Tunisia - The Semi-Nomads from Douz
When the scanty briers in the desert-steppe around Douz get slight
green tips, the inhabitants of the surrounding hamlets of the Marazig
tribe, who have lived for a long time in stone-houses with running
water and electricity, pack up their tents and their cattle-goats,
sheep or camels - and leave like once their fathers for the desert.
About 30 km away from their home, they stay there until the summer
heat burns up the last verdure. But in this nomadic life there is
some luxury. Nearby there is a good beaten track so that the drinking
water can be delivered by car. It is a little different with the
burning material. The bedouin-woman has to walk like in former times
for many km, chops the knotty briers with their roots and carries
the huge babes on her back to the tent. The thick part gives the
glow for the cooking-fire, the dry twigs give the light in the evening.
The old ones go outside. On account of the children they once moved
into the hamlets to enable them to get a proper school education.
Today they work at the local authority as clerks, at banks or tourism.
But at the weekend, as soon as the youngest come from school, the
whole family go out on a small lorry or on motor-bikes, with food,
fresh vegetables and fruit. The nomad-soul only slumbers, an evening
under the starry sky of the desert is nicer than Douz with ist new
built de-luxe hotels directly at the big dune El Hofra.
That evening about 20 members of the family met, and I was allowed
to join them. In front of the brown tent, hand-woven of camel- and
goat wool, the women prepared the meal. The bread-dough of flour,
salt and water is kneaded in broad bowls; an other woman is peeling
the vegetables. Grandmother returns with the huge wood-bale and
sets it in fire where later on the bread should be baked. Meanwhile
the daughter-in-law has put the kettle with meat and vegetables
onto the fire. It is a wonderful calm evening, which is very unusual
in the sahara. On one side the women are working, on the other the
men are sitting in a circle chatting. No one gets the idea of helping
the women.
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Ein Nomadenzelt aus Ziegenhaar. |
The duties are exactly fixed, they have carried out their dayily
task in town. A great number of children fool about, they have enough
team-mates and a lot of room to move about on the track which is
only a few hundred meters away from us, and rarely a car passes
by.
Shortly before the sunset the goats return from their looking for
feed. Nobody has taken care of them, they just follow their instinct
which brings them back to the tent. The grown up animals are fastened
up in a fold made of briers which also is a task of women. The young
animals are tied up inside the tent. There are many jackals and
a kid would be just fine. But htey don't dare go near the people.
The women shove the red glow of the bread-fire aside, place the
flat cake into the hollow, heap up hot sand on it and put a second
flat cake onto it which will be covered with glow. Later on the
ash and sand are removed and you get a tasty flat bread.
Meanwhile the meat is also cooked. A large hot bowl is put into
the circle of the men, a short discussion in the Arabian language
follows, and then I, the European lady, am asked to join them. Everyone
now dips pieces of bread into the gravy. There is something very
special: gazellemeat. It tastes very good and wonderfully tender.
When the men are full, a circle of children is formed and they dip
leftovers. The women bake a new bread meanwhile and then at last
they can eat, too.
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Die Nomadenfrauen bei der Essenszubereitung. |
After the meal, just when they wanted to sit for tea, there was
an engine-noise. Bedouins from an other tent came for a little chat
on their motor-bikes. Naturally, there are separate circles for
women and men, but words are cordial atmosphere of mutuality. The
children tired from running around just take a nap.
Gazelle-Hunt
Now, time has come for the men. At nightfall they make their motor-bikes
ready for the gazelle-hunting-party. There are powerful reflectors
on the handle-bars which blind the animals and so they are easy
to be shod. Five men on their motor-bikes have their weapons shouldered
and set off. I am so sorry for them. But am I allowed to condemn
the hunters. They only shoot for food for their families; they well
know that it is prohibited. And they certainly wouldn't do it if
they lived in wealth like we do. I am even allowed to photograph
them which is a great proof of confidence.
But I don't want to see the result of the hunting-party. Beneath
the starry sky we arrive at the tourist-ghettos at the big dune
at midnight.
Hundreds of strangers from Djerba, Hammamet or Sousse are brought
for an hour, ridiculously disguised, put on a dromedary and then
at their de-luxe accommodations unloaded. They don't get to know
the native people except for the guide. They don't know how the
Tunisians live, what their homes look like. A few days ago a German
woman told me: "Douz? There is nothing going on! At 8 p.m.
the pavements are raised."
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