SULAIMANIA
Sulaimania, from which the Aoraman range that marks the frontier may be
seen, lies actually about sixty miles from the nearest point of Persia,
and one hundred from the Aoraman peak, which is visible from the town.
It lies at the foot of the Azmir system of mountains, which support the
Persian plateau at this point. It is also the largest Kurdish town of
southern Turkish Kurdistan, but despite the importance, commercial and
political, that it once possessed, it is a place without any noteworthy
history.
It owes its origin indirectly to one Mulla Ahmad, who 350 years ago
assisted the Turks in a war. This person, a Kurdish priest, was a
native of the village of Dara Shamana, in Pishdr, north of Sulaimania,
and a member of the Nuradini branch of the Baban tribe. For his
services he was granted certain lands and villages by the reigning
sultan, and established himself at the village of Qal’a-i-Chwalan, now
called Qara Chulan, a village north of the Azmir range, a day’s journey
from Sulaimania. Here he reigned till his death, and his successors
became powerful rulers, semi-independent, ruling over Surchina, where
Sulaimania is now situated, and the lands about Qal’a-i-Chwalan. These
chiefs were, like so many of the frontier chiefs of Sulaimania, by no
means too faithful to the Turks, and transferred their allegiance to
Persia when it suited them. [Illustration: AORAMAN.]
In 1779, in the time of Sulaiman Pasha of Bagdad, the government
was transferred to the site of the present town, and a government
house and other buildings were constructed, and the new town called
Sulaimani--not Sulaimania.
[Sidenote: HISTORY OF SULAIMANIA]
Now a dynasty of Kurdish pashas ruled, beginning with Ibrahim Pasha,
and followed by his descendants. These governed until the time of
Abdulla Pasha, who was contemporary with Namiq Pasha of Bagdad.[50]
The Sulaimani ruler, having come to Bagdad to visit the Vali, was
seized, together with his brother Ahmad Pasha, and sent under a guard
to Constantinople. This was in 1851, and was the end of Kurdish rule
in Sulaimania. One Isma’il Pasha, a Turk, was appointed Qaim Maqam of
Sulaimania, with a garrison, and Sulaimania has remained a Turkish
government ever since. The two Kurdish pashas died about thirty years
ago, and their sons live as pensioners in Constantinople.
The Kurdish Ibrahim Pasha, having gained the chieftainship of the
district of Sulaimania, and Qaradagh to the south-east, built for
himself a large house upon the hill-side--where the modern governor
or Mutasarrif now resides. Around this and lower down, the town began
to form. The old family of shaikhs, or religious leaders, established
itself there also, and the construction of a bath and mosque gained for
the place a certain importance. Kurds, however, are not good settlers,
and the population of the new town began to form of the various classes
of people who habitually follow trade. These are, in these regions,
Turkoman of Kirkuk, Jews and Christian--Syrian and Chaldean, mainly the
latter. It is said that out of a thousand houses constituting the town
in 1825, eight hundred were occupied by Christians, Jews, and Turkomans.
As the neighbourhood is entirely peopled by Kurds of the Marga, Shuan,
Hamavand, Bana, and Jaf tribes, the language of the place was from
the first Kurdish. The shaikhs at the same time exercising their power
for evil and fanaticism, made life so difficult for Christians and
Jews that a large number each year deserted their own faiths to escape
persecution, adopting after conversion the dress and speech of the
local Kurds. From this very mixed material a people has sprung whose
ancestors were the children of races widely different in sentiment and
nature, mixtures of Aryan, Semitic, and Turkish stock, that possesses
almost every one of the unpleasant qualities of each race, and a very
lively fanaticism that has--under the inflammatory action of the
shaikhs--never weakened, gaining for Sulaimania a name for the ignorant
and savage isolation that has now brought about its own ruin.
Nevertheless, under the strong rule of the old pashas the priests were
unable to gain or exert the malignant influence they ever hoped to do,
and the town made very considerable progress, becoming an important
market for the wool and skins of the tribespeople, and an entrepôt
and distributing station for all goods imported into western Persian
Kurdistan from Mosul and Bagdad. There was, on the land specially in
the Qaradagh and Shahr-i-Zur, a population of Chaldeans and Jews, and
these, whether retaining their own religion, or becoming included
and intermingled with the Musulman population, furnished a keen and
progressive business instinct.
The pasha always kept on good terms with the chiefs of the great Jaf
tribe, and kept a sufficient number of armed and able horsemen to
secure peace within his own borders; and accordingly Sulaimania became
one of the most important of all the border towns.
During the wars of the early part of this century, the place with
Shahr-i-Zur, its adjoining district, became Persian, as it had
anciently been; but it was recovered by the Turks, and by the treaty of
1847 remained in their possession.
About this time a great massacre of Christians all over southern
Turkish Kurdistan had occurred, in this part originated by a member of
the shaikh family. Following this, the power of the independent Kurdish
chieftains became very much decreased, and the Turks succeeded in
preventing the continuance of their sway, as we have seen.
[Sidenote: SHAIKH SA’ID]
From this point, where the healthy restraining influence of the Kurdish
pashas over the priests ceased, the members of the family of Sulaimania
shaikhs began to make for themselves a position so strong that governor
and governed alike lived in awe of them.
