Arabian Sands

by Wilfred Thesiger

  When we were almost within sight of Bahrain the wind dropped. For four days we lay, rolling slightly on an oily sea. The brief spring was past. The sky was without a cloud, and the damp heat wrapped itself round me like a wet towel. An occasional cat’s paw of wind ruffled the surface of the sea, but died away as I watched. The brackish water in the rusty iron tank was warm as tepid tea. I was sick of rice and dates flavoured with rancid butter. The crew, who, like all Arabs, had an enviable capacity for sleeping when there was nothing else to do, rigged themselves an awning and slept interminably, and I reread H. A. L. Fisher’s History of Europe, the only book I had with me.

  I was sailing on this dhow because I wanted to have some experience of the Arab as a sailor. Once they had been a great sea-going race, sailing their dhows round the coast of India to the East Indies and perhaps even farther. The Trucial Coast which we had just left had been known and dreaded as the Pirate Coast; in the early nineteeth century Juasimi pirates had fought our frigates on level terms on these very waters. But there was a deeper reason that had prompted me to make this journey. I had done it to escape a little longer from the machines which dominated our world. The experience would last longer than the few days I spent on the journey. All my life I had hated machines. I could remember how bitterly at school I had resented reading the news that someone had flown across the Atlantic or travelled through the Sahara in a car. I had realized even then that the speed and ease of mechanical transport must rob the world of all diversity.

  For me, exploration was a personal venture. I did not go to the Arabian desert to collect plants nor to make a map; such things were incidental. At heart I knew that to write or even to talk of my travels was to tarnish the achievement. I went there to find peace in the hardship of desert travel and the company of desert peoples. I set myself a goal on these journeys, and, although the goal itself was unimportant, its attainment had to be worth every effort and sacrifice. Scott had gone to the South Pole in order to stand for a few minutes on one particular and almost inaccessible spot on the earth’s surface. He and his companions died on their way back, but even as they were dying he never doubted that the journey had been worth while. Everyone knew that there was nothing to be found on the top of Everest, but even in this materialistic age few people asked, ‘What point is there in climbing Everest? What good will it do anyone when they get there?’ They recognized that even today there are experiences that do not need to be justified in terms of material profit.

  No, it is not the goal but the way there that matters, and the harder the way the more worth while the journey. Who, after all, would dispute that it is more satisfying to climb to the top of a mountain than to go there in a funicular railway? Perhaps this was one reason why I resented modern inventions; they made the road too easy. I felt instinctively that it was better to fail on Everest without oxygen than to attain the summit with its use. If climbers used oxygen, why should they not have their supplies dropped to them from aeroplanes, or landed by helicopter? Yet to refuse mechanical aids as unsporting reduced exploration to the level of a sport, like big-game shooting in Kenya when the hunter is allowed to drive up to within sight of the animal but must get out of the car to shoot it. I would not myself have wished to cross the Empty Quarter in a car. Luckily this was impossible when I did my journeys, for to have done the journey on a camel when I could have done it in a car would have turned the venture into a stunt.

  At last a puff of wind stirred the water and did not immediately die away. The mate shouted to the sleeping crew. They trimmed the sail, stamping and singing as they hauled. The breeze freshened.

  We arrived at Bahrain on 28 May, the old blind naukhada taking his boat into the crowded roadstead under full sail. She smashed through the choppy waves and brought up within twenty yards of a dhow that had lain beside us under the Persian shore a week before.

  14. A Holiday in Buraimi

  I return to Buraimi, visit the Liwa

  oasis, and go hawking with Zayid

  I returned to Dibai from England at the end of October. Musallim bin al Kamam was waiting for me at Henderson’s house, having come there to join me from the Yemen, where he had renewed the truce between the Rashid and the Dahm for another two years. He told me how the Imam of the Yemen’s son had sent two parties of Dahm to intercept us when we crossed the Sands to Sulaiyil. He said, ‘When I reached Najran I heard mat you had been imprisoned in Sulaiyil. Bin Madhi, the Amir with whom you once stayed in Najran, declared that you had been lucky to get there, as the Yam would certainly have killed you if they had found you in the Sands.’ I asked about the fight with the Abida at Thamud, and he told me how Salim bin Mautlauq had been wounded but had later recovered. He then asked me if I remembered Muhammad, Salim bin Mautlauq’s brother, and told me that he had been savaged by a bull camel which had bitten off his knee-cap when he tried to shoot it, after it had attacked and killed an old man and a small boy as they sat round the fire in the evening. He also told me that Awadh had died of tuberculosis. Awadh had travelled with me to Tarim and also to Mukalla, and had been a charming man and a skilled hunter who had shot more than forty oryx. I was delighted to have bin al Kamam with me, for I had found him amusing and accommodating when he had travelled with me to Tarim. He was exceptionally intelligent, level-headed, and reliable; he had travelled widely, was a good guide, skilled in negotiations, and had considerable authority among the desert tribes.

