Arabian Sands

by Wilfred Thesiger

  Next day we crossed the Sabkhat Mutti. We decided we must make a detour and cross these salt-flats near their head, otherwise the camels might become inextricably bogged, especially after the recent heavy rain. They would only have to sink in as far as their knees to be lost. Camels are always bad on greasy surfaces, so we fastened knotted cords under their feet to stop them from slipping. Here the salt-flats were divided into three arms by crescent-patterned drifts of sterile white sand. The flats themselves were covered with a crust of dirty salt which threw up a glare into our faces and, even through half-closed eyes, stabbed deep into my skull. The camels broke through this crust and floundered forward through liquid black mud. It took us five unpleasant, anxious hours to get across.

  On the far side we camped among undulating, utterly lifeless white sands, where even the salt-bushes were dead and then-stumps punctured our naked feet like needles. It was eleven days since we had left Jabrin. In the evening we had a long and anxious discussion. Muhammad had at last to admit that he knew nothing about this country, and my map was a blank as far as Abu Dhabi, which was still two hundred miles away. We had only a few gallons of water left. We should never get there unless we found water, and none of us had any idea if there were any wells along the coast. Muhammad said that we should probably find Bedu. He had been saying this since we left Laila, and we had come three hundred and fifty miles without meeting any. Finally, in desperation, I suggested that we should try to find the Liwa oasis, which I reckoned was only about a hundred miles away. I had not yet been there, but bin Kabina had visited three of the settlements from Balagh well when he fetched food for us the year before. He agreed that he would recognize the shape of the dunes at Liwa if I could guide us there. Unfortunately I did not have with me the compass-traverse which I had then made. Liwa was written in large letters across the map, but it was marked from hearsay, for no European other than myself had been near there. I puzzled over this map. Each time I fixed a bearing, some reason or other made me think I was wrong. The others sat round and watched me as I worked in the failing light. We all knew that if I went wrong and we missed Liwa we should be heading back into the Empty Quarter. It was a frightening thought; but to look for Liwa seemed to be our only chance.

  Next morning, after travelling for twelve miles across flat white sands, we came to a succession of dune-chains, each of which, when approached from the west, showed up in turn as a wavy silver-blue wall, three to four feet high, running out of sight to north and south along the top of an orange-red slope a mile wide. Their farther sides fell away into a jumble of hollows. They gradually became larger and more complicated and developed into high but uniform dune-ranges and swelling downs, full of crescent-shaped hollows and deep pot-holes. The steeper sides of many of these hollows showed marks where water from the recent heavy rain had flowed down, and in some places the crust formed by the rain had been pitted by hailstones. Here we found grazing and noticed the tracks of hares, fennec foxes, honey badgers, and monitor lizards. On 28 February we found a filled-in well at the bottom of a deep hollow. Bin Kabina climbed to a summit and shouted down to us, ‘I can see the sands of Liwa.’ We climbed up to join him, and I saw the great mountains of golden sand where we had been the year before. We were safe now, but no one commented on the fact. Muhammed merely said, ‘Those dunes are rather like those in Ghanim.’

  Next day we found a shallow well where the water was drinkable though brackish. It was fifteen days since we had left Jabrin, and we had perhaps two gallons of water left in the skins.

  We arrived at Balagh on 4 March, passing the hollow where bin Kabina and I had camped and starved for three days on our last journey. It was a still, hot afternoon. Next morning we found a small Manasir encampment on the edge of Liwa, and persuaded a man to guide us to Abu Dhabi. He told us that two months earlier a raiding party from Dibai, three hundred strong, had surprised an encampment not far away and killed fifty-two Manasir, losing five themselves, but that since then peace had been made between the Sheikhs of Abud Dhabi and Dibai. We had heard about this raid when we were in Laila.

