Chapter VII: The Peace of Jaghbub

ON the afternoon of the second day after the meeting with Sayed Idris we saw the snow-white _kubba_ (dome) of the mosque at Jaghbub rising before us. In proper Bedouin fashion we camped a short distance from the town and sent a messenger ahead to announce our arrival. Two hours later he returned to say that they were ready to receive us. The caravan went forward, and as it approached the walls we fired our rifles in the air. We were met at the gate by Sidi Hussein, the _wakil_, or representative of Sayed Idris in the town, accompanied by a group of _ikhwan_, who are teachers in the school. The students lined up along the way and gave a cheer as we went through. The warmth of the welcome aroused an echo in our hearts.

Entering Jaghbub was to me like coming home. Two years before it had been close to the finish of our journey; now it stood as a starting-point, one of several, it is true, but still a starting-point, on the greater journey that was to come. The first time at Jaghbub had been marked by the reaction that comes when the long trek is over. Now I was expectant and excited. Journey’s end and trek’s beginning are both great moments, but the emotions they arouse are not the same.

I was impatient to start again. But one month and four days were to pass before I took the road, for there were no camels waiting for me. Before leaving Sollum I had sent a man, Sayed Ali El Seati, by the direct route to Jaghbub to hire camels and have them waiting when I should arrive over the longer route by way of Siwa. But Ali had apparently vanished into thin air. He had gone as far as Jedabia, I learned, without success, for none of the Bedouins on the way from Sollum would let him have the beasts I wanted. At Jedabia, too, he had found no camels available. I waited two weeks with no sign of Ali. Then I discovered that the reason he could get no camels was because the road from Jaghbub to Jalo was used exclusively by Bedouins of the Zwaya and Majabra tribes, and no other Bedouins dared to venture upon it.

Though I was eager to get going again, I could not resist the charm and peace of the place in which I found myself immured. Jaghbub is a center of education and religion. There is no trade there and no cultivation of the soil, except for some small bits of oases where former slaves, who had been freed by Sayed El Mahdi when he moved to Kufra, grew vegetables and a few dates. The life of the town centers about the mosque, which is large enough to hold five or six hundred persons, and the school, which is the center of religious education for the Senussis. Near the mosque are a few houses belonging to the Senussi family and the _ikhwan_; and scattered about both within and without the walls are a number of private houses. Buildings with rooms for some two or three hundred students are also grouped near the mosque.

Jaghbub had reached the height of its importance when Sayed Ibn Ali, the Grand Senussi, made it the center of the brotherhood. When his son, Sayed El Mahdi, succeeded him, the importance of the town continued for about a dozen years until he transferred the center of the brotherhood’s activities to Kufra. Then when Sayed Ahmed El Sherif, as guardian of young Sayed Idris, was in control, Jaghbub again flourished as the capital. Its importance has fluctuated through the years with the presence or absence of the heads of the family within its walls. If Sayed Idris were to make it again the seat of the Senussi rule, in two months the school and the town would be overflowing with members of the brotherhood, with students, and with pious visitors to the shrine of the Grand Senussi.

But at the time of my visit there were only eighty young Bedouins—from eight to fifteen years of age—studying under the _ikhwan_. If there had been more teachers there would have been more students. But at the time of our visit the head of the Senussi family, whom we had met on his way to Egypt, had his headquarters in Jedabia, far to the westward.

In an inner room of the mosque a beautifully wrought cage of brass incloses the tomb where lies the body of that great man, who sought for his people a pure, austere, and rigidly simple form of Islam, untainted by contact with the outside world. To this shrine every adherent of the brotherhood who can accomplish the journey comes to pay homage and to renew his vows. The students of the school come to Jaghbub with one of two purposes, either to fit themselves to become _ikhwan_, the brothers of the fraternity, or simply to go back to their homes in the oases educated men with a right to spiritual leadership in their communities.

Except for the annoying problem of getting camels to take my expedition to Jalo, about 350 kilometers away to the westward, my life in Jaghbub was one of peaceful reflection and preparation for the undertaking before me.

The mosque was founded eighty years ago by Sayed Ibn Ali El Senussi, the founder of the Senussi sect, which is followed by all the Bedouins of Cyrenaica.]

The desert demands and induces a quite different attitude of mind and of spirit from the bustling life of the city. As I wandered about the little town and out into the oasis around it, or stood in the cool, shadowed spaces of the mosque, or sat at times in the tower above it in conversation with learned Bedouins, watching the night fall over the milk-white _kubba_ and the brown mass of buildings it dominates, there dropped away from me all the worries and perplexities and problems that the sophisticated life of crowded places brings in its train. Day after day passed, with a morning’s walk, midday prayers in the mosque, a quiet meal, a little work with my instruments or cameras, afternoon prayers, another walk, a meal, followed by the distribution to my men of friendly glasses of tea according to the Bedouin custom, again prayers, and, after quiet contemplation of the evening sky with its peaceful stars, retirement to sleep such as the harassed city dweller does not know.

Among all the _ikhwan_ whom I met and talked with at Jaghbub, there was one who particularly interested me, for he would neither sit and talk with me himself nor could I learn from his brother _ikhwan_ the reason for his strange aloofness. At length, by chance, I learned the story of Sidi Adam Bu Gmaira.

