Arabian Sands

by Wilfred Thesiger

  A large, vociferous, but badly-armed crowd of Bait Khawar had collected and they insisted that I could not pass down the valley unless I paid them money. I refused, saying that I had a rabia and was entitled to pass, but they went on shouting that I must give them money if I wished to see their valley. I knew that there would be no end to our troubles if I once paid blackmail. I have never done so and had no intention of doing so now. In the Western Aden Protectorate European travellers are constantly held up, since the tribes have learnt that they can extort money from them. Our rabia, an old man with tired faded eyes and a straggling white beard, said furiously that he would take me through the valley if I wished to go in defiance of his whole tribe, since they had no right to stop us. However, the gathering broke up without reaching an agreement. Many of the Bait Khawar who had been defying us a few minutes earlier came over to our camping place to chat with us and give us their news.

  That evening we discussed what we should do. The general opinion was that the Bait Khawar were bluffing, since they were defying tribal custom and had no reason for their behaviour except avarice, but bin Kalut, al Auf, and bin Duailan and others asked me how much it would matter if we followed the path along the top of the cliffs. This was the route we had indeed originally planned to take, but the Rashid had wished to travel down the valley, where they thought that there would be better grazing for their camels. Bin Kalut pointed out that if some fool did shoot at us and hit anyone it would start a war between tribes who were traditionally allied. I willingly agreed to take the top road, which indeed suited me better, since, for the purpose of mapping, I should overlook the valley and the country on both sides of it. In any case, the last thing I wished to do was to cause trouble among the tribes. I knew that my freedom of movement in the desert depended on my reputation for harming no one.

  We descended into the valley again where it joins the Mahrat to form the Jiza. There were palm groves and small settlements, with a little cultivation in all these valleys. The Jiza bends in a great arc, draining the greater part of the Mahra country, before it finally enters the sea near Ghaidat, the largest of the Mahra villages. All this country was completely unmapped, but I was now able to fix its general outlines. My companions wished to travel due west to the Masila, which is the name of the lower reaches of the Wadi al Hadhramaut, but the Gumsait Mahra refused to let us pass. They collected in our camp in the evening and explained that they were prepared to take me through their country, provided that I hired their camels and sent the Rashid who were with me back to their homes. The Mahra are Ghafaris, and are usually on terms of armed neutrality with the Rashid and Bait Kathir. Since we had no rabia from their section their attitude seemed to me reasonable, but I had no intention of parting with the Rashid. Sulaim, our Mahra rabia,1 belonged to the Amarjid, and he said that he could frank us through the Mahra tribes along the upper Mahrat as far as the watershed, beyond which lay the country of the Manahil. This route suited me better than the other, since by following it I should be able to fix the watershed as far as the Masila.

  We were held up again in the Mahrat, this time by the Amarjid, who had probably heard that we had been turned back by the Gumsait. They, too, offered to take me on provided I sent back the Rashid. I eventually agreed to engage five of them to accompany us for two days. A little later one of them came back and said that, as they had no animals here with which to feast us, they would forgo the payment of these men. I then gave them an equivalent sum as a present and everyone was satisfied.

  Fifteen years earlier, watching the coronation of Haile Selassie as King of Kings of Ethiopia, I had been fascinated by the continuity, however tenuous, which linked that ceremony with Solomon and Sheba. Now watching these half-naked, indigo-smeared figures, sitting beneath the dying palms in the Wadi Jiza, discussing our movements in a language which had once been spoken by Minaeans, Sabaeans, and Himyarites, I realized that here was a link with the past even older and more authentic, for scholars believe that the Mahra are descended from the ancient Habasha, who colonized Ethiopia as long ago as the first millennium B.C. and gave their name to the Abyssinians. I myself had discovered the year before a mountain called Jabal Habashiya which was only fifty miles to the west of our present camp.