So long as Sultan Abdul Aziz lived--till 1876--the comparatively good
order of his rule kept the Shaikhs in subjection, and they contented
themselves with gaining a reputation for sanctity, and acquiring
lands and villages by purchase. Shaikh Sa’id, the leader of the
family, succeeded in these aims so well that he gained possession of
lands all round Sulaimania, and spread abroad the assertion that he
possessed the power of divining, and the knowledge of the invisible
and the future.[51] The former he possessed, certainly, by one of the
most perfect systems of spies and communications. His prophecies were
usually such as could be fulfilled by his secret agents with dagger and
bullet. Not unnaturally his name became feared; such an exaggerated
reverence being paid to him, that men would salute his horses.
Upon the death of Sultan Abdul Aziz, and after the accession of Sultan
Abdul Hamid, this astute priest began the system of self-aggrandisement
and enrichment that finally became the cause of his murder in 1909.
Seeing the Sultan corrupt and avaricious, and his entourage unusually
sycophantic and treacherous, he made a journey--together with another
famous priest, Shaikh Qadir--to Constantinople, and by a large present
secured for himself and his family the Imperial favour. Also by his
remarkable gift of plausibility, and by the aid of the religious
obligation and law that he brought to support all his arguments,
he became practically the religious adviser of Sultan Abdul Hamid.
The final and triumphal stroke of genius was when Shaikh Sa’id, the
Sultan, and Izzat Pasha--of evil memory--actually formed a ring for
the exploitation of Sulaimania district, a combination whereby the
trio became enriched. Izzat Pasha guaranteed to supply inefficient and
corrupted officers for the local government, the Sultan would reap
a yearly income besides taxes, and Shaikh Sa’id, without being in
any way responsible officially for the situation in Sulaimania, was
free to crush the people and squeeze the province till there remained
but himself and his family, enormously enriched, contemplating the
exhausted and ruined town and country.
At the moment of Sultan Abdul Hamid’s accession, Sulaimania was
probably more important than it has ever been, before or since. It had
become a market for the produce of all southern Kurdistan. The carpets
of the country came here for sale, to be taken to Mosul and Bagdad.
Gum tragacanth from Bana began to be sold here in preference to Sina,
and a large number of Chaldeans of Mosul carried on an extensive and
profitable business in the cotton cloths of Aleppo and the fabrics
of Europe, which they sold in Sulaimania and exported even as far
as Hamadan of western Persia; certain crafts found a place in the
extensive bazaars, notably shoe- and saddle-making, and the manufacture
of daggers and rifles. The begs and pashas of the Jaf tribe built
caravanserais and bazaars, and entered into relations with Sulaimania
merchants whereby all the produce of their large tribe--skins, wool,
tobacco, and butter--passed through this market. The Bagdad caravan
left and arrived every fortnight, and to and from Mosul at the same
intervals. Frequent caravans, too, served Bana, Merivan, Sina, and Sauj
Bulaq. The governorship was raised to that of Mutasarrif, and nominally
a larger garrison was stationed at the place.
I was told that in 1880 there were fifty Mosul Chaldeans and twenty
Hamadan Persian merchants established there. These last were so
important a part of the commercial population as to occupy a special
caravanserai, to which the name of Khan-i-Ajam (“The Persians’
Caravanserai,”) was given, a name it has retained to-day though not a
single Persian remains in Sulaimania. The trade--exclusive of local
supply business--was estimated at over half a million liras annually; a
total it never reaches now, when the highest figure is supposed to be
four hundred thousand liras on a good year, and that decreasing.
[Sidenote: SULAIMANIAN HISTORY]
In 1881, the shaikhs’ tyranny, in concert with that of the Government,
which extorted iniquitous taxes, led to a revolt upon the part of
the people, and they summoned the Hamavands to besiege the town, and
expel the governor and shaikhs. The town resisted for four days, and
was upon the point of falling, when a battalion arriving from Kirkuk
saved the situation, and at the same time delivered the town into the
hands of the revengeful priests. Shaikh Sa’id commenced a campaign of
open robbery. Large sums of money were extorted from merchants without
any pretext whatever, and the prompt murder of the few who resisted
these demands effectually intimidated the others. At the same time a
policy of patriarchal hospitality and patronage was instituted. Any
person presenting himself at the shaikhs’ house received food and
became considered a retainer. In this way all the worthless members
of the population became adherents of the priests; and as many opened
shops in the bazaar, a new class of supporters arose which finally
embraced nearly all the tradespeople of Sulaimania. In these days it
was dangerous to express an opinion about the priests. In every shop,
in every corner, were spies or adherents who reported to their masters
the actions of everyone, and these individuals were aware of the
private life and proceedings of every single individual--Christian,
Jew, or Musulman--in Sulaimania. Murder became very frequent, for
the disappearance of a “disaffected” person caused no comment for
fear of consequences, and murderers had but to acknowledge allegiance
to the shaikhs to hear commendation of their excesses in place of
condemnation. Through it all, it was the merchants who suffered. The
Persians, being Shi’as, suffered from the fanaticism of the Sunnis;
none the less because the shaikhs were unable directly to oppress them,
for the fear of Persia is still considerable in the border countries:
nevertheless sufficient injury occurred to their business to drive them
from Sulaimania.
The shaikh family had purchased nearly all the gardens about the town
which supply fruit and vegetables, and now, in conjunction with the
town authorities, new taxes were instituted upon out-turn and produce.
Then the shaikhs commenced a system whereby three hundred per cent.
special entry duty was charged upon loads of fruit coming to town.
