FOOTNOTES

FOOTNOTES[1]It is advisable to ascertain the state of the road between Guerrera and Touggourt, as there is much sand in this part. On principle it is wiser to start just ahead of the motor-bus as the route is very desolate and there is no possible means of repairing serious breakdowns.[2]If time is short, Constantine, Bougie and the Kabyle can be omitted. From Timgad one can get to Sétif via Corneille. By leaving Biskra early one can do Biskra/Batna, see Timgad, and be at Sétif in one day—210 kilometers. From Sétif to Algiers the road is good and straight—300 kilometers.[3]If this bus journey is thought too excessive, there is no necessity to go to Bou Saada. The train can be taken direct to Djelfa in one day, and then next morning the bus lands one at Laghouat at nine thirty.[4]I have not marked the number of days for the journey by public conveyance as, being much slower, it is correspondingly more tiring, and the traveler will probably wish to linger longer in the different centers he visits.

[1]It is advisable to ascertain the state of the road between Guerrera and Touggourt, as there is much sand in this part. On principle it is wiser to start just ahead of the motor-bus as the route is very desolate and there is no possible means of repairing serious breakdowns.

[2]If time is short, Constantine, Bougie and the Kabyle can be omitted. From Timgad one can get to Sétif via Corneille. By leaving Biskra early one can do Biskra/Batna, see Timgad, and be at Sétif in one day—210 kilometers. From Sétif to Algiers the road is good and straight—300 kilometers.

[3]If this bus journey is thought too excessive, there is no necessity to go to Bou Saada. The train can be taken direct to Djelfa in one day, and then next morning the bus lands one at Laghouat at nine thirty.

[4]I have not marked the number of days for the journey by public conveyance as, being much slower, it is correspondingly more tiring, and the traveler will probably wish to linger longer in the different centers he visits.

Leavingthe ugly suburbs of Algiers, the car turns on to a broad, straight road bordered with plane-trees. On either side stretch interminable vineyards, while ahead the blue slopes of the Atlas rise up from this great plain of the Mitidja. Little French villages are passed and long, white buildings, now closed and silent, which will be in a whirl of activity in August and September when the grapes are being pressed.

In an hour or so l’Arba has been reached and the steep slopes covered with rough scrub and cork-trees. Up, up the road climbs toward the bare crests of the range. Algiers and the Mitidja are lost to view, and the eye wanders over a great expanse of mountain, cultivated here and there with patches of cereals, and now and then a vineyard.

The air is fresh, and the clouds seem ominously close. At Sakamody the watershed is reached, three thousand feet above sea-level, and a wonderful panorama of hills and rivers and forests spreads itself before us.

The road is now running steeply down toward the silvery stream at the bottom, and, reaching Tablat, an iron bridge is crossed and away speeds the car through a fertile valley. If lunch has been carried in the car there are some delightful fields near Bir Rabalou—at the one hundred and third kilometer—where one can picnic in peace. For some reason there is an abundance of tortoises in these fields.

If one is depending on the hotel one must push on to Aumale, where a rather second-rate inn will provide a correspondingly second-rate lunch. Aumale is well over two thousand feet above the sea; it is a modern garrison town and quite uninteresting.

Shortly after Aumale the road starts sloping down toward the flat country parallel to and east of the Sersou, and after thirty kilometers the village of Sidi Aïssa is reached.

At this point two vast errors are made by guides, tourists, and even by many Algerians; and, as stated in a previous chapter, it is the duty of the author to destroy legends invented for the ears of the credulous.

The first of these stories is that Sidi Aïssa means “Our Lord.” Translated literally this word signifies “the Lord Jesus,” but, though the Mohammedans venerate all the prophets from Moses down to Christ, this Sidi Aïssa is not the founder of the Christian faith. The person after whom this village and many others are named is Sidi-el-Hadj-Aïssa, the greatmaraboutwho founded Laghouat in the eighteenth century. Of this later.

The second story, which is perhaps served up more frequently, is that at Sidi Aïssa the desert begins. It is an excusable legend, and let it be said at once that the author himself has fallen into the trap. It is an absolute fallacy, but Bou Saada and its neighborhood is one of the most amazingly natural fakes in the world.

Sidi Aïssa is at one thousand eight hundred feet above the sea and is on the same latitude as Boghar, which is perched on the southerly slopes of the Atlas of the Tell. Bou Saada is actually north of Djelfa, which the traveler will visit in two days and which is at over three thousand feet.

“But what of this?” exclaims the reader.

Well, this—that the approach to Bou Saada is as desertic as any scenery he will see, and that many oases of the south have that same first aspect of the Sahara created by Bou Saada; and yet to reach the beginning of the great wastes which run away to the Soudan and the Niger, ranges of mountains and forests south of Bou Saada must be crossed, which in winter are often covered with snow.