  We left Dibai for Abu Dhabi on 27 October, going there by launch. I had meant to leave for Buraimi on the 31st but it poured with rain during the night and we woke to find most of the island under water. Shakhbut advised us to remain at Abu Dhabi for at least another day, to give the salt-flats, which we had to cross, a chance to dry. So bin al Kamam and I left on 1 November, riding borrowed camels, and arrived at Muwaiqih four days later. Zayid was there and put us in the room that I had been in before. He said, ‘Bin Kabina, bin Ghabaisha, and Amair spent last night in an Awamir encampment on the edge of the Sands. They will turn up as soon as they hear that you are here. Muhammad has gone to Dakaka. They’ve been having a fine time while you were away, lifting camels from everybody.’

  It was late at night when they arrived. Bin al Kamam and I had lain down to sleep, when someone hammered at our door and bin Kabina and the other two came in. Bin Kabina said, ‘We only just heard that you had arrived. We were off in the morning to raid the Bani Kitab.’ We relit the fire, bin al Kamam made coffee, and the others fetched their saddlebags. They asked bin al Kamam about their families and friends, and pressed him for every detail of recent happenings in the south, discussing them at length. Later they told us of their own doings. They had spent the summer harrying the Bani Kitab and other tribes, and serving as soldiers of fortune with the local sheikhs. They had each collected half a dozen camels. As I listened to their talk I thought how well their adventures illustrated the chronic insecurity of these parts, where jealous and often hostile sheikhs relied on the uncertain support of the Bedu to maintain their position. These sheikhs competed for the support of the tribesmen by the lavishness of their hospitality and the scale of their gifts. Not one of them was prepared to acknowledge a paramount power, nor were any of them able to enforce their authority over the Bedu; none would even try, lest by doing so they should alienate Bedu support in time of need. In consequence the country was full of outlaws, who feared no punishment other than the blood-feud and the retaliation of hostile tribesmen. Knowing perfectly well that each sheikh would rather have their friendship than incur their enmity, the outlaws travelled quite openly among the villages which they had robbed, assured of hospitality commensurate with the strength and nearness of their own tribe and the reputation which they personally had acquired. If an exasperated ruler did detain them, they knew they could count on an immediate demand for their release by some other sheikh, who, anxious to court their favour, would claim that they were under his protection.

  At present the politics of the area were dominated by the bitter enmi
ty between the Al bu Falah of Abu Dhabi and the bin Maktum of Dibai. The truce between these two families which had recently put an end to several years of intermittent fighting, had, I knew, in no way lessened this enmity. Beneath these recent hatreds and jealousies lay the age-old feud between the tribes of Yemen and Nizar origin, largely identified today with the factions of Hanawi and Ghafari. This feud had torn Oman for centuries, and here in the north had always prevented the establishment of an effective government.

  Next morning bin Kabina appealed to me to secure the release of a young saiyid, called Ahmad bin Saiyid Muhammad who came from Qasm in the Hadhramaut, and was now imprisoned with a companion in Hamasa, one of the two villages at Buraimi which did not belong to Zayid. He said that both of them had been sold to Ali al Murri, a well-known slave-dealer, who had recently arrived from the Hasa. He added that the saiyid had been beaten to make him more amenable. I gathered that he and his companion had been shipwrecked on their way back from Singapore and that they had been picked up by a dhow and landed on the Trucial Coast, where they had been kidnapped and brought to Hamasa. Bin Kabina said: ‘It is terrible that a descendant of the Prophet should be sold as a slave. You must secure his release. Do you remember the saiyid who gave us lunch in Qasm, the first time we went to the Hadhramaut? Well, he is this boy’s uncle. They know quite well he is not a slave, otherwise they wouldn’t have sold the two of them for 230 rupees.’ I knew that many of the slaves who were sold in Hamasa were in fact Baluchis, Persians, or Arabs who had been kidnapped, but I also knew that the usual price slave-traders paid for one of them was 1,000–1,500 rupees, and for a young Negro even more. An Arab or Persian girl was however, more valuable than a Negress and would fetch as much as 3,000 rupees. The ridiculously low price which Ali al Murri had paid for the saiyid and his companion showed that he expected to have great difficulty in disposing of them.