Within two years every cultivator had set fire to his fruit-trees,
destroyed his irrigation canals, and fled to Persian soil, there to
cultivate tobacco. Subsequent to the events of 1881, when the Hamavands
so nearly succeeded in taking Sulaimania and destroying the family,
Shaikh Sa’id realised the importance of the tribe and its possible
use as a weapon. In order to gain control over it, he, by a series of
judicious marriages, bound it to him by ties of relationship, which he
strengthened by entering into cordial relations with the priests of
Qaradagh. This policy succeeded so well that in 1908 the tribe found
itself unable to disobey the shaikhs, when ordered to declare itself
in rebellion. For the object of the family was now not only to acquire
the wealth of Sulaimania, but to prove their power so great that the
Government should be forced to make them the rulers of Sulaimania, in
despair of obtaining peace and quiet by any other means. The “coup”
at Constantinople of July 1908 had just occurred, Turkey was declared
constitutional, and the shaikhs saw the possibility of a loss of
their power, and even less pleasant to contemplate--retribution. The
Sultan, however, had considerable power--more than the observers
in Europe ever suspected--which he hoped to augment, and he was
not averse to the outbreak of rebellion, which should increase the
difficulties of the reformers’ task. The old power, corrupt as it
was, was, notwithstanding, none the less effective, particularly in
the remoter parts of Asiatic Turkey, for the Sultan had always on his
side that most powerful section that increased for him his revenues
through the means of robbery and brigandage,[52] and when the interests
of these persons coincided with those of order--as occasionally they
did--justice was prompt and effective.
[Sidenote: THE SHAIKHS]
Needless to say, abandonment of the old _régime_ meant alienation of
these forces from the standard of the Constitutionalists, and it was
this condition of the situation that at once gave hope to the Sultan
and despair to the Majlis, which could not bring enough power to bear
upon any anarchy or rebellion, the more that the new Government was no
more able to meet the arrears of army pay than Sultan Abdul Hamid had
been willing.
Particularly the Turkoman and Kurdish levies in the army were extremely
disaffected, refusing any duty that appeared to them repugnant.
Therefore, the Hamavands were perforce left to raid and spoil
undisturbed. The situation was growing so bad in Sulaimania, however,
that the shaikhs could no longer be disregarded by the new party at
Constantinople. The merchants were now suffering doubly and trebly.
If they did not lose their goods at the hands of the Hamavands, the
Customs authorities, shaikhs, and town officials effectually ruined
them. Repeated appeals arrived by wire from Sulaimania; and at last,
the Government, knowing the impossibility of employing force, induced
Shaikh Sa’id to come to Mosul, with some other members of the family.
Here he was detained, and shortly afterwards the riot occurred in
which he was murdered. The mystery of the criminal’s identity has
never been cleared up. The disturbance arose among the people of Mosul
regarding their own affairs, and after some time they were dislodged
from the scene of the opening brawls. With one accord, apparently under
directions received, they made a rush for the house of Shaikh Sa’id,
and forcing it, a number entered, and the old priest was murdered.
This was the signal for redoubled anarchy in southern Kurdistan.
Shaikh Sa’id had, as has been shown, acquired a reputation for
unusual sanctity, and this, coupled with his power, gave reason for
loudly expressed indignation on all sides. The representative in
Constantinople, Shaikh Qadir, made a series of inflammatory speeches
demanding in the name of all the laws of Islam, summary and awful
vengeance upon the murderers. The younger members of the family in
Mosul were allowed to return to Sulaimania after they had sworn an oath
of vengeance upon the merchants of that town, for they chose to assume
that the murder had occurred at their instigation.
In wrath they returned. The town of Sulaimania was forced to go into
the deepest mourning. All gramophones and musical instruments were
taken by force from their owners and destroyed, and any celebration
at weddings was brought to an abrupt and melancholy termination.
Shaikh Mahmud assumed leadership of the family, and displayed an
ability for violence and crime unequalled by Shaikh Sa’id in the
days of his greatest power. A number of the most important merchants
were murdered for the sake of what could be extorted from them under
the pretext of vengeance. Robberies and burglary occurred in every
direction. To express an opinion of even a scullion of the shaikh, was
to meet death the same night. And after every new outrage the police
and governor received their commission, and the miserable people,
wringing their hands, whispered the name of the criminals, and “Piaoi
shaikhana”--“They are the Shaikh’s men.”
[Sidenote: VALI OF MOSUL’S VISIT]
The Vali of Mosul was now ordered to proceed to Sulaimania for two
reasons. To attempt an investigation of the troubles there, was one;
and to punish the robbers of the Mutasarrif, who had left the town
and had been assaulted by the shaikhs’ horsemen, nearly losing his
life, was the other. The shaikhs were, of course, the delinquents; but
there was no possibility of fixing the crime upon them, for the people
were too much intimidated to utter any complaint openly, and the few
Government officials remaining in the town were bought.
The Vali speedily settled upon a line of proceeding that should not
place him in conflict with those he could not subdue, and that might
at the same time result in pecuniary profit to himself. While yet at
Chemchemal, a station on the western border of the Hamavand country,
he succeeded in communicating to the shaikhs his idea of “strict and
impartial investigation and report.”
As is the custom, the population of Sulaimania rode out some distance
to meet and greet him, and in that meeting the merchants realised that
their hopes were useless. The two parties, shaikhs and merchants,
had ridden out, and encountered the approaching Vali near the river
which crosses the Surchina valley. The shaikhs, spurring forward, were
received with the politest of greetings, the most solicitous enquiries;
and the Vali, joining their party, rode ahead with them at a canter,
passing and ignoring the waiting merchants.