  We were now on the western edge of Liwa, which our guide said extended eastward for three days’ journey. I should have liked to explore this famous oasis, but our camels were exhausted and we ourselves were worn out. Our food was nearly finished and it was difficult to buy anything here but dates. I knew that we must go direct to Abu Dhabi, and could only hope that perhaps I should be able to come back later. We passed through the settlements of Qutuf and Dhaufir. Palms were planted along the salt-flats, close under high steep-sided dunes, and in hollows in the sands. The groves were fenced in, and other fences were built along the dune-tops, to try to control the movement of the sands, which in a few places had partly buried the trees. They were carefully spaced, and evidently well tended. There was no other cultivation, probably because of the salt on the surface of the ground. Water was abundant at a depth of between seven and twenty feet. It was scarcely brackish, tasting only a little flat.

  The Arabs here were Bani Yas. They lived in rectangular cabins made from palm fronds, built for the sake of coolness on the downs above the palm groves, two or three cabins being enclosed by a high fence and inhabited by one family. They owned some camels and a few donkeys and goats, and in the summer many of them went to Abu Dhabi to join the pearling fleet as divers.

  We left Liwa on 7 March. Abu Dhabi was still a hundred and fifty miles away, but now we had a guide. We were very tired, and were no longer sustained by the struggle to survive, so each day’s march became a plodding weariness during which we were inclined to quarrel over trifles. It rained at intervals during these days, sometimes heavily.

  We reached the coast and followed it eastward through desolate country. There were limestone ridges, drifts of white sand, and stretches of gravel dotted with tussocks of woody grass and shrivelled plants. Salt-flats ran far out to sea, but yellow haze made it impossible to distinguish where the salt-flats ended and the sea began. The scene was colourless, without tones or contrast. We descended to the salt-flats, and led our slithering camels across this greasy surface to the creek which separates Abu Dhabi from the mainland. We waded through the sea, rested for a while outside the stone fort which guards the ford, and then went on to the town, arriving there early in the afternoon. It was 14 March. We had left Manwakh on 6 January.

  A large castle dominated the small dilapidated town which stretched along the shore. There were a few palms, and near them was a well where we watered our camels while some Arabs eyed us curiously, wondering who we were. Then we went over to the castle and sat outside the walls, waiting for the Sheikhs to wake from their afternoon slumbers.

  13. The Trucial Coast

  From Abu Dhabi we go to Buraimi

  where we stay for a month with

  Zayid bin Sultan, and then travel

  to Sharja. From Dubai I sail by

  dhow to Bahrain.

  The castle gates were shut and barred and no one was about. We unloaded our camels and lay down to sleep in the shadow of the wall. Near us some small cannon were half buried in the sand. The ground around was dirty, covered with the refuse of sedentary humanity. The Arabs who had watched us watering had disappeared. Kites wheeled against a yellow sky above a clump of tattered palms, and two dogs copulated near the wall.

  In the evening a young Arab came out from a postern gate, walked a little way across the sand, squatted down, and urinated. When he had finished, Muhammad called to him and asked if the Sheikhs were ‘sitting’ – an Arab expression for giving audience. The boy answered, ‘No, not yet,’ and Muhammad told him to tell them that an Englishman had arrived from the Hadhramaut and was waiting to see them. The boy asked, ‘Where is the Englishman?’ and Muhammad pointed to me and said, ‘That’s him.’

  Half an hour later a grey-bearded Arab came out, asked us a few questions, and went back into the castle. He came out again a little later and invited us in. He led us up some stairs to a small, carpeted room where Shakh
but, the ruler of Abu Dhabi, and his brothers Hiza and Khalid were sitting. They were dressed in Saudi fashion, in long white shirts, gold-embroidered cloaks, and white head-cloths, which fell round their faces and were held in place with black woollen head-ropes. Shakhbut’s dagger was ornamented with gold. They rose as we came in, and after we had greeted them and shaken hands, Shakhbut invited us to be seated. He was a pale, slightly-built man, with small, regular features, a carefully-trimmed black beard, and large dark eyes. He was courteous, even friendly, but aloof. He spoke softly, moved slowly and deliberately, and seemed to impose a rigid restraint on a naturally excitable temper. I suspected that he mistrusted all men, and for this he had reason, since of the fourteen previous rulers of Abu Dhabi only two had died peacefully in power. Eight of them had been murdered and four had been driven out by rebellion instigated by their families. Hiza was very different from Shakhbut. He was large and jovial, with a thick black beard covering half his chest, whereas Khalid was chiefly remarkable for a loose front tooth which he poked at with his tongue.

