大象传媒

After leaving Temelhat (see Within A Holy City of Islam) we reached a lake or 'Chott' about a mile long - beautifully clear water. On the far side were herons gravely paddling near the shore. These birds are plentiful, as are storks. I was reminded of the Danish towns I had visited with my wife, Minna, where storks built flat, untidy nests on rooftops. The lake was holy: the Marabout of Temelhat had solemnly blessed the water. It was the custom for wives of a year's standing and yet childless to bathe here to remove the curse of barrenness.

A puzzle. All the 'Chotts' we had seen were salt-water lakes. If there were herons and storks there must be fish. So...?

When we returned to Monsieur Barbot's car a huge old white-haired negro with an immense grin awaited us. He had been a slave of the Marabout and among his talents was the charming of scorpions. He carried a small earthenware pot with a lid of clay and, squatting, removed this lid, tipping the contents upon the sand. I saw a little pile of moist earth and then...something green scuttled crab-fashion out of it, followed by another and yet another. His white teeth gleaming with delight, the ancient seized one with thumb and finger and threw it on top of the other two - this to infuriate them. He repeated this until two grappled with each other, their wicked little tails cocked ferociously.

He greeted this success with an even broader smile and a crow of 'Hai! Hai! Hai!'. Suddenly he picked one up and planted it firmly upon his nose to which it clung with its lobster-like claws. Then, oh horrors! he grabbed another, opened his mouth, popped it in and allowed the thing to roam freely across his tongue! Met and I were focussing our cameras hastily, thinking that this episode would be very brief. No. The negro was prepared to let the little wretches roam his glottis indefinitely. George and Charlie had prudently withdrawn to the interior of the car. I was sitting on the car's step.

Now the old fellow removed his pets from his features and brought them across to me, holding his lethal playmates within an inch of my face. I saw the upraised tails each with its little red sting like a tiny rose-thorn, then looked down at my bare knees and offered up a prayer that the negro's hand would remain steady. It did. My nerves did not. After rewarding the scorpion-charmer Barbot started his car and we headed for Touggourt. Said Met: 'I've never spent an afternoon like that and I don't suppose I ever will.'

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