Within twenty-four hours a summons had been issued to all of the
merchant class, demanding their presence at the Serai, or Government
House, to answer why they had caused so much trouble and strife in the
province by their attitude of opposition to the bereaved and mourning
shaikhs. Despite this peremptory message, couched in the most abrupt
terms of the naturally uncouth Turkish language, these Kurds displayed
a little of their native courage, and refused to reply to charges
so basely unjust, or even acknowledge the existence of so corrupt an
official by coming near his residence.
This afforded the Vali the opportunity he awaited. He now reported that
he had called a conference to discuss the matters of the province,
to be composed of merchants on one side, and shaikhs upon the other,
at which each might state their grievances and produce evidence. The
shaikhs had duly appeared, but as the merchants had refused to come,
he could but assume them to be the guilty parties, the instigators
of rebellion, the malcontents and malignants, now too ashamed to
even attempt to justify their backslidings. The priests had, on the
contrary, appeared, and laid before him well-substantiated complaints
against the merchants, and provided him with evidence implicating them
in the murder of the venerated Shaikh Sa’id.
Having pocketed a large sum,[53] the Vali bid farewell to the
Sulaimania and returned to Mosul, satisfied with himself and the
shaikhs, and leaving them in undisputed possession of right and might.
A new governor was sent, not a creature of the Vali, with a staff
and a new commissioner of police. These were bought immediately
upon their arrival. The few troops allotted to Sulaimania were
distributed as usual along the frontier guard-houses, and at Panjwin,
Bistan, Gulambar, and Halabja, leaving not more than one hundred and
fifty undisciplined ruffians and natives of the Kifri and Kirkuk
district--Turkoman and mongrel Kurd. The situation grew worse. Now
the Hamavands were called up to the gates of Sulaimania, and threats
of instant sacking kept the population subservient to the will of the
shaikhs. The Majlis at Constantinople had now become a more recognised
institution, and at least possessed enough power to control the
appointment of Vali of Mosul and Mutasarrif of Sulaimania. Moreover,
Sultan Abdul Hamid’s days as ruler were coming to an end, and the
shaikhs knew it. Izzat Pasha was in exile in Cairo, and Shaikh Qadir
at Constantinople, in disrepute. So the shaikhs opened a campaign
against Government. The efforts of the Hamavands were directed against
authority in the shape of the army. Here and there small bodies of
soldiers were cut to pieces and their arms taken. The roads from Kirkuk
to Bagdad, Kirkuk to Sulaimania, and Sulaimania to Bagdad, were closed
entirely; and now Sulaimania, already impoverished, shut half its
bazaars for want of goods to put in them, and the few merchants who
still had the courage to keep their offices open sat in empty rooms and
idleness. Then the talk of “ta’qib” (pursuit and punishment) of the
Hamavands arose, and we have seen how it was carried out. Corruption
everywhere thwarted the best designs of the Majlis, and the Hamavands
got away while the shaikhs sat in Sulaimania unaccused, and still
maintaining an attitude of injured righteousness that called for
justice.
[Sidenote: SULAIMANIA’S RUINED TRADE]
This was the position in August 1909, when I left Sulaimania.
At that time the merchants were awaiting the collection of outstanding
debts to leave the province, which they saw would never recover from
its ruin so long as the shaikh family exists and is allowed its
iniquitous power. Trade has deserted Sulaimania to a great extent.
Merchants are going to Persia, which in its worst times never tolerated
such a situation as this, and where business--decreased and weak--yet
finds a way. Now the Customs duty, increased to the figure of fifteen
per cent., will assist the ruin of its trade, which is now reduced to
the import of produce from Persia, notably gum and carpets. Transit
trade will of course continue to a certain extent, but as a great
proportion of the business originated with migratory tribes, its
transfer to another place is possible.
When I arrived in May 1909, affairs were bad. Our caravan had excited
the greatest interest by reason of its having been able to get through
from Kirkuk whole, and news was eagerly sought of all who arrived,
particularly regarding any possible amelioration of the situation.
However, worse was to come, for no other caravans came through.
I had taken a room in the caravanserai of Ghafur Agha--who was then the
Mayor--and found there no other residents save an old Arab gentleman,
a native of Tripoli of Africa, who held a post of “mudir” or petty
governor of a village, whither he could not proceed, as the village
in question had not hitherto possessed such an official, and the
Kurdish inhabitants would have slain any one bold enough to attempt to
establish himself there as their ruler.
My neighbour, Mustafa Beg, was a courteous and well-educated old man,
whose life had been spent in the Mediterranean ports and consulates
at Malta, Trieste, and such places. He spoke Arabic and Turkish
perfectly, but knew no word of Kurdish; nor could his well-bred and
gentle nature at all cope with the rough manners he met in Sulaimania.
A more complete example of the absurd disregard of suitability of
man for post could not have been seen. Failing the opportunity of
assuming his duties, the old man lived alone in a miserable room
in the caravanserai. He possessed no covering for his floor; his
only furniture was a couple of boxes containing his clothing, a
coffee-boiler, an old spirit stove, one coffee cup, and some bedding.
He slept at nights in a disused palanquin whose owner had been killed,
and it was partly owing to this habit that he met his ghastly death
some months later.