Bou Saada is an oasis, of that there is no doubt, but why it springs up in a country which is only a few miles from forests and vegetation is not to be explained. Perhaps it is one of the great jokes created by Allah for the benefit of the Compagnie Générale Transatlantique—and a very profitable joke too! However, the important point is that the traveler, on leaving Sidi Aïssa, can, if he wishes, feel that he is entering the desert, but he must not believe it. It is an impression which can not be forgotten, just as if a boat had been exchanged for the car and one had put out to sea. The hills and trees to the north seem to be the land, and the great expanse of stone and scrub spread out before one is the sea. To the west barren mountains rise up with almost flat tops, reminding one of billiard tables built by some dead race of giants. The world has suddenly changed as the car rushes on along the straight, even road.

No one is in sight, no habitation—just the wide plain. If the Sahara proper is to attract one the attraction will come now. There is no question about this: the expanse of desert either takes hold of one’s mind or else it merely bores.

However, bored or enthralled, the first aspect of Bou Saada must seize one and make a thrill pass through the brain. The road suddenly bends to the right, the sand-dunes appear all golden in the evening light, a city of rosy mud houses nestles against a russethill, fifteen thousand palm-trees bow ever to the lilt of the wind.

Such is the first glimpse of Bou Saada, “the father or place of happiness,” and indeed so it must have been before the days when motors made a week-end visit possible. The Transatlantic hotel is comfortable, and constructed in harmony with the place, and though the rest of the life is as great a fake as nature has made it, it has great charm.

On arrival let the visitor hurry to the bastion below the military hospital to see the glory of the sunset— those amazing lights which he will see again in the south, but of which his first impressions here will never be forgotten. A mantle of gold-dust, the palm-trees in the breeze, herds of sheep and goats returning from their pasture, stately camels plodding along into the city accompanied by solemn Arabs: a vision of enchantment.

The return to the hotel, through the quiet streets in the rapidly increasing dusk, while themuezzincalls the Faithful to prayer from the mosque, is such a complete contrast to the scenes of twenty-four hours before that one wonders if one has only traveled a hundred and fifty miles.

Yet it is not the Sahara, and at night, after dinner, when one is obliged to fall into the hands of the clamoring guides to be taken to see the dancing girls of the Ouled Naïls perform their weird steps, it is not the real thing. Not the real thing inasmuch as the dances are organized for the tourist and do not go on continuously for the native population, but as real as possible as far as it concerns the actual dances and the fact that the girls all belong to the tribe of the Ouled Naïls, in the center of whose area Bou Saada lies.

Another disillusion to the veteran guide is impending,but in a merciful spirit the truth about the Ouled Naïls will be kept till the next chapter. As, however, the traveler has not yet been to the far south, he will appreciate this evening in a quaint little room hung about with gaudy carpets, or, if it is fine, perhaps on the roof, watching the girls dance slowly up and down before him to the squeal of theraïta, or to the deep notes of the reed flute, while the time is kept by a rhythmical beat on thetam-tam.

The stars are flashing overhead in a black sky and peace seems to have settled on the world, a peace which will gradually increase as the journey progresses into the Sahara.

Next morning it is advisable to take one of the small boys outside the hotel (not a regular guide) and, descending into the river-bed, walk along between the tall palm-trees until the end of the oasis is reached, and then, crossing a belt of rough scrub, climb up on to the golden sand-dunes. A great expanse spreads out before one till, away in the distance, can be seen the beginning of the Aurès Mountains. It is a land of strange mirage effects, and, if the sun is hot, visions of palm-trees and green lakes will appear and shimmer away again before the eye has grasped the picture. If the country has taken hold of one, an hour’s contemplation in these golden dunes will pass quickly.

After lunch there is an interesting little excursion to be made some eight kilometers up the Djelfa road to El Hamel. The car should not be overloaded, as there are three or four kilometers to do off the main road up to the gates of the town. Built on the side of a barren hill, it has a wild look, and its tall walls give it an imposing aspect as the car climbs up the steep road to its gates. El Hamel is interesting because of itszaouïaand Mohammedan college for those studyingthe Koran with a view to becomingmuftisorimams. Up to 1904 it had the peculiarity of being under the patronage of a femalemarabout, Lalla Zineb, and her tomb, much venerated, can be seen in a very lovely mosque. At present there is a charmingmaraboutwho is always glad to see visitors. He will show one round and offer coffee in his rather gaudy reception-room. Though it is not usually known,maraboutsaccept, and often expect, gifts of money, ostensibly given for thezaouïa; it must be presented with a speech explaining that it is a charitable donation.

There are many other pleasant excursions round Bou Saada if time warrants a long stay but, if not, there are more interesting things to see in the south which will entirely eclipse this false little oasis.

I say false and at the same time it is an almost unjust epithet, as, though the place is infested by conducted tours, they have not yet succeeded in removing its original charm, or making of it a middle-class fashionable resort like Biskra.

N. B.—Should it be impossible for the traveler to carry the journey on to Laghouat and the far south, there is a track across country to Biskra, some two hundred and fifty kilometers. Thence the journey can be carried on as laid down in the itinerary.

The track starts on the way to El Hamel, and it is well to have some one who knows it in the car, as there are no signposts and it is very desolate. Moreover, it must not be attempted in wet weather or after a storm, as there are many dried-up river-beds which rapidly become torrents, and there are no bridges.

