungry for days. Yet when I left them they had almost convinced me that I had done them a kindness by staying with them.
My thoughts were interrupted by the raised voices of my companions. Bin Kabina was protesting passionately. I could see him gesticulating against the sky. I listened and, as I had expected, they were talking about money, the rights and wrongs of some ancient dispute about a few shillings which concerned none of them. I wondered if any other race was as avaricious as the Arabs, with such an intense love of money, and then I thought of bin Kabina giving away his only loin-cloth in Ramlat al Ghafa and wondered who, other than a Bedu, would have done that. It is characteristic of Bedu to do things by extremes, to be either wildly generous or unbelievably mean, very patient or almost hysterically excitable, to be incredibly brave or to panic for no apparent reason. Ascetic by nature, they derive satisfaction from the bare simplicity of their lives and scorn the amenities which others would judge essential. Although, on the rare occasions that offer, they eat enormously, I have never met a Bedu who was greedy. Continent for months on end, not one of them, even the most austere, would regard celibacy as a virtue. They want sons, and consider that women are provided by God for the satisfaction of men. Deliberately to refrain from using them would be not only unnatural but also ridiculous, and Bedu are very susceptible to ridicule. Yet an Arab will use his sister’s name as his battle-cry, and Glubb has suggested that the medieval conception of chivalry came to Europe from the Arabs at the time of the Crusades. Bedu set great score by human dignity, and most of them would prefer to watch a man die rather than see him humiliated. Always reserved in front of strangers and accustomed on formal occasions to sit for hours motionless and in silence, they are a garrulous, lighthearted race. But, at the instigation of religious zealots, they can become uncompromisingly puritanical, quick to frown on all amusement, regarding song and music as a sin and laughter as unseemly. Probably no other people, either as a race or as individuals, combine so many conflicting qualities in such an extreme degree.
Arabian Sands Page 19