  Three days later we crossed the watershed between the wadis flowing to the north and to the south, a flat rocky plateau about a quarter of a mile across. To the south the country was very broken and there were many deep gorges, while to the north a number of broad valleys, whose beds were of gravel and hard sand, started abruptly from the foot of the escarpment. I watched an eagle chasing a gazelle and a little later saw two ibex. These were very common both here and on the cliffs above the Mahrat.

  We arrived at Dahal well three days later. The water, which stank of sulphur, was at the end of a tunnel through the limestone rock and was difficult to reach. While we were watering the camels bin Duailan told us that a wolf had killed two small boys a few months earlier. Their father had left them at the well with a load of sardines which he had brought up from the coast, saying that he would come back next day. During the night the wolf drove them off the sardines, some of which it ate. When some Manahil turned up in the morning the children told them what had happened, but as these Manahil were going down to the coast they left the children at the well, confident that their father would shortly return. The father did not arrive until the following day, and then he found both his sons dead and partly eaten.

  In the afternoon a small party of Manahil turned up with some goats. They warned us that two hundred and fifty Dahm were raiding the country ahead of us, and had killed seven Manahil in one place and seven or eight Awamir elsewhere. They said that they themselves intended to seek refuge among the Mahra. Beyond Dhal the land was empty; everyone had fled, either across the watershed or down into the valley of the Masila, which it took us three more days to reach. The country was very broken, and the only possible route for our camels was along the bottom of deep canyons, which cut the limestone plateau into blocks. We pushed scouts out ahead when we were travelling, and posted sentries whenever we stopped, for we were well aware what would happen to us if we were trapped by the Dahm in the bottom of one of these sheer-sided gorges.

  When we reached the shrine of Nabi Hud in the Masila, we found many Manahil collected there with their camels, sheep, and goats. They told us that one party of raiders, believed to be seventy strong, had surprised an encampment of six Manahil in the nearby Wadi Hun. One of them had escaped, but no one knew what happened to the others. They also said that another and much larger force was raiding in the steppes to the north. Eighty Manahil had gone off up the Wadi Hun in pursuit.

  We decided to move up the valley of the Masila to the village of Fughama, where we were told that bin Tanas, the Manahil Sheikh, was collecting his fighting-men. Bin Duailan went on ahead to tell him that we were coming, and that we would join him in an attack upon the Dahm if he could find out where they were. I had been uncertain whether the Rashid would agree to this, since they were still nominally at peace with the Dahm, but they said at once that, acting under my orders, they would consider themselves to be askar, or soldiers, not bound by tribal custom.

  At Fughama there were only women and children and one old man, who told us that bin Tanas was farther up the valley, and that bin Duailan had gone on to find him. We camped near the village, among some tamarisk shrubs beside a stream fifteen feet wide, flowing under a high silt bank. Soon after sunset a man arrived who said that raiders had entered the Masila above Nabi Hud. A little later we heard three shots in rapid succession down the valley. We had already saddled our camels and posted sentries, and bin Kalut now told the Rashid to put out the fires. We sat in the dark beside our camels. Bin Kabina, his brother Said, and bin Ghabaisha were close beside me. Bin Ghabaisha was busy filling his cartridge belt from the spare ammunition in my saddle-bags. I whispered to them not to get separated from me if we were attacked. It was very dark and very quiet. I could hear the belching of the
camels as they brought up the cud, the grinding of their teeth as they chewed it. A large bird, probably an owl, flew about over our heads. Al Auf had taken five other Rashid down the valley to scout. He came back and said that they could hear no movement in the valley. As he was convinced that the Dahm would not come on through unknown country in the dark, he told us to leave the camels saddled and sentries posted, and to be on the watch at dawn. I crawled into my sleeping-bag. Bin Kabina said, ‘God help you if you are caught in that. You will be knifed before you can get out of it,’ but I bet him that I would be out of it before he could even draw his dagger.