Otherwise it is an interesting journey, and the first sight of the Sahara near Tolga is arresting.

LeavingBou Saada by the same road taken the day before to visit El Hamel, though without turning off down the track which passes the holy city, the car climbs up into a rolling country of alfa—that tall alfa or esparto grass which grows so abundantly all over the Sersou and the Hauts Plateaux, and which is used extensively by British firms to make paper.

Large concessions are leased for lengthy periods, the grass is cut and collected by Arabs between November and March, and brought to convenient centers on camels. Here it is pressed into bales and despatched by motor transport or by rail to the sea, where it is shipped to Europe: a profitable business, but somewhat lonely for the European superintendent who lives at the pressing depot on the plain.

The country traversed during the first part of the journey is very wild. Hills limit the broad horizon, bare of all vegetation; they are the Mountains of the Ouled Naïls, and this time it is impossible to refrain from speaking the truth about these people. Now, it is generally believed that the women of the tribe of the Ouled Naïl (which, incidentally, meanschildren of him who has succeeded) are all ladies of easy virtue, and that in every dancing-place in North Africa this tribe supplies the performers. It is, moreover, stated by many that prostitution among them is a form of religion. Both these ideas are false.

In the first place, this occupation or trade did not exist as such before the French conquered the country. The real facts are these: the confederation of Ouled Naïls is the largest in Algeria; it comprises twenty-one tribes and occupies a very wide area, running all the way from Djelfa to Sétif in length, and almost as broad in depth. It stands to reason, therefore, that in a great many of the towns visited by travelers the Ouled Naïl women are found in their own homes, or in the towns just bordering thereon. Outside their own lairs, however, dancers of this tribe will be found exercising the same profession among their cousins of other confederations. The first reason for this is, again, the fact that they are so numerous that they have migrated outside their own haunts, and even outnumber the other women. The second reason is that prostitution among the Ouled Naïl tribe is not considered a dishonor. This is greatly due to the astonishing laziness of the tribesmen, who are quite prepared to live on the earnings of their women. In any other tribe a mother will bring up her daughter with the idea of marrying well, having a home, and settling down to rear children herself. A mother among the Ouled Naïl people will not discourage her daughter from going as early as possible to the nearest town to earn her living in order to provide a large enough dowry to make a good marriage, or retire into prosperous inertia. Most astonishing of all is the fact that bridegrooms are forthcoming, and that the method employed to raise the money is not considered dishonorable. Among the tribesmen of the Ouled Naïl, moreover, these girls are so weary of the life they have led that they make excellent wives.

There are naturally many families of great respectability, whose daughters are as closely kept as those of other tribes, but they are not in the majority.

All this may sound very crude, but, as I have previously endeavored to show, whatever may be the rights and wrongs of the question, there is none of that sordid atmosphere associated with the same thing in Europe.

About half-way between Bou Saada and Djelfa the mountains are left, and a broad expanse of plain, sparsely cultivated, takes the place of the alfa. In the distance a group of poplars appears, behind which lies a walled village. The car passes through a menacing gate and turns into a long, uninteresting street planted with sad trees. Of all the cities in North Africa Djelfa is the most lamentable. There is nothing to redeem its dull squalor, not even a possible climate. In winter it freezes; in summer the heat is unbearable; in the spring an icy blast blows from the mountains; in autumn it rains and snows.

It would be the test of affection between a man and a woman to pass six months in this place and remain on speaking terms. If the traveler is wise he has lunched on the broad plain before reaching this wretched town, as, if not, he must suffer a meal in the very tumble-down hotel, which does its best, but which fails from want of support. Djelfa must be left as soon as possible.

The car turns to the south, passes through another fortified gateway, and is soon speeding away on the straight white road which leads to the Sahara.

More alfa, more bare hills, more broad horizons. At the fifteenth kilometer thecol des caravanes, the highest point on the road, is reached, and, away, away, the road can be seen like a long ribbon unrolling itself toward the blue skies of the great south.

The caravanserai of Aïn el Ibel, the Spring of the Camels, is the next landmark; once the nightly lodging in the days of the diligence, it is now only used as aplace to drink coffee if one is frequenting the public car. The country is very lonely and desolate. It is a land of sheep-breeding, and, though the traveler coming straight from the green fields of Europe looks doubtfully at the gray scrub about him, he will have his doubts removed when he sees the great flocks feeding peacefully on either side of the road.

Calm-faced nomads, tall of stature, watch over them, and in the distance a few black patches indicate where the camp has been temporarily pitched. Camels too are everywhere, and have replaced all forms of more modern transport. Caravans of these ungainly beasts, bearing bales of wool and alfa, with here and there thebassoursin which the women travel, plod slowly along.

There is a sensation of something new in the atmosphere—the people of the north have been left far behind, and at every revolution of the wheels one seems to be speeding into the past. The flocks, the camels, the tents, the tall shepherds are the same as they were twelve hundred years ago, and even the rumbling motor-lorry which keeps the south supplied with sugar and coffee does not affect them.

