Chapter XXVII: The First Glimpse of the Sahara

Leaving Bou 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, means _children 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 the _col 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 a place 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 the _bassours_ in 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 the sky; 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 the _bash agha’s_ Turkish 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.