Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
of rough, sand-blasted vagabonds who seemed to have stepped straight out of some desert
past.
Ahmad was the first to speak. From up on Burton, he cried out, 'You, lads! We are Be-
douin of the Hawawir tribe. We come in peace. Now tell us . . .' He leaned forward, half
mischievous, half menacing: 'Is there a well near?'
In silence, the boys exchanged a look, their faces transforming from nervous horror to
relief. The first lifted his hand and pointed towards a crevice, only a few hundred metres
to our west. Raising his whip in thanks, Ahmad reined Burton around and took off.
Summoning what vestiges of energy we had left, we hurried into the valley. For the first
time in a hundred miles, the desert plain opened up with trees and bushes, tall and green,
growing thicker and more verdant with every step. Between the trees stood crudely con-
structed stone corrals, seasonal pens for whatever nomadic herders used this route through
the desert. We rounded the corrals, dropped into a crevice between the rocks - and there,
surrounded by stones carved in intricate design, stood the well. A rope trailed out of its
open mouth, a single bucket beckoning us to come and drink our fill.
Ash and Moez hurtled forward. The camels, too, must have smelt water - for suddenly
there was no stopping them as they charged towards it. Dumping our bags under the shade
of an acacia, Will and I dragged the jerry cans to the lip of the well. My entire body was
telling me to dive into its sweet depths and never come up again, but Moez, Awad and
Ahmad were already praying and we waited for them to finish.
After that: we drank, and drank, and drank.
For the first time that day, I felt human, my tongue no longer numb and shrivelled. Just
a few seconds was all it took for the water to touch every corner of my body. I was alive
again.
'Well done, Wood.' Ash winked, finishing his second litre. 'I never doubted you.'
Alongside us, Awad was digging a small pit, laying a tarpaulin inside and filling it with
water for the camels to drink their fill. Burton, Speke and Gordon - in that order - hustled
each other to the pit and I watched as the water brought life back to their eyes.
Once I had regained my senses, I turned to the well. Here we were, miles and miles
away from the Nile, in the middle of the desert - and yet, somehow, someone, hundreds of
years ago, had known to dig here and provide water for the generations to come. We, very
simply, owed them our lives.
'But where does it come from?' I asked, turning to Moez.
'I don't know,' he replied. 'Let me ask.' Turning to Ahmad, he posed the question in Ar-
abic. Ahmad smiled, busy smoking one of his cigarettes in triumph; and when he replied,
I did not need a translator to understand the answer:
'Allah.'
