In
Somali-Land The Well Is No Place Of Social Meeting; No Man Lingers To Chat
Near It, No Woman Visits It, And The Traveller Fears To Pitch Hut Where
Torrents Descend, And Where Enemies, Human And Bestial, Meet.
We sat under a tree watching the tribe defile across the water-course:
then remounting, after a ride of
Two miles, we reached a ground called
Kuranyali [30], upon which the wigwams of the Nomads were already rising.
The parched and treeless stubble lies about eight miles from and 145° S.E.
of Gudingaras; both places are supplied by Angagarri, a well near the sea,
which is so distant that cattle, to return before nightfall, must start
early in the morning.
My attendants had pitched the Gurgi or hut: the Hammal and Long Guled
were, however, sulky on account of my absence, and the Kalendar appeared
disposed to be mutinous. The End of Time, who never lost an opportunity to
make mischief, whispered in my ear, "Despise thy wife, thy son, and thy
servant, or they despise thee!" The old saw was not wanted, however, to
procure for them a sound scolding. Nothing is worse for the Eastern
traveller than the habit of "sending to Coventry:"--it does away with all
manner of discipline.
We halted that day at Kuranyali, preparing water and milk for two long
marches over the desert to the hills. Being near the shore, the air was
cloudy, although men prayed for a shower in vain: about midday the
pleasant seabreeze fanned our cheeks, and the plain was thronged with tall
pillars of white sand.
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