Free Arabian Sands by Wilfred Thesiger Page B

camped in family groups on the downs. They owned small humpless cattle, a few camels, and flocks of goats, but no sheep, horses, or dogs. Most of the families owned twenty to thirty cows. Thomas mentioned in his book that when a man died his family sacrificed half his cows. He thought that this custom was peculiar to them, but apparently the Wahiba, a Bedu tribe in Oman, do the same. They also had another strange practice which hitherto I had seen only among the Nuer in the southern Sudan. Before a man milked a cow – women were forbidden even to touch the udders – he would sometimes put his lips to the cow’ s vagina and blow into it to induce the cow to lower her milk. These Qarra told me that they would remain here till January and then move down to the foot of the mountain and collect in large cattle camps – one of which we had passed on the way – small grass shelters crowded together in the mouth of the valley. When the monsoon started they would move back into the valleys and shelter their animals in caves in the limestone cliffs, or in low dark byres made of stones and roofed with matted grass.
    I stayed there for ten days. Then I heard rumours that theBait Kathir, who were to go with me, were in Salala, and I decided to go back. Some Qarra came with us. They carried butter, firewood, and a pot of wild honey which they would sell in the market. They said they would buy dried sardines, which they feed to their animals later in the season when the grazing gets scarce.
    On my return the Wali invited me to meet some of the Bait Kathir who were to go with me. There were eight of them sitting with him when I arrived. Six wore head-cloths and Arab shirts reaching half-way down their calves; two were bareheaded and dressed only in loin-cloths. All wore daggers and cartridge belts; they had left their rifles outside the audience hall. While we drank coffee and ate dates I wondered how I should get on with these people. An old man with a fringe of white beard and twinkling eyes, Salim Tamtaim, was their head sheikh. The Wali said he was eighty, but still vigorous, having just married another wife; and the old man exclaimed ‘Eh, by God, I can still ride and shoot.’ I noticed especially a man called Sultan who looked more like a Red Indian than an Arab. The others deferred to him rather than to Tamtaim, and I remembered that the Qarra had said: ‘Sultan has arrived in Salala with the Bait Kathir’ It was obvious that he was their leader. He had a striking face, austere, lined, and hairless, except for a few hairs growing in a curl on his chin. The Wali pointed to another of them and said: ‘Musallim will shoot meat for you. He is famous as a hunter.’ The man of whom he spoke was dressed in a clean white shirt, and an embroidered head-cloth. He was a small man, like all the others, but he was more solidly built and slightly bow-legged. He looked more of a townsman than a Bedu. I arranged with them that they should fetch me next morning from the R.A.F. camp.
    They arrived after breakfast accompanied by a large crowd from Salala. They were a wild-looking lot, most of them wearing only lojn-cloths, and all of them armed with rifles and daggers. I showed old Tamtaim and Sultan the food I had provided for the journey – rice, flour, dates, sugar, tea, coffee, and liquid butter. With the help of the R.A.F. storeman I had done it up in sacks in what seemed to me suitable-sizedloads, but Sultan said at once that they were too heavy. They undid them and started to repack, pouring the rice, flour, and sugar into dirty-looking goatskin bags. They argued endlessly among themselves, shouting in harsh voices. The camels were led up and couched, but they struggled roaring to their feet, and were couched again. An unkempt savage with inflamed eyes and a tangled mop of hair refused to allow a camel to be loaded, and started to lead it away. Someone else seized the camel’s halter, and I thought they were going to fight. Everyone