On May 2d, we had a tempest of thunder and lightning to the south on the
hills, produced by the intense heat of the morning, and its accumulation
during the previous few days. Rain seemed to be falling at a distance of
a few hours. In the evening the mercury still stood about 100°. The heat
now was still very distressing. The wind came charged with dust that
rolled in columns, like smoke beaten down by a tempest, across the
surface of the valley. All the vegetation seemed withered, as if in an
oven; and the wheat in the ear was brittle, as though roasted. There is
a good deal of wheat in this oasis. I observed an old woman reaping, and
went to chat with her. Her sickle had a long handle, and the blade
itself was narrow, but slightly bent and somewhat serrated. I tried it,
and found that it answered its purpose very well, however rude in
appearance.

I entered one of the huts made of palm-branches, and carelessly smeared
with mud--an attempt at plastering that can hardly be called successful.
The door was formed of rough planks of date-wood, and the flooring of
hard-trodden earth, covered with mats. The principal article of
furniture was, as usual, the small hand corn-mill, for nearly every
person in the East is still his own miller. The huts, though rude in
outward appearance, were dark, cool, and comfortable within. In the town
itself, many of them are built entirely of mud; that is to say, of round
mud balls, first moistened with water, and then dried in the sun. I
entered several, and found that most were empty. Where we found people,
they were courteous and cheerful in manners, and smiled at the curiosity
with which I lifted up the wicker covers of their pots and jars. In one
I found a little sour milk; in another, some bazeen; in another, a few
dates soaking in water. A small vessel now and then occurred, full of
oil; but this is the greatest luxury they possess.