  It was cold and and cheerless at dawn. I told bin Kabina and bin Anauf to make coffee and tea, for we had not eaten the night before. AI Auf had gone down the valley again while it was still dark. Later he came back and told us that he had seen no sign of the raiders. Shortly afterwards bin Tanas and bin Duailan arrived with about thirty other Manahil. The Dahm had evidently turned north. Later the pursuit party arrived and confirmed this. They had come back, since they were too few to take on the Dahm, who were more than two hundred strong. Bin Duailan urged us to join the Manahil in pursuit even if it took us to the Yemen, but the Rashid refused, saying their camels were tired. I was glad of this, for if they had agreed it would have been difficult for me to refuse. I could imagine the protests which would arrive in Aden from the Yemen government if I entered their country with a raiding party.

  We stayed there for another day, in case there was any more news of the raiders, and on 14 April we started for Mukalla, the journey’s end that I had no desire to reach. Dawdling away the days, we mounted through narrow,’ twisting gorges, among piles of fallen rock, to the large village and palm groves of Ghail ba Yamin. We crossed the stony blackened table land, known to the Arabs as al Jaul, descended to the coast near Shihr, and arrived at Mukalla on 1 May.

  Sheppard, who was the Resident in Mukalla, arranged for the Arabs who were with me to stay in the Beduin Legion camp on the outskirts of the town. I left them there and went down to the Residency to get a bath and to change into the clothes which had arrived from Salalala. Later, having washed, shaved off my beard, and put on European clothes, I went back to the camp. My party was in a large building. As I approached, bin Anauf called out, There is a Christian coming.’ Realizing that he had not recognized me, I went to the door and stood there looking uncertain. Bin Turkia spoke to me and I answered in English. Someone said, ‘Bring him in’; another person told them to make coffee, and someone else asked, ‘Do the Christians drink coffee?’ They spread a rug for me and signed to me to sit down. Bin Kabina, bin Ghabaisha, al Auf, Mabhkaut, and old bin Kalut were all there looking at me. Suddenly bin Kabina said, ‘By God, it is Umbarak!’ and seized me by the shoulders with playful violence. I had not realized I looked so different. I said, ‘How would you like me to travel with you dressed like this?’ and they said, ‘No one would go with you like that. You look like a Christian.’

  Perhaps the next four days eased the final parting. Until the Rashid left, some of them were nearly always with me. They made themselves free of the Residency, sitting or sleeping in my room throughout the day, eager to accompany me wherever I went, for none of them had been here before. It was the largest town most of them had ever seen. They strolled with me through the streets hand in hand, as is usual with Arab friends, but I was slightly uncomfortable, having re-acquired my inhibitions with my trousers. In any case I sensed that the old familiarity between us was impaired. I was most conscious of the change when I visited their camp, where I was received as a visitor. By shaving off my beard, changing my clothes, moving into a house, and using the gadgets which our civilization provided, I had estranged myself from them. I thought ruefully that the effect on me would have been much the same if one of them, after adapting himself to English ways and living with me in London, had suddenly appeared in Arab clothes and insisted on eating with his fingers.

  On his last evening in Mukalla, bin Kabina showed me what he had bought – a load of grain, two pounds of coffee-beans, two cooking-pots, three water-skins, a length of rope, a ball of string, two packing needles, a dozen boxes of matches, four yards of dark blue cloth for his mother, a loin-cloth for himself, and a penknife. I had watched him wandering about the bazaar, inspecting the bales of cloth, the coats, shirts, rugs, and blankets which were displayed in the successive stalls. Now that he had both the opportunity and the money I had hoped he would buy himself some protection against the cold. I shrank from the thought of him lying naked on the sands during the winter nights, and I knew that it might be years before he visited a town again. When I suggested that he should have bought some blankets, he said, ‘Camels are what I want. They are what matter. I can buy three more with the money which you have given me. With Qamaiqam, and the camel I bought in Salalala, and the one you gave me last year I shall have six. Now I am rich. I am used to hardship. Cold won’t hurt me. I am a Bedu.’