In the entrance to the caravanserai a merchant, half-owner of the
place, had an office, and some Jewish pedlars stored their wares in
two rooms. The rest remained empty, their bare walls testifying to the
condition of Sulaimania. The courtyard lay deep in dust and scraps of
paper, and a stagnant pool stank in its midst. Desolation was near it,
and by the shaikhs’ agency eventually lay upon it.
I arrived at about half an hour to sunset, and being foodless, locked
my door--that slid like a shutter, up and down--and went out to find
something. Bread was naturally the first thing needful, and this I
found of two kinds, one very thin flaps and the other thick round
cakes, each being sold for two “pul”--the pul being a copper coin of
Persia worth about a seventh of a penny. Three flaps (or a pennyworth)
was enough for my needs, and this, with two lettuces--at a farthing
each--a sticky lump of dates, very dear in this cold country, and a
bowl full of watered curds, or “du,” made an excellent dinner.
[Sidenote: SULAIMANIA CURRENCY]
Buying anything at first was rather an ordeal, for Sulaimania has
retained the Persian currency, though it is many a long year since it
belonged to that nation, no Turkish coins except the mejidie being
accepted. Thus old names and coins remain, while the names of Turkish
coins are applied to the currency as well, resulting in confusion.
There are three actual tokens: the copper “pul”; the silver “baichu,”
or Persian “panj shahi”; and the ordinary two-kran piece of Persia,
here called “tihrani.” But we encounter such names as “charkhi,”
“jout,” “deh para,” “ghazi,” “qamari,” “qran,” and “qran-i-rash,”
besides these.
Everything is reckoned in “qamari,” and this imaginary coin is worth
four “pul,” and the “baichu” (which being the actual token must be
handled) is worth seven pul. For larger amounts the tihrani is quoted,
consisting of five baichu and one pul, or nine qamari; and the stranger
plunges about in despair, not lessened by the fact that in Kirkuk they
call the baichu a qamari, and the tihrani a qran.
I quote an example of the working of this system, which, it is to
be hoped, is not more confusing than the unexplained situation.
When I would go to where fragments of a sheep suspended from a pole
constituted a butcher’s shop, to ask the price, I was informed
“thirty-two.” I must know that this means thirty-two qamari, or three
qrans and five qamaris, which is in tokens, three qran and two baichu
and six pul. This is the price of a Sulaimania “oke,” or as the
Kurd calls it, “huqqa.” Every town in the East fixes its own scheme
of weights; and being asked, the Sulaimanian will, with excess of
lucidity, explain that the local huqqa is four-fifths of the Panjwin
huqqa, five-fourths of a Tabriz “man,” two-fifths of the Halabja “man,”
and will not, till the last moment, give the information that it equals
two and a half of the Stamboul “oke,” which passes as a base for
calculation throughout Asiatic Turkey.
Thus, receiving the reply “thirty-two,” one arrives, or is expected to
arrive, at the knowledge that the amount of meat necessary, usually a
quarter of a huqqa, costs eight qamari, which must be paid for by four
baichu and four pul. At the same time is discovered the fact that the
huqqa--like a Persian “man,” which it really is--misnamed, is divided
into four hundred dirhams, and that all fractions of the huqqa must be
expressed in Turkish and not in the native Kurdish.
It was a great relief to find that nearly all the population knew some
Persian, for the northern and eastern Kurdish I knew was not current
here, and to the population less comprehensible than Persian. At
first, and before I became recognised, the fact of my wearing a fez
gave everyone to think that I was a Turk; and those who possessed any
would air their little Turkish upon me, and, it must be said, show
considerably more gratification at the opportunity of talking Persian.
Among other customs strange and stupid, is the one which forbids
a woman to appear in the bazaars at the risk of loss of her good
name[54]: why, seems hard to say, for there never was a more moral town
than Sulaimania. Possibly it is for the same reason that reckons it
improper for a man to wear ornamented socks, or bows on his slippers,
or to remain in his house by day or treat his wife as a woman, and
a hundred other pranks of caprice which are hard and fast rules of
Sulaimania society and life. And the infringement of any one of
these little rules is met by a horrified look and the hackneyed old
expression, “Aiba Bokum,”[55] which has worked so hard here, and is
used to prevent so many actions, that any progress or improvement is
always stifled by that terrible “Aiba Bokum.”
[Sidenote: SULAIMANIA HABITS]
If I would speak to my own wife in the street, if I would bare my head
to a cool breeze in a public place, if I would be too friendly with a
Christian, or speak civilly to a Jew, these are all “Aiba Bokum,” and
but the least of them. But would I in rash moments of philanthropy and
idealism suggest killing the flies on the putrid meat of the shops, or
ridding the town of fraudulent beggars, or building a sanitary house,
or cleaning a street, or doing anything of any benefit to myself or
others, then I should become a raving lunatic from hearing day and
night the pained protest of “Aiba bokum”; if, indeed, I were allowed to
remain in the town.
In this, Sulaimania is only too like the rest of the Muhammadan East,
particularly those parts farther removed from the West, whose creed is,
“That I do as did my fathers, and leave undone that which they did not,
and curse the innovator.”
Nor is this creed to be set aside lightly, even though it mean
inconvenience to the people themselves. Some years ago a doctor of some
skill came here, hoping--as he was the first arrival in a town full
of dirt-diseases--to make a speedy fortune, as others have done among
the Kurds.[56] Two months after he had established himself he left for
Persian Kurdistan, carrying his implements upon his back, his head
ringing with the phrase “Aiba bokum.”
