I CHAPTER X IN THE HEART OF THE SAHARA AM at Beni Ounif in southwestern Algeria, in one of the wildest parts of the greatest desert on earth. On all sides of me, stretching to the west, south, and east for hundreds of miles is the Sahara. It is so big that if you could lift up its sandy, rocky surface like a quilt and carry it across the Atlantic, it would cover every bit of the United States and hide a part of Canada and the Gulf of Mexico as well. It is longer than the Mediterranean Sea and larger than all Europe. In some places it is two thousand miles wide. Here at Beni Ounif I am more than four hundred miles south of the port of Oran and about twelve hundred miles from Timbuktu on the Niger, where the great fertile belt of North Central Africa begins. This little town is on the very edge of the French Sahara. Just west of it are wild, rocky mountains as bare as the asphalt of our American city streets and as thirsty as was Dives when he begged Lazarus to cool his parched tongue. They mark the boundary between Algeria and Morocco. But the desert goes on farther westward, and on the southwest it does not stop until it reaches the Atlantic Ocean. I came here from Oran on the military railroad built by the French to guard their people in Algeria from the brigands of Morocco. Railway travel in northern Africa is far different from that of the United States. In comparison with us these people are still a century or so behind the times. Express trains do not make more than fifteen or twenty miles an hour, and the railroad clocks at the stations are purposely kept five minutes behind other timepieces in order that passengers may not get left. The methods of ticket selling and baggage checking are such that one must be at the train at least a quarter of an hour before starting. Once there, he will have to wait his turn with a crowd of Arabs, each of whom consumes at least two minutes at the ticket office and twice that time with the baggage master. If the ticket is a return, the agent figures out a reduction off the regular fare and makes a memorandum of the amount in a ledger as well as on the ticket itself. The ordinary tickets are somewhat like ours, but the "returns" and excursion certificates are the size of a legal document and quite as imposing. Everything must be weighed, and only about seventy pounds of baggage are allowed free. There is a tax of two cents for checking, and the agent registers the weight whether it is below seventy pounds or not. The checks are not made of cardboard or brass, as in our country, but are merely receipts on a thin tough paper so arranged that one half of each receipt can be given to the passenger while the other is doubled up and tied with a string to the baggage. Most of the natives carry their belongings in bags not unlike coffee sacks, and much of the checked luggage is of that nature. At the stations the poorer Arabs throw these bags over their shoulders and march off with them. First- and second-class passengers may take numerous valises and bundles into the cars. I am now travelling with nine packages, all of which go into the compartment with me. At every change the porters take my stuff in and out for me, but at such low rates that the cost of handling is little. Four cents is a big enough fee for one man, and a single good husky Arab can carry all my baggage. The first- and second-class compartments are comfortable. I can travel first class, sometimes having a whole compartment for myself and my son. The cars are divided into little box-like rooms by partitions running crosswise. They are usually entered from the sides, so that it is not possible to go through a whole train as in our country. The seats are well cushioned, and as the windows are large and clean, we can get a fine view of the country as we go along. The second- and third-class cars are divided up in the same way, the second class being almost as good as the first. The third-class seats are bare board benches, usually filled with Arabs, Moors, and Kabyles, with a sprinkling of soldiers. The latter receive such small wages that they cannot travel in luxury. Some years ago dining cars were put on some of these Algerian trains, but many still stop at the stations for luncheon and dinner. At every station there is a lunch room, called a buvette. The usual rate for dinner is about forty cents, for which one gets an excellent meal with the customary quart bottle of white or red wine thrown in. Luncheons are often put up and brought to the cars at a cost of about fifty cents each. For that one gets two slices of roast beef or half a chicken, several boiled eggs, and also cheese, sweet cakes, and fruit, and, of course, the wine. |