Fountains In The Sand Rambles Among The Oases Of Tunisia

sis visible from the Meda Hill, at the foot of those bar

nt odour of ammonia that almost suffocates you. Once the water-zone of Gafsa is passed, every trace of cultivation vanishes. And yet, to judge by the number of potsherds lying about, houses must have stood here in days of ol

are th

and vegetables and then loses itself in the sand; a second spring, sulphureous and medicinal, but destructive to plants

n their passions; and a few Arabs that live in the large white house, or camp on the plain around. They told me that the descendants of th

d easily visible from Gafsa. On its slopes I struck a vein of iron, another of those scientific discoveries, no doubt, like the flint implements, in which someone else will have anticipat

e valley. From this point it is easy to realize, as did the commander of that French expedition, the significance of this speck of culture, its strategic value: Gafsa is a veritable key

of the Oued Baiesh has in olden days, when it wandered with less capricious flow, carved itself a channel through the opening-there, at the very narrowest point-sits the oasis. A tangle of palms that sweep so

ION: The L

look towards the distant green plantations, with a shimmering level in the foreground; on your other side lies the Oued Baiesh, crossed by the track to Kairouan, where strings of camels are for ever moving to and fro, laden with merchandise from the north or with desert pro

with Professor Koken's conglomerate; above and below this oasis-region the river-bed is generally dry. It must be a wonderful sight, however, when the place is in flood-a deluge of liquid ooze careering madl

Gafsa is a rallying-point, and must be prepared for emergencies. Here, too, lie the cemeteries: the Jewish, fronting the main road, with a decent enclosure; that of the Christians, framed in a wire fence and containing a few wooden crosses, imit

between the latest of these stone-age primevals and the first Egyptian invasion of Gafsa we know nothing; they, the Egyptians, brought with them that plough which is fig

ther trees are set in these hollows for the sake of the shade and moisture, and their crowns barely reach the level of the soil. This is no place to wander about at night-a false step in the darkness and a man would break his ne

his of the Sidi Mansur water. And who, you ask, was to blame for these follies? Oh, the controlleur, as usual; always the controlleur! It is no sinecure being an official of

ents, if you do not mind a little native esprit de corps, you will be able to thaw your frozen limbs; all the other rooms of Gafsa, public and private, are like ice-cellars. There are many of these

ovement at the wood-market-a large tract of "boulevard" encumbered with the impedimenta of nomadism. There is a ceaseless unloading of fuel here; bargains are struck about sheep and goats, the hapless quadruped, that refuses to accompany its new purchaser good-naturedly, being lifted up by the hind legs and made to walk in undignified fashion on

: Café by the

ates like some high priest at the altar. You may have milk, or the mixture known as coffee, or tea flavoured in Moroccan style with mint, or with cinnamon, or pepper. The water-vessels stew everlastingly upon a slow fire fed with the residue of pressed olives. Or, if too poor, you may take a drink of water out of the large clay tub that stands by the door. Often a beggar will st

o still finer particles by means of a semicircular blade, deftly blowing away the dust-this brings out its strength. He is in no hurry; it is a ceremony rather than a task. Slowly he separates the coarser from the

ul of the precious mixture. Two or three whiffs, deeply inhaled, stream out at mouth and nostrils; then the pipe

ifferently; but I think that, as a general effect, you will discover a genial warmth stealing through

ttle stone casts an inordinate shadow behind it, clothes itself in demure shades of pearl. Fine, and all too brief. For even before the descending sun has touched the rim of the world the colours fade away; only overhead the play of blues and greens continues-freezing, at last, to pale indigo. Fine, but somewhat trit

shrouded figures come and go. They have lighted the lamp yon

ashing through the river of mud, leaves a momentary track of silver in its rear. There are the nights, of course, with their bustle and flare, but nights in a city are apt to gro

arvel that so few of our poets have responded to its beauty and signification. They find it easier, doubtless, to warble a spring song or two. The fierce pulsations of industry, the shiftings of gold that make and mar human happiness-these are themes reserved for the bard of the future who shall strike, bravely, a new chord, extracting from the sombre facts of city life a thr

rst, his head drooping within the folds of his cloak, he has slowly succumbed; he has kicked off his s

or, as usual. Ah, Mr. Koken, Mr. Koken-those light words of yours have borne a heavy fruit. I possess four hundred implements now, and they will double the weight of my luggage an

lloux! Monsieur

ing, with the result of being arrested for smuggling forbidden mining sa