Sidi Adam is a withered old man with a refined proud face and a bitter twist to his mouth. Life has not been kind to him in his old age. On my first visit to Jaghbub I stayed at his empty house for three days. I had no chance then of a long conversation with him. This time he came to see me on the evening of my arrival to welcome me back to Jaghbub. I felt that a tragedy lay behind this old man. He is one of the Barassa tribe, one of the élite among the Bedouins, and he is as proud as any of them; yet he does not accept his fate, and for some time I wondered how it was that he, a Bedouin, had not learned to do so. All around me at Jaghbub were types of benevolent humanity. Sidi Adam alone stood out distinct from his brethren, a tragic picture of beaten pride.

Late one evening, as I was coming back from the mosque after prayers, I found Mabrouk, an old slave of Sidi El Mahdi’s. “Peace be on you and the blessing of God,” I greeted him.

“And on you, my master, and God’s mercy and blessing,” he replied.

I sat down with him, and we began talking about the little patch of cultivation to which he was attending. “Ei!” he exclaimed; “we have not much food, but by the blessing of Sidi El Mahdi the little we have is as great as abundance anywhere else.”

Just then a frail, tall figure in a white robe flitted like a ghost across the courtyard. It was Adam Bu Gmaira. “There goes Sidi Adam,” I said, pointing after him. “He was not looking well when he came to see me to-day. What ails him, I wonder?”

“Nay, it is not his health, my master. It is an unlucky man who incurs the displeasure of our masters”—meaning the Senussi chiefs. “The poor man is suffering for his brother’s bad faith.”

It was then that the story of Bu Gmaira was unfolded to me by Mabrouk.

Sidi Bu Seif Bu Gmaira, Adam’s brother, was at one time the trusted and all-powerful _wakil_ of Sidi El Mahdi at Jaghbub. When he was quite a child a wall fell on him and smashed in his head. The great Sidi El Senussi, founder of the sect, was fortunately near-by. He took the child’s head and bandaged it together, saying, “This head will one day be a fountain of knowledge and enlightenment.” His prophecy came true. Bu Seif’s father sent the child to Jaghbub when the Grand Senussi settled there and left him to study at the mosque of Jaghbub. He became the leading _ikhwan_ and great professor of Jaghbub. He was also a poet of no small merit. After the death of the Grand Senussi, Sidi El Mahdi took him up and made him his sole _wakil_ at Jaghbub when he left for Kufra, intrusting him with all his property and the management thereof. But God willed that he should become an example to the other _ikhwan_ of one who betrays the _asyad’s_ [master’s] trust. He ran with the world and was seduced by her. He squandered much of Sidi El Mahdi’s property and sold many of his slaves, putting the money in his own pocket. It was decreed that he should be punished. He wrote a letter to a big governor in Egypt telling him that Sidi El Mahdi was away at Kufra, that there was no one at Jaghbub to defend it, and that it was an opportune moment to occupy the place. (Why he did this is inconceivable as nobody ever had any desire to occupy Jaghbub, but doubtless Bu Seif thought he might get something out of it.)

At that time Sidi Mohammed El Abid El Senussi, a nephew of El Mahdi, was staying at Jaghbub. He heard that Bu Seif had written a letter and was sending it to Egypt and that he had arranged for a messenger to take it across the frontier after nightfall. El Abid at once despatched two _ikhwan_ to waylay the messenger and bring him back the letter. Two days later the messenger was brought. El Abid saw the letter but said nothing to Bu Seif. He simply ordered a caravan to be prepared for Kufra and asked Bu Seif to accompany him. The latter tried to excuse himself on account of old age and health, but El Abid insisted. He had no alternative but to go. So they set out on the silent journey across the desert, and on arrival at Kufra the letter was shown by El Abid to Sidi El Mahdi.

The mosque is built on the same lines as the dome at Medina. It is always kept clean and whitewashed and forms a distant landmark for all those approaching Jaghbub.

On the Friday following their arrival after the midday prayers at the mosque of Taj in Kufra, Sidi El Mahdi called together all the _ikhwan_, including Bu Seif. “Sidi Bu Seif, thou knowest what thou hast done.” There was a hush. Everybody in the mosque tingled with excitement, knowing there was something to come. “But we shall not punish thee. Thou shalt live; thou shalt draw thy pay and thy rations according to custom. God alone will punish those who have betrayed our trust. But thou shalt read aloud to this gathering of _ikhwan_ the letter which thou hast written with thine own hand.”

Bu Seif had no alternative but to read the letter. The _ikhwan_ were silent, though there was much surprise, for this was thought to be the most trusted man of Sayed El Mahdi.

“Henceforward thou shalt be relieved of the trouble of looking after our affairs,” said Sidi El Mahdi, dismissing him. Bu Seif was then led to his house a sick man. He died a few days later. His two sons died in the following few months. His remaining two daughters were taken in marriage by members of the Senussi family. All his books—and it is said he possessed the best library in the Senussi circle—and his property were taken by the Senussi family. The only remaining man of his family is Adam, his brother, who had inherited the empty house at Jaghbub and the stigma attaching thereto. With the death of Adam the family will be extinct.