  10. Preparations of a Second Crossing

  I return to Arabia with the

  intention of crossing the Western

  Sands. Starting from the

  Hadhramaut I make a journey

  through the country of the Saar

  while waiting for my Rashid

  companions to arrive. After they

  have joined me we make ready at

  Manwakh well.

  From Mukalla I went to the Hajaz, and travelled there for three months, going as far as Najran in the country of the Yam, on the north-western edge of the Empty Quarter. Then I returned to London.

  In deserts, however arid, I have never felt homesick for green fields and woods in spring, but now that I was in England I longed with an ache that was almost physical to be back in Arabia. The Locust Control Centre offered me a new job supervising the destruction of locusts in the Hajaz, with a good salary, all expenses paid, and the prospect of permanent employment. But it was not enough. I wanted the wide emptiness of the sands, the fascination of unknown country, and the company of the Rashid.

  The Western Sands offered the challenge which I required in order to find a purpose for another journey. To cross them would be to complete the exploration of the Empty Quarter. Two years earlier I had thought of doing this journey. King Ibn Saud had however emphatically refused permission when our Ambassador had asked for it – and, in any case, it had been too late in the season to go there when I reached the Hadhramaut from Dhaufar. Now I made up my mind to make this crossing. I should be defying the King, but I hoped that I should be able to water at some well on the far side of the sands and then slip away unobserved. I was certain that some of the Rashid would accompany me, and with them I should have the freedom of the desert. I therefore wired to Sheppard at Mukalla asking him to send a messenger to bin Kabina at Habarut telling him, bin al Kamam, and bin Ghabaisha to meet me in the Hadhramaut at the time of the new moon in November. If I kept the party small I could pay for the journey with the money I had saved. The future could take care of itself.

  I arrived in Mukalla on 3 November and, after staying for a few days with Sheppard and collecting the rifles and ammunition which I had left with him the year before, I went up to Saiwun where I stayed with Watts, the Political Officer. Watts was having trouble with the Manahil. Some of them, led by my old friend bin Duailan, ‘The Cat’, had recently surprised two government posts in the Hadhramaut and captured a large number of rifles and much ammunition. One Bedu legionary had been killed. Since bin Duailan refused to hand back the rifles, Watts had forbidden any of the Manahil to come into the towns.

  As there was no news of bin Kabina and the others, I decided to travel for a fortnight in the Saar country before I started on my journey across the Sands, in order to link up the traverses which I had made in southern Arabia, between the Halfain and the Hadhramaut, with Philby’s work in 1936 along the Yemen border. The Saar, a large and powerful tribe, have been aptly described as ‘the wolves of the desert’. They were hated and feared by all the south Arabian desert t
ribes, whom they harried unmercifully, raiding as far eastward as Mughshin and the Jaddat al Harasis, and northwards to the Yam, the Dawasir, and the Murra. Boscawen had hunted oryx in their country in 1931, and Ingrams paid a cursory visit to the edge of their territory in 1934; otherwise no Englishman had been there.

  Watts found in Shibam two Saar who said they would take me into their country. They had two camels with them, both of which were bulls, for the Saar, like the Humum, own large numbers of bull camels which they hire for carrying goods to towns in the Hadhramaut. One of them, called Salim, was a lively little man in a blue loin-cloth. The other was tall and was called Ahmad. He was dressed in a white shirt, rather short for him, and his dour appearance belied a friendly spirit. Both were armed with Martini rifles.

  We went up to Raidat al Saar, a shallow valley about two hundred yards across, running through a barren limestone plateau. On the low cliffs which enclosed it were stone buildings and watch-towers, many of them empty. Ahmad told me that their inhabitants had died in the great famine in 1943. The terraced valley was green with crops of sorghum and beans, planted on floods in July; and there were clumps of date palms and many ilb trees. Raidat is the heart of the Saar country, but lacks permanent water. The inhabitants had recently tried to dig a well but had abandoned it when they failed to find water at sixty feet. In the Saar country there are only two permanent wells, one at Manwakh about 180 feet deep, and the other at Zamakh, which they told me was 240 feet deep.