During the war, Gerald Hanley spent several years in the remote and scorching deserts of Somalia. The rigours of living in such heat, and the difficulties of attempting to control blood-feuding nomads, led to the suicide of seven fellow-officers. Despite these problems, Gerald Hanley writes with great affection for the local clans, an affection that is untainted by sentimentality. Of all the races of Africa, there cannot be one better to live among than the most difficult, the proudest, the bravest, the vainest, the most merciless, the friendliest: the Somalis.