After him came a photographer, who at first was fairly successful,
but a Sulaimanian of profound knowledge unearthed the saying of
a holy man that representations of persons must have the head
cut off with a penknife, or the artist’s soul would annoy that of
the portrayed, appearing in his likeness in the last day. So the
unfortunate Sulaimanians beheaded themselves on paper and expelled the
photographer. After a time came the phonograph, the most popular of
all Western inventions in the Orient, and this was taken up by some
individuals, and stopped upon the death of Shaikh Sa’id as an impious
instrument.
This habit of mind, and constant abhorrence of all that is new,
explains why the Sulaimanian still walks about in the costumes we see
in prints of books of travellers to Persia in the 16th century, why
his shirt-sleeves hang to the ground, why the skirts of his tunic wipe
the filth along the streets as he walks. These are the conservators of
the bad old customs, would-be slayers of the Jews among them, ignoring
the tie of blood that binds ninety per cent. of them to that race. The
custom and law relating to clothing is so strong that strangers living
among them, if they would hope to live without annoyance, must adopt
their style of raiment and reject the more convenient garments of their
own lands.
Their isolation has made them very suspicious of all strangers, and
from this suspicion has developed an inquisitorial bearing almost
intolerable. It is the right of every Sulaimanian to enquire closely
into the aims and identity of every new arrival. Fortunately he does
not resent equally close enquiry, even rather welcoming it as affording
an opportunity for self-aggrandisement and a self-righteous exposition
of his own respectability. Also, the intense suspicion with which they
approach the stranger renders it quite immaterial whether lies or truth
are given in answer to their queries. Inconsistent as it may seem, once
their questions are answered, and the information disseminated about
the town, the stranger is accepted at his own valuation and becomes
part of the population.
Having learned somewhat of these matters, I was not surprised to
receive a visit from a gorgeous individual, who came to see me at the
caravanserai one morning. This person was enveloped in a fine cloak of
camel’s hair, the right-hand side of the back of which was covered with
gold thread work: between its folds stuck out from the waistbelt the
sheath of a huge knife, and as he entered he removed from his feet a
new pair of Bagdad shoes. He saluted in excellent Persian, and having
accepted a cigarette, commenced without preambulation his queries,
which I answered as briefly as possible.
[Sidenote: INQUISITIVE VISITOR]
The dialogue was somewhat thus:--
“Where is your native country?”
“Persia.”
“Which town?”
“Shiraz.”
“Are there any Sulaimanians in Shiraz?”
“No, nor ever were.”
“Are you going to Persia?”
“I do not know at present.”
“Why do you not know at present? How shall a man not know his
destinations?”
“Because my plans are not formed.”
“Stay here, it is the best place--good water, good air, and a kindly
population. What are you by trade? Are you a doctor?”
“No, why?”
“Because of your European style of dress, which for any but a doctor is
an impropriety here. Are you a merchant?”
“Yes, I might be.”
“What are your wares?”
“Cloths and such like.”
“Have you also scented soap?”
“No; why do you ask that?”
“Because a merchant came from Mosul twenty years ago with scented soap,
but it is an impropriety here.”
“Why?”
“Because it was never used formerly; besides, children always die when
they smell it.”
“Then do the children of Sulaimania fear sweet or clean smells?”
“Yes, they are not accustomed to them. Where did you buy those shoes?”
“In Kirkuk.”
“Here they are improper, having laces.”
He cast about for a new question, then suddenly:
“What is in these cases?”
“Clothing.”
“Have you no things in them to sell? What kind of merchant are you
without wares and loads?”
“I await samples, no wise man brings new goods unless first proved
saleable by samples!”
“You speak truth, but what is in your boxes?”
“I told you, clothes.”
“Where did you buy those trunks?”
“In London.”
“In London; why did you go there?”
“I had business.”
“What business?”
“My own business; every man has his own business and affairs.”
“Quite true; but I came here to tell you, as a friend, that you should
not sit in a caravanserai, it is not proper.”
My patience came to an end, and I reversed the order of things, and
started an inquisition of my own.
“Why do you wear a torquoise ring?”[57] I enquired severely.
“What?”
“I say, why do you wear a torquoise ring?--it is improper in my
country.”
“I came here as a friend, why do you ask such unkind and ridiculous
questions?” he asked in a hurt tone.
“Because,” I replied, “in my country of Shiraz there is a saying, ‘He
who annoys the stranger by inquisitiveness, seeks after such abuse and
ridicule that ill-manners may call forth from the tormented!’”
[Sidenote: SULAIMANIAN PLEASANTRY]
Frowning with indignation, he gathered his gay cloak about him and
departed swiftly, not even deigning to answer my farewell. Five minutes
afterwards the caravanserai keeper came to the door somewhat perturbed,
and informed me that he who had come as a friend and gone as an enemy
was owner of the place and mayor of the town, Ghafur Agha himself.
In those first few days there, I found out how the Sulaimanian deems
himself entitled to treat the stranger; and to complete the lesson,
the day before I left for Halabja, I was hauled up by a seller of
enamelled-ware plates, sherbet glasses, matches, and pedlary generally.
“Ra wussa!” I heard in stentorian tones behind my ear.
Obedient to the summons I stopped, and turning, found myself face to
face with an apparently outraged and obviously outrageous individual,
who demanded in the fiercest tones the eleven krans I owed him. In the
idiom of his native Kurdish, and with no excess of politeness, I denied
the debt, and he advanced with half-drawn dagger; but finding that I
neither fled nor paid, stopped, a little at a loss as to what his next
step should be.