A few palm-trees appear, growing about a white caravanserai, while mud houses cluster in a dip. It is the miniature oasis of Sidi Maklouf. The road turns sharply to the right, runs down into a dried-up river-bed, and then stretches straight away to the south. The barren hill on the right looks like the edge of a saw; ahead there is a distant horizon in a haze of blue; the eyes would like to be there and see what is beyond.

Again the road bends, this time to the left, a dark mass appears, which, gradually getting more distinct, reveals itself as trees—palm-trees in thousands. Rosy rocks break the horizon, a white column leaps to thesky; it is the minaret of Laghouat. The car passes through the sandy bed of a broad river, usually a trickling stream, but sometimes in the autumn a roaring torrent, making access to the oasis impossible. The road slips through plantations of tamarisk, and in a few moments an avenue of plane-trees is entered.

Gardens and quiet little villas are on either side, until, reaching the fortified walls, the car draws up before the Transatlantic Hotel, nestling picturesquely amid the tall palms. There is an atmosphere of peace and quiet, and a welcome which is pleasant after the long journey.

The interior of the hotel does not belie the exterior, and, when one realizes that it was once thebash agha’sTurkish bath, the charm of the surroundings is complete.

An English tea awaits one, and when it has been consumed let the traveler climb to the rosy rock near by and get his first glimpse of the Sahara. If it is a clear evening the sunset effect will be a vision never to be forgotten.

Thefirst view of the Sahara is perhaps one of the most amazing things in the world. The northern part of the oasis is divided from the southern by a barrier of rocks, and, as one tops the cliff, a sense of awe fills one as one contemplates the immensity of the vision spread out. The mind, unaccustomed to such spectacles, rushes back and tries to compare the scene with anything it has ever seen before, but it fails hopelessly, and remains in wonderment before this wide panorama. And yet, as one gazes at the plain—which seems to roll out from the sand in the foreground to an endless expanse of stones, until it merges into the sky and is lost in an infinite horizon—one can not help being reminded of the sea on a calm evening: the oasis is some tropical island, with its palm-trees growing almost down to the water’s edge; the golden sand lapped by this tideless ocean, and then the sea—away, away, far away—until the next island.

“Island” is really the only descriptive word for an oasis in its ocean of desolation. It suddenly springs up and suddenly disappears. Unless the water changes its course, nothing human can cause a tree to grow outside its perimeter, any more than anything could be raised out of the sea.

Laghouat is a very typical oasis of the south. From the rocky eminence can be seen the town, clustering on either side of the rocky barrier; the mosque on an eminence in the center, modern and rather gaudy, butnot unpleasant to look at; the very unprepossessing Catholic church, rather like a wedding cake; and the two oases, north and south. The town itself is comparatively modern, having been rebuilt on the site of the old city which was utterly destroyed by the French in 1852 to punish its heroic defenders for having held out so long against them.

There are two versions as to the origin of the name Laghouat. The first suggestion is from the Arab word“gaouth,”or more exactly“rouat,”meaning a house in a dip with a garden, and which has been contracted into “El aghouat.” The second is “El-aghouat,” of which the derivation isa mountain the ridge of which resembles the teeth of a saw. Both are plausible suggestions, as all the houses have gardens, and the mountains in the neighborhood give one very much the impression of saws.

Prior to the eighteenth century there is very little information to be had concerning Laghouat. It was evidently an oasis frequented by nomads, but there does not appear to have been any definite settlement. In 1700, however, Sidi-El-Hadj-Aïssa, a very saintlymarabout, collected the tribes of the district about him and made it clear that it would be in their interest to group themselves in one body, and it must have been at this time that the present Confederation of the Larbas came into existence.

Sidi-El-Hadj-Aïssa, who is the patron of the oasis, is a figure of great importance in the Moslem history of Algeria, and he is venerated throughout the country, more especially as a prophet. Concerning the truth of his foresight it is not for us to criticize, but the facts are worth noting. It appears that after creating this center and making of the divided nomads one people, they did not show the desired gratitude, and as punishment themaraboutlaid a terrible curseon his followers. In the curse he prophesied the downfall of the city, internal war, and the French invasion. And, though it is too long to go into, it is curious to note that all the details of the prophecy occurred.

He made a further prophecy which is kept a great secret, to the effect that Algeria would be delivered by a great chief who would rise in Morocco and finally become Khalifat of North Africa.

I leave it to the reader to draw his own conclusions, but the fact remains that the French did invade Algeria, and that events in Morocco seemed at one time to indicate a fulfilment of his words.

The town reconstructed on the site of the old city may be more solid, but it could not be less beautiful. Straight streets running at right-angles, plain and drab—it is the typical architecture of the modern southern town. There is a certain picturesque atmosphere in the quarter bordering on the southern oasis, but it is very poor and dirty.

The people live in small houses, and ply their business quite humbly. Modernisms have not crept in, and the shopkeepers do not worry the visitor to buy. When the day’s work is over they repair to their gardens—the gardens which have made Laghouat famous. Every man who can afford it has his own piece of land in the oasis. It may be an acre, it may be three, but, all the same, it is his garden and he is proud of it. Surrounded by high walls, it is planted with palm-trees, peach-trees, vines, apricots, figs, oranges, pomegranates, pears, medlars, and, in fact, all kinds of fruit.

