The charm of water in the waste! This Seldja-brook
is a true child of the sun; cold in the morning and evening hours, its
restless little heart becomes tepid at midday with the glowing beams.
Spiky reeds and tamarisks trip alongside, and the wild fig thrusts
demoniac roots into the crevices; here and there you may see a group of
oleasters, descendants, maybe, of the now vanished Roman olive plantations
in the plain, or a stunted palm that has shot up from the stone cast away
by some passing caravan. For these Oueds are all highways dating from
immemorial ages; there is a ceaseless passage of man and animals along
them.
We passed numbers of camels, groaning and snorting among the slippery
rocks, with the water splashing over their feet; higher up, a large
descending flock of sheep, over six hundred of them, completely blocked up
the valley. They were being led to the plain below, where, thanks to the
recent rains, a succulent but ephemeral crop of green had sprung up. Their
owner was a fine Boujaja, some six and a half feet in height, accompanied
by a sturdy brood of children: milk-drinkers.
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