MYSTERIOUS TIMBUCTOO

Evening Star, Issue 21232, 13 October 1932, Page 12

MYSTERIOUS TIMBUCTOO

♦- Go to Timhuctoo, To many people it is the furthest place they can wish you (with one exception), to many it is non-existent, to others just a name. Until the last century it was thought to contain labulous wealth in precious stones, writes T. A. Glover. Its streets were, reputed to ho paved with a mosaic of silver and gold. In the town square reposed the famous gold fountain, encrusted with uncut diamonds as largo as ostrich eggs. To outer this Aladdin’s cave was the ambition of the world’s wanderers. But it was not until 1883 that the intrepid French traveller, Reno CV.lIc, entered the city. He found none of the reputed wealth, only a typical African mud city, rich in slaves, a great centre for caravans from the north. HORRIBLE IN DECAY. To-day oven the slaves are gone. The country around it is slowly but surely being engulfed by the desert sands. It is horrible in its decay. Largo areas of forest have fallen and lie stark and black. Through the heavily-shadowed, narrow streets one can feel the overpowering, suffocating atmosphere of a dead city. The houses, built at no definite angles, are falling, spilling their dust into the streets below; In the markets it is hard to visualise even the rich silks and carved ivories that were once sold hero. A few piles of decaying vegetables, a mess of lly-riddeu meat only remains. The few remaining old traders sit over spoiling wares as though the years have passed unnoticed. From tiny wood-carved window recesses black, sinister faces peer down at you as you pass by. Cloaked figures hurry from shadow to shadow, as though avoiding the intense sunshine, (lid-young children blindly blink at the light from shady doorways. A shriek conies from one of the hidden hovels; a. now life is entering this world of decay and bad smells. THE DYING CITY. At noon the temperature mounts until the sounds of man and beast arc stilled by the white heat; 120 deg in the shade is normal. Birds huddle together in any little shady place, too exhausted to move out of your way as you pass by. As the heat ceases the desert winds arrive, bringing with them the sand to carry ou its work of burial. The sky is blotted out, the wind increases in violence, carrying with it every movable object. Death scorns everywhere. Even the mosques are stilled. No cries call the faithful to pray; the tom-toms of the few surrounding villages are silent. No laughter is heard on the night air. Timhuctoo is dying and burying itself in the dust of its past prosperity.