The oasis being at a comparatively high level, the date-palms do not produce a very marketable fruit, such as is found at Biskra in the south, and in Laghouat a palm-tree only brings in fifty francs. All the other fruit-trees, however, bear abundantly, tooabundantly, for, there being no railway, there is no outlet, and in early summer peaches can be had for one franc the dozen, and apricots are given away. Some people even find it too much trouble to carry the fruit to market, and they merely eat what they can and use the rest for manure.

Vegetables are in almost the same position, and are sold for negligible sums. It is astonishing to realize that such fertility exists so close to the wastes of the desert. There is a wonderful opportunity for an enterprising man with capital who comes to Laghouat with a fleet of lorries and bears away the fruit and vegetables to Algiers. The purchase of the raw material will cost him next to nothing; it is merely a question of transport. A jam factory in Laghouat would pay a hundred per cent., but let it be hoped, for the sake of the peace and beauty of the surroundings, that no enterprising capitalist will come and spoil a land of pure delight, where living is so easy and so cheap.

To produce all this vegetation, however, there must be water, and, its absence being conspicuous in the south, it may interest the reader to hear how an oasis is watered.

The whole of southern Algeria is crossed by rivers, which in the winter have a certain amount of water, but which in the summer are dry, and are in reality only drains to carry off the rain which comes down from the hills after storms.

The real rivers of the south follow the water-courses, but they flow underground, and it is only when they rise to the surface that they form an oasis, and, as the Arabs say, the palm-trees spring up with their feet in the water and their heads in the flames. Anywhere along these courses wells can be sunk and the water tapped at a depth varying from one hundred andtwenty to twelve hundred feet, and in some cases there are broad underground lakes, known to the natives as Behar Tahtani—the sea of the underworld.

Sand Storm Getting up on the Sahara

Waterfall of Boiling Water, Hammon, Meskoutine

Arab Falconer Setting Out to Hunt

Wherever, therefore, the river rises to the surface and forms an oasis the land becomes very rich, and all vegetation is of the most luxuriant. Sand mixed with irrigated earth is excessively fertile, and produces everything from roses and strawberries to jasmine and lemons. Cereals would thrive and cover endless acres if there was enough water. Water—that is the question of daily life in the great south. You may cross endless wastes of desertic plain with only a few tufts of alfa grass here and there, and suddenly come upon a great oasis, green and fresh in the watered land. But it ends as abruptly as it began, and, although you may find yourself standing in a garden of flowers and fruits and green grass, two hundred yards away is the blasted desolation of the Sahara.

The distribution of water, therefore, is done very methodically. There is, of course, the underground layer, in which rest the roots of the palms, but the surface water for the lesser vegetables is another matter. There is always a point where the water actually comes to the surface in the form of springs, and, of course, the river-bed which, during the winter rains, is running with water, sometimes after big storms is a raging torrent overflowing the land.

The water is, therefore, captured at these points and carried into the oasis by means of channels calledseguias, so inclined that the water is always flowing round the gardens. The oasis is, moreover, divided into areas, and the areas receive the water at regular intervals. A garden has so many minutes, according to its size, and it is calculated that the whole surface under cultivation is flooded for its appointed period once every seven days. The system is ingeniouslyworked by sluices, padlocked by the water controller of the area, who, when the appointed day occurs, lets in the water, while the owner of the domain diverts it into the necessary quarters on his own land, according to its need. At the end of the appointed time the controller closes the sluice-gates and floods the next garden. Rain is considered as an extra, and whatever the weather the water-day is continued.

Apart from gardening, which is the hobby of all good Laghouatis, there are other industries. Carpet-making and weaving, the occupation of the women of the south, is very important here, and some of the best burnouses and other woolen goods originate in Laghouat; and, of course, there is sheep-breeding; this is the great occupation in the northern Sahara, and a source of substantial revenue.

Some of the Jews are goldsmiths; they are also cobblers, and they embroider leather to make into bags and saddles.

A walk in the evening in the dancing-girls’ quarter will remove all the theatrical atmosphere which the same thing in Bou Saada has created. The streets and coffee-houses are thronged nightly summer and winter alike; the squeal of theraïtaand the beat of thetam-tamnever cease, and if one strolls in and sits down on a bench the performance will not change because of the entrance of the tourist. The women continue dancing slowly up and down the middle of the room, while the men sit in serried ranks and stare, sipping their coffee or mint tea. There is no charge except for the cup of harmless beverage which costs five sous. Sometimes a dancing-girl will hold out her hand, and will be delighted with a packet of cigarettes or a franc, and occasionally the band makes a collection, but there is none of that grasping rush to exploit tourists associated with those more popular centers.

There is little else to describe in the oasis, as the atmosphere of the past is impossible to realize for those who live in great cities. The lack of traffic, the blueness of the sky, the tall, feathery palms, the dignity of the Arabs, the silence—especially the silence—are things which must be seen and felt to be appreciated.