For a moment he glared at me, then with a contemptuous laugh, retired
behind a pile of his tin bowls upon his booth, and stood lost in
contemplation of the arched bazaar roof. I was told afterwards that
this is but a little joke of the Sulaimanian, who occasionally, before
the Turks frightened them away by their gross cupidity, would catch
with the trick a meek pilgrim _en route_ from Khorasan to Kerbela.
One of my first acquaintances in Sulaimania was a Syrian Christian of
Mosul, one Matti Tuma. At that place I had experienced some difficulty
in the matter of transporting the money I had brought with me, but
finally found two Christians, known as Safu and Samu, who were prepared
to give me a bill upon their correspondent in Sulaimania. This I
took, having the draft made payable to Ghulam Husain, the Persian,
under which name I was passing. This draft was at seven days after
sight, but the first morning after my arrival an elderly man appeared,
dressed exactly like the Sulaimanians, except for his small turban, and
introduced himself as Matti Tuma, giving me the welcome information
that he had the money ready waiting. His quiet manner, coupled with the
assurance of his desire to assist me in every way, induced me to tell
him more or less my plans, without, of course, hinting at my identity.
It was the first time he had met a Persian in Sulaimania since
the Hamadan merchants had left. In order to facilitate my life in
Kurdistan, where an aimless wanderer is but an object of suspicion,
I had resolved, before starting, to open relationships with several
firms, and was now in a position to talk about various samples, and
enquire into the prices of local products.
Upon these points I found Matti very ready to inform me, at the same
time giving me some sound advice regarding the purchase of whatever
I might need, and inviting me to use his services and experience of
Sulaimania--where he had been for twenty years--without hesitation. He
strongly advocated my settling in Sulaimania for a time, for he said
that there was yet hope of improved trade. As I expressed my intention
of seeing more of Kurdistan, ostensibly with the idea of ascertaining
what business was a profitable one, and where the commodities of the
country were best purchased, he offered no further opposition, and
even told me to leave in his hands the matter of finding mules for my
journey.
He then took me to his office, which was at the caravanserai called the
Khan-i-Ajam. The office was a long narrow room, opening upon the raised
verandah of the serai courtyard. Round the walls were shelves bearing
the usual wares of the Mosul merchant, packets of cigarette papers,
cottons, prints, calico, Aleppo cloth, cheap tapestry; and two large
bags of nails, which, imported from Europe, find here a ready sale.
[Sidenote: NATIVE CHRISTIANS]
The floor was carpeted with rugs of Hamadan, and Matti sat upon one by
his doorway, in front of a big Russian iron box that opened with a key
as large as that of a stage jailer, and rang a bell three times in the
process.
As in most caravanserais in Sulaimania, the rooms are really nothing
more than deep recesses across the front of which a wooden screen in
three sections has been built. These sections open by sliding up, and
are held in that position by a piece of iron hooked across the groove
in which they travel.
Matti’s immediate neighbours were also Mosul Christians, and
opposite--for the office was in a long arcade that entered the
serai--were the rooms of three Kurdish merchants, to whom I was
introduced by Matti. In the custom of the place they had boldly come
to enquire who the newcomer might be, and I had to answer a string
of questions. These people spoke Persian quite well, and fortunately
accepted my own version of affairs as true, and I became known there
and then as Mirza Ghulam Husain of Shiraz.
I was also introduced to one Habib Badria, a Mosul Christian, a man
of extraordinary appearance for a man of Arab race. Fair and freckled
of skin, his hair was that particular hue called “carroty,” and his
moustache the same. His blue eyes and generally Scotch appearance made
him appear most incongruous in his Arab dress and fez. And as if this
had had an effect upon his nature, he evinced the most progressive
ideas. Immediately he heard that I had been to Europe, he asked me to
write for a snapshot camera, scented soap, a French dictionary, and
some other Ferangi articles. He professed disgust with the clothing
custom forced him to wear, and sighed for the delights of collar and
cuffs. Despite these affectations, however, he turned out later to be
an excellent and sincere friend.
My way back to the caravanserai of Ghafur Agha lay through a large part
of the bazaars, and I could not help noticing the deserted appearance
caused by rows and rows of shops left empty by proprietors disgusted
and disheartened by the evil and oppression of Sulaimania. As I entered
the serai I was greeted by the merchant-owner, whose office was in the
entrance. His habit was to sit outside his room in the verandah, upon
a bench whence he could look out down the arcaded entry to the street
outside and note everyone who passed in. He invited me to a seat upon a
bench, and when I had mounted there, asked if he could assist me in any
way by the loan of household utensils or furniture till I settled down.
I informed him that I was going to Halabja, and he at once displayed
unusual interest. I could only give him perfectly logical reasons for
wishing to visit the place, for he knew Uthman Pasha of Halabja quite
well, and had done business there himself. So I talked of seeing the
Pasha’s lady with reference to the cultivation of silk (which I knew
she wished to undertake), and to gain her influence in order to buy the
products of the mountains in her territory. Learning this, he told me
that the Pasha himself was in Sulaimania and would be coming to pay him
a visit in the afternoon, when he advised me to be present.
At about three that afternoon he arrived and took his place of honour
upon the carpeted bench. My friend, the merchant, introduced me as a
trader of Persia desirous of visiting Halabja, to which place the Pasha
invited me in excellent Persian, and then relapsed into a silence which
I afterwards found to be typical of the Jaf chiefs.