  Shakhbut called for coffee, and it was produced by an attendant in a saffron-coloured shirt. After we had drunk it and eaten a few dates, Shakhbut asked about our journey. Later I mentioned that I visited the outskirts of Liwa the year before. Hiza said, ‘We heard rumours from some Awamir that a Christian had been there, but we disbelieved them. We could not believe that a European could have come and gone without being seen. Bedu news, as you know, is often unreliable. We thought they must have been talking of Thomas, who crossed the Sands sixteen years ago.’

  Shakhbut then discussed the war in Palestine and ended with a diatribe against the Jews. Bin Kabina was obviously puzzled and whispered to me, ‘Who are the Jews? Are they Arabs?’

  Later the Sheikhs escorted us to a large dilapidated house near the market. We climbed up a rickety staircase to a bare room, carpeted ready for our arrival. Shakhbut ordered two of his attendants to look after us, and then said that he would leave us now as we must be tired, but would come and see us in the morning. When I asked him about our camels, he said they would be taken into the desert where there was grazing and brought back when we required them; but, he added, that would not be for many days, for we had come a long way and now we must rest here in comfort. He smiled at me and said, This is your home for as long as you will stay with us.’

  When it was dark, servants arrived carrying a large tray heaped with rice and mutton, and many small dishes filled with dates and various kinds of sweetmeats. After we had fed they sat among us with easy informality and talked. In Arab households servants count as part of the family* There is no social distinction between them and their masters.

  Merchants from the market-place and Bedu who were visiting the town came in to hear our news. A hurricane-lamp smoked through a broken glass but gave some light. It was cosy and very friendly, and pleasing to feel that for a while we had no further need of travelling, that we could eat and sleep at will. I wondered why people ever cluttered up their rooms with furniture, for this bare simplicity seemed to me infinitely preferable.

  I remembered how, two years before, I had ridden in to Taif at sunset on a donkey, with two Arab companions and three half-naked Yemeni pilgrims who had joined company with us. We had come a long way across the mountains from the borders of the Yemen. We found a room in a lodging for pilgrims – an empty cubicle, one of several opening on to a courtyard. The others were all occupied. We swept it out, furnished it with our rugs, and borrowed a lamp. One of the Yemenis fetched us food from the market – grilled meat, rice, and flaps of bread; sour milk, water melons, and sweet black grapes. When we had fed, our neighbours came in and entertained us with their talk. I had everything that I could want – food, shelter, and good company after long days upon the road. In the morning I called upon the king’s grandson, who was acting as Governor of Taif. I looked forward to the civilized comfort of Arab hospitality, but, thinking to please, he arranged for me to stay in the new ’hotel’, where the rooms were filled with furniture in the Victorian style. On the walls were framed prints of Scottish lochs and Swiss chalets; there was electric light, fans, and tinned food served by a Sudanese suffraigi. My two companions were housed elsewhere. Some Egyptians were staying in the hotel, townsmen from Cairo with whom I had nothing in common; I could not even understand their speech. I was lonely, bored, and uncomfortable and I marvelled that Arabs should wish to ape our ways.

  We stayed for twenty days at Abu Dhabi, a small’ town of about two thousand inhabitants. Each morning the Sheikhs visited us, walking slowly across from the castle – Shakhbut, a stately figure in a black cloak, a little ahead of his brothers, followed by a throng of armed retainers. We talked for an hour or more, drinking coffee and eating sweets, and, after they had left us, we visited the market, where we sat cross-legged in the small shops, gossiping and drinking more coffee; or we wandered along the beach and watched the dhows being caulked and treated with shark-oil to prepare them for the pearling season, the children bathing in the surf, and the fishermen landing their catch. Once they brought in a young dugong or sea-cow which they had caught in their nets. It was about four feet long, a pathetically helpless-looking creature, hideously ugly. They said its meat was good eating, and that its skin made sandals.