It is a setting of peace, an atmosphere of calm—a solution to the worries of modern life.

Thejourney south to Ghardaïa is very desolate; even the tufts of alfa have practically disappeared. The road runs straight across the flat plain, with nothing to relieve the eye except occasional groups of dreary trees known aspistachiers. Flocks of sheep graze by the roadside. The nomads’ tents stand out like black patches on the stony ground. Sometimes a herd of gazelles will be seen in the distance, bustards rise and flap languidly away, hares abound. It is a great country for hawking.

If the day is hot, mirages will spring up and disappear as quickly. It is not a picturesque journey to the land of the Mzab. Half-way, the caravanserai of Tilrempt is reached; it is a long white building standing in a dip surrounded bypistachiers. A very worthy “mine host” will greet the traveler and regale him in this desert home with one of the best meals he will taste in Algeria.

A visitors’ book will be presented to him, with which he can regale himself joyously for half an hour before committing himself to the pages as a further joy to those who follow. After Tilrempt the country becomes more and more desertic, even the alfa has completely vanished—only rough scrub, and little of that. Then suddenly, at the one hundred and fiftieth kilometer, the oasis of Berriane appears, a splash of vivid green in the middle of the wilderness. The sensation of the verdure, after miles of desert, is mostrefreshing. Berriane is the first city of the Mzab, and one is at once struck by the originality of the architecture, quite unlike anything that has been seen up till now. The minaret of the mosque reminds one of an obelisk.

But this haven of green is soon left behind, and more desolation begins. Not even the scrub, only stones and rocks and strips of sand. It is a merciless, arid desert, the kind of scene which must have inspired Doré to illustrate the Inferno of Dante: nothing to relieve the eye for miles around.

Ghardaïa is reached unexpectedly. One appears to be in the middle of the desert, when all of a sudden the road turns sharply to the right and dips down a steep hill. It is as if one were descending into the crater of a volcano. As the car reaches the flat there suddenly appears the cone-like minaret of Ghardaïa, as it piles itself into a kind of heap of houses on a little hill. To the left is the equally heap-like city of Melika. It is an impression never to be forgotten, a new world quite unlike anything seen before. But then the people of the Mzab are a race of their own, and the confederation of cities is quite unique. The Mzab is the Mzab, and it can be compared to nothing— it is the most original place in North Africa.

The first question to decide, however, before penetrating into its desolation and studying the inhabitants, is,Who are these people?And, curiously enough, the question is not easy to answer. It is obvious to the simplest minded, on seeing these small, squat men—with their smooth, round, white faces, fringed with dark beards—that they are unlike any one else seen in Algeria.

They are as different as the Spaniards from the Germans, as the British from the Italians. There are various theories put forward, of which the most picturesquecan not really be said to be founded on any sound basis: it is that these strange people are the lost tribe of Israel. In support of this theory we have the mystery of their origin, and their very Semitic appearance; but, though it would be pleasant to write a romance on the subject, it would certainly have little merit outside fiction.

The second suggestion is that they are the direct descendants of the old Phœnicians. People who oppose this idea bring forward the fact that when Scipio destroyed Carthage he killed or deported all the inhabitants. Against this, however, it must be evident that there were Carthaginians in other parts of North Africa who escaped this fate, and that Phœnician influence is found at a much later date.

In the Mzab itself there are certainly things very closely connected with Carthage. The triangular decoration of the houses, the pictures of fish, of the crescent moon, of the sun and the stars are not Arab. The door-knockers represent the sun, and there are many of phallic shape. But, in spite of these rather conclusive evidences, the general idea is that the people of the Mzab are pure Berbers. In support of this theory we have the fact that they are Abhadites—that is to say, the last group of people created by the great Kharedjite schism. What is certain is that the known groups of Abhadites at Oman, Zanzibar, Djebel Nefarsa and the island of Djerba have the same customs and language as the people of Ghardaïa.

The question then arises, why are these people in this desolation of the Sahara, on no natural highway, and in no trade center, where all the water comes from wells dug by the inhabitants, where it rains about once every ten years? Why have these men voluntarily condemned themselves to this life of trial and struggle? Those learned on the subject maintain thatthis exile was conceived in a moment of despair and as an act of faith, that in settling themselves in this merciless desert they wished once and for all to flee from the persecution which was always meted out to them by the orthodox Mohammedans, and keep their form of religion and race intact.

It seems difficult to contradict this theory, all the more so when we have evidence that they were driven from the Atlantic coast and Tiaret in Oranie to Ouargla, an oasis some two hundred kilometers south of Ghardaïa, and that, after barely two hundred years in this oasis, they were again driven out by the Arabs. Weary, therefore, of suffering, they determined to settle where no one would come and molest them, and, as the only solution was to find a place naturally hostile to invaders, they chose the Mzab. This took place aboutA. D.1070, but already in the year 1000 a reconnaissance had been made in the direction of the Mzab and had founded a kind of refuge at El Ateuf. When, therefore, the general emigration north took place, the remaining six cities which form the confederation of the Mzab soon sprang up—Bou, Noura, Melika, and Beni Sgen aboutA. D.1048; Ghardaïa 1053; and some hundred years later Guerrera and Berriane, thirty miles outside the group adjacent to Ghardaïa.

