Travels in the Great Desert of Sahara, in the Years of 1845 and 1846Richardson, James
History
Travels in the Great Desert of Sahara, in the Years of 1845 and 1846
Richardson, James
Sahara -- Description and travel
I have had my share of honour and hospitality, and am glad of it. I shall
now be cautious what I eat. But I find everything is exceedingly dear,
the number of strangers, foreign merchants, and slaves, is so unusually
great as quickly to devour all the food brought here.
Yesterday I made the acquaintance of Haj Ibrahim, a Moorish merchant
resident in Tripoli, but a native of Jerbah. When in Tripoli he acts as
Consul for the Ghadamsee merchants; his brother is now in charge.
Mustapha came with him direct from Tripoli, not passing through Mourzuk,
but _viâ_ the oases of Fezzan to the west. So an European agent
established at Mourzuk, cannot well collect a statistical account of
trade, on account of few Ghat caravans travelling the Mourzuk route. Haj
Ibrahim promises to be useful to me, and has already sent a letter for me
to Ghadames. This merchant has brought the largest amount of goods to the
Souk, about forty camels. The whole of the Soudan ghafalah has not yet
arrived from Aheer. It comes in by small detached parties. As there is
nothing to fear on the road, people prefer travelling in small
companies, which facilitates their march, not being detained at the
wells waiting for the running of the water.
I have _cut_ in a certain way my old friends of the Ghadamsee ghafalah.
This has done them good, for they now begin to return to me, and are
polite. Before they were all so frightened at the Touaricks, that I knew
if I did not cut them, they would cut me. Now, when seeing the Touaricks
are friendly, they are also friendly;--such is the world of Sahara, as
well as the world of Paris or London. When a man has few friends he gets
less, when many he gets more. On the principle, I suppose, that money
gets money, and friendship friendship. The Moors of the coast, of whom
there are a few here, exhibit more courage, and a bolder front to the
Touaricks. The worst of this place is, _The Rabble_. It is the veritable
Caboul, or Canton _Rabble_. Here's my "great difficulty." They run after
me, and even hoot me in the streets. Were it not for this rabble, I could
walk about with the greatest freedom and safety, and alone.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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