  A few days later the Sheikh of Hamasa visited Zayid. I advised him to release these two men, saying that I knew their families in the Hadhramaut and that one of them was a saiyid. He grumbled that he would lose a lot of money if he let them go, but I assured him that it would pay him to do so. I heard later that they had been released and that they had gone to Sharjar, where the Political Officer had arranged to send them to the Hadhramaut.

  I was anxious to explore Liwa before I started on my journey into Oman. Zayid advised me to take an old Rashid called bin Tahi as my guide. He said: ‘You will like him. He is a pleasant old man. He has settled down and become respectable in the last few years, but he was a notorious outlaw when he was younger. He must have lifted camels from pretty well every tribe in southern Arabia, and knows every corner and water-bole in the desert. Your lads know him; everyone does.’ Later I asked bin Kabina about bin Tahi and he said, ‘Yes, that is a splendid idea. Let’s take bin Tahi. He is a wonderful old man. He can guide us wherever we want to go. He is camped at present near the southern end of Jabal Hafit. I was staying with him only ten days ago.’

  Bin Tahi had a grey beard and straggling grey hair, a strong square face, and twinkling eyes, but he was younger than I had expected. He was heavily-built and obviously very powerful. He looked hard and enduring despite his grey hairs. He agreed at once to come with us.

  We left Muwaiqih on 14 November and spent about a month travelling through Liwa as far as Dhafara, where we had been the year before. It was a pleasant journey. The sands were like a garden. There were matted clumps of tribulus, three feet high, their dark green fronds covered with bright yellow flowers, bunches of karia, a species of heliotrope, that was rated high as camel-food by the Bedu, and qassis, as well as numerous other plants which the camels scorned in the plenty that surrounded them.

  We had a saluki with us, which I had borrowed from Zayid; but he was still too young to catch a full-grown hare, although he managed to catch an occasional leveret. My companions said disgustedly that he was not worth his keep. They had expected great things of him. But they played with him, and allowed him to lie on their blankets and drink from our dishes, for, although dogs are unclean to Muslims, the Bedu do not count a saluki as a dog. A middle-aged Rashid called Salih and his son were travelling with us as far as Dhafara, and this boy was more successful than the saluki in catching hares. He hunted for them while he was herding the camels, and often came back to camp with three or four which he had pulled out of the shallow burrows where they had taken refuge from the many eagles quartering in the sands. Once while we were riding along we saw a tawny eagle kill a full-grown fox. We drove the bird off its kill, and as the skin was still undamaged I kept it and later gave it to the Museum in London.

  At Lahamma well we found many day-old tracks of men and camels. My companions said that they were made by Ali al Murri and the caravan of forty-eight slaves which he was taking to the Hasa. It seemed that the enormous wealth which was pouring into Saudi Arabia from the American oil company had greatly increased both the demand for slaves and the price paid for them. They said that Ali made a large profit not only from the slaves, but also from the camels which he bought in Buraimi.

  One day when we had stopped at a shallow well, bin Kabina said to me, ‘It was here that we had a fight with some Bani Kitab while you were away. We had raided them and taken twelve camels. It was the middle of summer and frightfully hot. We were watering the camels, which were very thirsty for we had driven them hard, when we saw our pursuers. There were eight of them. We were six, for there were two Awamir with us. Do you see that high dune over there? Look! We left the camels here at the well and started to run up it from this side, knowing that the Bani Kitab were climbing it from the other side. By God! I thought my heart would burst. I got to the top and as I got there one of the Bani Kitab came in sight a few yards below. I fired at him and he fell down and rolled out of sight. The rest of them ran back to their camels, taking the wounded man with them. We fired many shots at them but were too blown to shoot straight. We knew they would not follow us any farther now that they had a wounded man to look after.’