Unlike most oases of the south, where water comes gushing out of the ground and is directed by artificial channels to irrigate the gardens, there was no surface water at all on the site chosen by these people to found their cities. Every palm-tree planted, every seed sown had to be watered artificially from wells, and if one looks at the broad oasis, with its thousands of palm-trees, and when one realizes that when the Mzabites first came the land was as barren as that seen from the road, the feat performed leaves one amazed.

The system of drawing water has, moreover, notchanged since those days. The well is sunk and a kind of tank is built beside it, with channels leading out to the parts of the land to be irrigated. A sloping path is constructed, down which walks a camel with a rope tied to its neck, while at the other end of the rope is a skin resting at the water-level. When the camel gets to the end of his walk the skin reaches the surface and by an ingenious contrivance pours its contents into the tank; the camel returns to the well, thus lowering the skin to the water again, and the process recommences. The creaking sound of the pulley drawing up the skin has a certain curious charm reminding one of Egypt.

Occasionally, but very occasionally, the rain comes, and to meet this possibility barrages have been made across every little valley in order to form small lakes. Beside every path or rock, gutters have been constructed leading to one center where the water can be stored. A rain-storm in the Mzab is worth untold millions to its inhabitants.

And yet the Mzabite is not a farmer in any sense of the word, and unless he is himself forced through poverty to work in the garden he will avoid all contact with the soil and employ Arabs to look after the land. He is essentially a merchant, living in his shop and opposed to all outdoor life, all sport or anything military. This antipathy to war again raises the question as to whether he is really pure Berber. His cousins the Touaregs, the men of the Aurès and the Kabyle Mountains, the people of the Riff, are all born warriors. Why, then, has the Mzabite never been able to defend himself?

To my mind it confirms the theory that originally he was a Carthaginian who became Berberized. Moreover, his round, squat appearance is much more that which one would associate with the prosperous traderof Carthage than with the wild men of the Riff. All their instincts are for business. One sees these fat little men plying their trade in Algiers, in the towns of the Tell, living humbly and simply until the day is ripe to return to the Mzab. For return they must, and this because no woman is ever allowed to leave the confederation of the seven towns, and, as no Mzabite may marry an Arab or vice versa, he is obliged to go back to his home to continue the family. The family to him is of the highest importance, and though they are, generally speaking, a democratic race, they are very proud of their lineage, and their aristocracy holds an important position.

Their habits are decidedly conservative, and are very noticeable in the strictness with which their women are kept. They do not go to market, and it is very rare to see one in the street. The children are terribly shy, and at the approach of a stranger they flee and at once hide in the houses.

They observe their religion most conscientiously; as it is the Abhadite dissension it is very strict, and it is carried out to the last letter, and, whereas one finds a good many Arabs breaking the laws of the Prophet as it concerns wines and spirits, it is excessively rare to see a Mzabite drink.

Their mosques are much more respected than those of the orthodox Mohammedan; no one can be buried in them, and they are sanctuary to all criminals. Their cemeteries are venerated, and one sees on the tombs pots and plates, offerings to the dead, which again carries one back to a more subtle origin than that of the ordinary Berber. They sacrifice camels and oxen and sheep at appointed times, chiefly for the purpose of bringing down rain, but also for more daily occurrences, such as the laying of a foundation-stone.

As stated above, their commercial instincts areextraordinary, and it is said that Ghardaïa and the adjacent towns conceal millions of gold pieces. It is certain that in 1921, the year of the great famine, these people had enough money to buy all they needed, and they did not suffer half as much as the other tribes of the south.

They keep themselves very much apart from all other people, and they consider the Mzab as a holy corner of the earth. The Arabs who live in this wilderness are kept quite separate, with a quarter and a mosque of their own, and, while mutually despising one another, are usually the servants of the Mzabites. The Jews likewise who are found in Ghardaïa itself, not only have a reserved quarter of the town but they also wear a peculiar dress, and are treated with the utmost contempt. In fact, in all ways the people of the Mzab are quite different from any other race in North Africa, and the study of their history and customs would give material for a lengthy book. It is hoped, however, that these few pages will enable the traveler to realize that he is no longer among the simple Arabs of the great plain, but in the midst of a strange people whose origin will always remain a mystery.

Duringthe journey south we have passed Berriane, the outpost of the Mzab, and of later foundation than the other towns. Guerrera is on the journey to Touggourt; the remaining five towns of the confederation are before us in this kind of desolate rock crater. The most important and the largest of them is Ghardaïa, lying at the foot of the militarybordj, where it is necessary to pass the night. On a rocky eminence to the east is Melika, further on, the holy city of Beni Sgen, and out of sight, but only a few miles distant, are Bou Noura and El Ateuf.

