What verbal battles might have taken place in the tent of Moussa-ag-Amastan, and in those of his followers, the smiths couldn’t know, but Tuareg women are not dominated by their men. On the second day, three Tuareg women applied for the position of servants, at surprisingly high pay. Envy ran roughshod when they later displayed the textiles and utensils they purchased with their wages.

Nor could the aged Tuareg chief prevent in the evening discussions between the men, a thorough pursuing of the new ideas sweeping through the Ahaggar. Though these strangers proclaimed themselves lowly Enaden— itinerant desert smiths—they were obviously not to be dismissed as a caste little higher than Haratin serfs. Even the first night they were invited to the tent of Moussa-ag-Amastan to share the dinner of shorba soup, cous cous and the edible paste kaboosh, made of cheese, butter and spices. It was an adequate desert meal, meat being eaten not more than a few times a year by such as the Taitoq Tuareg who couldn’t afford to consume the animals upon which they lived.

After mint tea, one of the younger Tarqui leaned forward. He said, “You have brought strange news, oh Enaden of wealth, and we would know more. We of the Ahaggar hear little from ouside.”

Moussa-ag-Amastan scowled at his clansman for his presumption, but Omar answered, his voice sincere and carrying conviction. “The world moves fast, men of the desert, and the things that were verily true even yesterday have changed today.”

“To the sorrow of the Tuareg!” snapped Moussa-ag-Amastan.

The other looked at him. “Not always, old one. Surely in your youth you remember when such diseases as the one the Roumas once called the disease of Venus ran rampant through the tribes. When trachoma, the sickness of the eyes, was known as the scourge of the Sahara. When half the children, not only of Bela slaves and Haratin serfs, but also of the Surgu noble clans, died before the age of ten.”