  Two days later we were camped near a well with the uninviting name of Faswat at Ajuz, or ‘the Hag’s Cunt’. In the morning Salih and his son went on ahead, while the others drove the camels off to water them at the well, out of sight from where I was sitting among our scattered kit writing up my diary. It was early in the morning and still chilly. Suddenly I heard a shot and shouts of ‘Raiders! Raiders!’ Salih and his son raced back over the dunes, shouting as they came towards me. I could make out no words. Immediately afterwards the others arrived from the well. They were naked except for their loin-cloths, cartridge-belts, and daggers. They must have left their clothes lying beside the well where they had stripped to dig it out. Bin Kabina slid from his camel and couched mine. ‘Quick, Umbarak! Jump on her.’ I turned to get my saddlebags but bin Kabina urged me, ‘Hurry! Hurry!’ so I just grabbed a blanket, threw it over the saddle, and mounted. The others were already off. I had no idea whether we were running away or what we were doing. I shouted at bin Kabina to ask him, but like the others he was too excited to be coherent. Anyway, I was finding it difficult to stay on my camel, which had started to gallop, wrenching every joint in my body. I was riding on the bare framework of a saddle, my camel swerving up and down through a maze of small crescent dunes. I got her under control, and the others slowed theirs to a fast trot. Salih. said, There are four of them, with eight stolen camels. Without a doubt they are Bani Kitab who have been raiding the Rashid in Dhafara.’

  Five minutes later we picked up their tracks. They were travelling fast, but handicapped by the looted animals they were driving. Bin al Kamam said grimly, They cannot get away’; and bin Ghabaisha called out, ‘We will kill the lot. God’s curse on the Bani Kitab.’ Bin Tahi was waving his stick and shouting, ‘If I had a rifle you would see how bin Tahi fights.’ The old man was armed only with a dagger. Salih told his son to go back and guard the stuff we had left lying on the sand. The boy refused, anxious to share the excitement of the chase, but his father insi
sted. ‘Do as you are told. Go back! Go back at once!’ and at last the boy halted his camel and sat watching us until we disappeared. Bin al Kamam said to me, They will head back to the north. You and I and bin Tahi will follow their tracks. The others will try to cut them off.’ Bin Kabina called out, ‘Don’t miss, Umbarak!’ as he swung off to the left with bin Ghabaisha, Amair, and Salih.

  Two hours later bin Tahi said, ‘They are getting tired. Do you notice how that camel is stumbling.’ I hoped the others were not far away. Bin Tahi had no rifle and I knew that bin al Kamam’s old Martini usually jammed after a shot or two. Then the tracks which we were following turned sharply to the east and bin al Kamam said, ‘They have seen our companions. I hope to God they have seen them.’ A little later we saw the raiders. They were about a mile away, four mounted figures driving a bunch of camels in front of them. We had left the small crescent dunes behind us and were riding across rolling downs of firm red sand dotted with tribulus. We urged our camels forward and gained rapidly on them. They drove their camels into a hollow and did not reappear on the farther elopes. Bin Tahi said, They have stopped. Get off and get up there where you can cover them with your rifles, and then I will go forward and find out who they are.’

  Bin al Kamam and I couched our camels in a hollow, hurriedly tying their knees to stop them from rising, and then climbed a dune to get above the raiders. We crawled to the dune-crest, and I peeped round a clump of tribulus. Three camels were couched in a hollow two hundred yards away. I could see two men lying behind a small dune. A third man, still mounted, was driving off the captured camels and was about four hundred yards away. I could not see the fourth man and wondered if he could see me. Bin al Kamam was a few yards to my right. He signed to bin Tahi, who rode forward shouting. I could make out odd words. ‘Rashid… Awamir… friends… otherwise enemies.’ The raiders shouted back, and bin al Kamam said They are friends. They are from the Manahil.’ The man whom I had been unable to see got up from behind a bush, went forward and spoke to bin Tahi, who then rode back to us. He said, ‘It is Jumaan.’ I knew that Jumaan bin Duailan was the brother of ‘The Cat’ whom the Yam had killed the year before, and that he was the worst outlaw in these parts. I had seen him in the spring at Zayid’s fort, a small man like his brother, with the same quick, restless eyes. We went over to them, greeted them, and exchanged the news. They had taken the camels from the Manasir. The Manahil were allies of the Rashid, and the Manasir were no concern of ours, but bin al Kamam whispered to me, ‘Offer them twenty-five riyals to return the camels. Zayid will be pleased if you recover them.’ Jumaan, however, refused the offer, knowing that we would not take them by force. They said good-bye, mounted their camels, and rode off. Later, when I was back at Muwaiqih telling Zayid about this pursuit, he said, ‘By God, Umbarak, you could have had the pick of my camels if you had killed Jumaan. He is the most troublesome of all these brigands.’