To the south again there is another oasis called Metlili, which some people erroneously comprise in the confederation of the Mzab, but though in many ways it has Mzabite characteristics it is in reality a town of the tribe of the Chambas, nomads who inhabit a vast area of the Sahara beyond Ghardaïa.

The first thing that strikes one as one looks at Ghardaïa is the way the houses pile themselves up into a heap, rather like a giant ant-hill which is, in its turn, surmounted by the minaret made of mud, resembling an obelisk with little holes in the top. Moreover, if we turn and look at Melika and Beni Sgen we are struck by the same similarity of construction which we saw at Berriane and which we shall see in all the towns of the Mzab.

The origin of these cones is easy to find. As each town was founded, the group of elders whose dutyit was to carry out this rite first of all built the mosque on a hilltop; this mosque was at the same time a store for food and arms as well as a fortress. Consequently the people grouped themselves on the slopes beneath. This again is evidence of the great antiquity of the race, for is it not known that all early religious orders frequented heights and that nowadays theosophists refer a great deal to the influence of high places on their mysticism? The effect is very curious, and even if the aspect of the people does not create an impression, their architecture surely will. Descending from the eminence on which is situated thebordj, a narrow street will be followed, which suddenly leads out into a broad square, surrounded by unsymmetrical arcades. If thecaïdis at home he will probably permit the visitor to mount to his roof and look down on this animated center and up toward the tall minaret. In the middle of the square is a kind of stone stage where, on certain days, justice is administered, while close by will be seen a curious group of stones set out in a horseshoe formation. This strange circle marks the site where the elders of the city first sat down in the open plain a thousand years ago to found Ghardaïa.

Leaving the square, the route to take is up a narrow street leading direct to the mosque. The houses almost meet, and in certain places the alley is tunneled through the habitations. A narrow passage leads up to the mosque, and if one has a competent guide a dark chamber can be visited which is a place of ablution, but which, in days gone by, was the scene of political conspiracies. The mosque itself is quite unlike anything one has seen before. The pillars are neither Turkish nor Roman, the architecture has no sort of connection with any known style. In the wall are holes to place shoes before going into the sanctuary to pray; hanging from the roof is a skin fullof water, the greatest sign of charity in this country where water is more valuable than gold.

Above, a kind of cage covered in with wire netting, reminding one of a chicken-run or rabbit-hutch, leaves one wondering. A hundred guesses will not elucidate the mystery—it is the lost-property office!

Climbing on to the roof, a panoramic view of the town spreads itself below. To the east the Jewish quarter, with a curious pyramid-like synagogue; to the west the Arab quarter, with an insignificant mosque; to the south the more modern buildings, with the house of the White Fathers, while away in the distance can be seen the beginning of the great oasis, brilliant green against the barren hills.

If one is lucky one may see from here the strange sight of a man selling his house. There he stands on the roof while the would-be purchasers squat round making bids.

The walk can be continued through the narrow streets past wells three hundred feet deep with the eternal skin dangling at the end of a long rope. A visit is recommended to the Convent of the White Sisters, who teach the little girls to weave carpets in the patterns peculiar to the country, and if souvenirs are wanted it is advised to buy them here. Likewise at the house of the White Fathers leather goods of the country can also be had at moderate prices.

Returning toward the fort a series of cemeteries will be passed, as well as a broad open space, where on special occasions the public prayer takes place. A morning will suffice for Ghardaïa, and the afternoon can be devoted to the other cities.

The most interesting place to see is the holy city of Beni Sgen and its oasis, but as this will not take the whole afternoon part of the time can be devoted to Melika, Bou Noura or El Ateuf. I would suggestBou Noura. Melika involves a very steep climb up a cliff and El Ateuf a motor drive over a very bad road. Moreover, all these cities are much alike. What strikes one most is their poverty in comparison with Ghardaïa; all the rich merchants are there, and even the inhabitants of the other towns come to the capital to do business.

After visiting Bou Noura, therefore, a walk can be taken in the oasis behind Beni Sgen. A wide area of verdure relieves the eye, and though the palm-trees are squat like the inhabitants, it is a very refreshing place. There is a barrage of brick drawn right across the oasis to catch any stray water which some unforeseen storm may bring. Here the wells and the method of working them may be seen at close quarters.

Beni Sgen should be reached about the middle of the afternoon, and this for a reason to be explained later. Of all the curious towns in this strange country the holy city is the most curious. It is entirely walled in, with three gates piercing the walls at the north, the east, and the west. No Arab, Christian or Jew is permitted to linger within its keep after sunset; no smoking is allowed in the houses nor in the streets; even the French school is built outside the wall. At the entrance of the northern gate the skin of water hangs in sign of charity.

Climbing up a steep alley one comes to a tower; the key is usually available, and, entering, one can ascend the winding steps which lead one successively to three stories which at one time were guardrooms. From the summit one obtains a magnificent view of the town itself as well as of the oases of Ghardaïa, Melika and Bou Noura. Immediately below the tower is a little cemetery where one will note the offerings to the dead in the shape of plates and jars. To the east are two broad platforms for the public prayer.

Back to Index Next