  We had many visitors who made themselves at home in our room, often remaining overnight. They just rolled up in their cloaks and went to sleep among us on the floor. One of them was a Rashid called Bakhit al Dahaimi. He had enlisted two years before among the Sheikh’s retainers and won a reputation as a fighter during the war with Dibai. I had already heard of his doings when I was on the southern coast. He was a lightly built man of about thirty, of average height, with a sallow face and close-set eyes. He wore a yellow shirt and a brown head-cloth. He stayed with us for three days. My Rashid were very impressed by him and frequently quoted what he had said, but I disliked him on sight. Hearing that I was going to Buraimi he announced that he would travel with us, but I arranged with Shakhbut that he should be sent on ahead to give Zayid bin Sultan, Shakhbut’s brother at Buraimi, word of our coming. Al Dahaimi was to make trouble for me in the future.

  I was anxious to penetrate into Oman and to visit the places which Staiyun had described to me the year before while we waited in the Wadi al Ain for the others to come back from Ibri. I believed that my best chance of getting there would be from Buraimi, and I hoped that Zayid would be able to help me. It was too late in the season to attempt a journey into Oman that year, and anyway I needed a rest. My mind was taut with the strain of living too long among Arabs. But I could at least go up to Buraimi, and make some discreet inquiries about Oman.

  I left Abu Dhabi with my four Rashid, and a guide provided by Shakhbut on 2 April. Buraimi was about a hundred miles away, and it took us four days to get there. We had plenty of food and were no longer tired, and there was good grazing. Hiza had lent me a splendid camel to ride. These Al bu Falah sheikhs owned many thoroughbreds from Oman. The Arabs in Abu Dhabi had been inclined to disparage our animals, contrasting them with those owned by their sheikhs, until bin Ghabaisha was provoked to say, ‘Your Sheikh’s camels are admittedly wonderful animals, pictures of beauty. I am a Bedu, I can appreciate them; but there is not one of them that would do the journey ours have just done,’ and his listeners were silent, for there was truth in what the indignant boy said.

  The Batina camels1 from the Oman coast are famed throughout Arabia for their speed and comfort; but they are accustomed to being hand-fed on dates and are useless when food and water are short. The Wahiba in the interior of Oman own a famous breed, the Banat Farha, or “The Daughters of Joy’, and the Dura own the equally famous Banat al Hamra, or ‘The Daughters of the Red one’. These are hardier than the Batina camels, but the Rashid said that none of them would survive for long in the Empty Quarter.

  The evening before we reached Buraimi I was lying contentedly on the ground watching bin Kabina roasting some toadstools that he had found while herding
the camels. They were creamy-tasting and delicious. There were also truffles here which were even better. Bin Ghabaisha tickled my foot, and, instinctively kicking out and catching him in the solar plexus, I knocked him out. Anxiously I bent over him, but bin Kabina said, ‘He is all right. He is only knocked out’; and a few seconds later bin Ghabaisha sat up. He said reproachfully, ‘Why do you try to kill your brother?’ and when I protested he laughed and said, ‘Don’t be silly; of course I realize it was an accident.’ I asked bin Kabina, ‘What would you have done if I really had killed bin Ghabaisha?’ and he answered at once, ‘I should have killed you.’ When I protested that it would have been an accident, he said grimly, That would have made no difference.’ He was joking, and yet I knew that Bedu demand a life for a life whether the killing was intentional or accidental. Sometimes when their temper has cooled they may agree to accept blood-money, especially if the killing was accidental, but their immediate reaction is to exact vengeance. In Abu Dhabi we had met a Rashid lad who had been shot through the hand while raiding the Bani Kitab. Muhammad told him, ‘As soon as Umbarak has gone off to his country we will avenge you. We will catch a boy of your own age from the Bani Kitab, hold his hand over a rifle, and blow it off.’

  Next morning we approached Muwaiqih, one of eight small villages in the Buraimi oasis. It was here that Zayid lived. As we came out of the red dunes on to a gravel plain I could see his fort, a large square enclosure, of which the mud walls were ten feet high. To the right of the fort, behind a crumbling wall half buried in drifts of sand, was a garden of dusty, ragged palm-trees, and beyond the palms the isolated hog’s back of Jabal Hafit about ten miles away and five thousand feet high. Faintly in the distance over the fort I could see the pale-blue outlines of the Oman mountains.