I had thus good opportunity to examine a man whose name is respected
throughout a great part of Kurdistan, and who is chief of a large part
of the great Jaf tribe, and governor of Halabja and Shahr-i-Zur.
His dress was that of his tribe, but of the best quality. Except his
white waist-band, no garment was not of silk. The long tunic of striped
honey colour, the zouave jacket embroidered with gold thread, and the
white undershirt, were all of the finest silk. A richly ornamented
dagger was thrust in his belt, and a little Browning pistol hung by its
side in a red-leather case. His feet were thrust into Kurdish top-boots
of scarlet leather, with upturned points; and his head was enveloped in
many silk handkerchiefs, rolled into a turban bigger at the top than at
the bottom.
[Sidenote: A KURDISH PASHA]
He had the narrow, hooked nose and bony face of the true northern Kurd,
and his little eyes looked out from under bushy brows going grey. An
enormous moustache hid his mouth, but not the firm lines of jaw and
chin. His normal expression was fierce and cruel, and when he spoke, it
was in short sentences, in the roughest of the dialect of his tribe.
Several ruffians attended him: two grooms, twenty riflemen, a
pipe-bearer, and various other servants, all armed, all fierce in looks
and nature, picked men of a tribe noted for bravery and savage warfare.
These stood, not very respectfully, in the courtyard, and did not
hesitate to join in the conversation whenever it seemed good to them to
do so, nor were their interruptions at all resented by the pasha. This
old man has kept up the time-honoured traditions of the Kurds. While
rich and powerful, he does not separate himself in any way from the
lives of his people, nor count himself socially greater than they. As a
consequence he is in closest touch with their sentiments, and what is
more, aware of their every action. While we sat there, a rider arrived
from Halabja in haste, and producing from a saddle-bag a basket,
presented it to the pasha. He had ridden hard all the way from Halabja
to deliver the first cucumbers of the season! Immediately one of his
own riders was despatched to Halabja to bear his thanks to his wife,
who had caused these delicacies to be sent to him.
After this he took his leave, and I also retired to my room, where I
was joined shortly after by old Mustafa Beg, my neighbour.
He expressed the greatest regret at hearing that I was going to
Halabja, for he had found one, he said, whom, both as neighbour and as
friend, he had begun to value as only a lonely stranger can prize the
acquaintance of another stranger. He did not attempt to dissuade me,
for he himself had been to Halabja and had partaken of the hospitality
of the Lady of Halabja--the wife of Uthman Pasha, whose name is famous
in Kurdistan. The less did he lament my departure for Halabja, he said,
that he knew the climate of that place would induce me to return to
Sulaimania, when we should again meet.
The old man loved to talk of Constantinople and the West, and found in
me the rare traveller in Kurdistan who had seen these places, and could
converse about them as one familiar with the subject. These topics had
drawn us together, and he was soon pouring out his woes to me. He had
been appointed accountant of Halabja when in Constantinople. Travelling
thence, alone, _via_ his native place, Tripoli in Africa, he had
reached Halabja four months after he had started. The Kurds would not
consent to his presence amongst them, for he was a Turk, and they found
the means to make him leave. Speaking not a word of Kurdish or Persian,
he found himself among a hostile people, with whom he could not even
communicate. So he returned to Sulaimania, and was appointed “mudir” of
Gulambar, the old capital of Shahr-i-Zur. This post also he could not
take up, for the Kurds equally refused to have a Turkish official in
their midst. He also became very ill, and lay, alone, in his cell in
the serai for six weeks, living upon a little curds and bread, brought
to him by the serai-keeper. He was now appointed mudir of Serajiq, a
village east of Sulaimania, but the state of the country and a lack of
the necessary instructions kept him in Sulaimania; and all the time he
had received no pay. He lived upon a little bread, and an occasional
“kebab” from the bazaar, making his principal meal the dinner he found
in the public guest-room of the shaikhs’ house, to which he went every
evening. His days he spent in praying, and washing, and mending his
clothes (he was scrupulously clean), making coffee, and wandering round
the town, calling upon the Turkish officials and clerks.
[Sidenote: MUSTAFA BEG]
At times he would sit, melancholy, almost weeping, thinking of the
distances and deserts that separated him from his native place and his
family, and wonder how he, with the feebleness of advanced age upon
him, could go back again. His only wish was to see the Mediterranean
once more before he died; and he would tremble as he thought of the
savage people among whom he was thrown, and the ridicule with which
they met his attempts at intercourse with them.
Our friendship was like to have been a little shaken by the discovery
that I was a Shi’a Muhammadan, and I was subjected to close examination
upon the tenets of “The Sect of Twelve” before he would be convinced of
the fundamental orthodoxy of my faith. His greatest objection was to
seeing me pray with my arms beside me instead of folded before me, and
to the perfunctory ablution which passes as sufficient among the Shi’a.
He produced a Quran, and finding our opinions did not differ upon it,
reinstated me wholly in his affections, with many ejaculations of: “The
stranger shall be merciful to the stranger.”
FOOTNOTES TO CHAPTER IX:
[50] Also during the few years in the first half of the century that
Sulaimania was in Persian hands.
[51] “Amru, ’l ghaib wa ’l mustaqbal.”
[52] A notable instance of this peculiarity of Abdul Hamid’s policy was
Ibrahim Pasha, the Kurdish rebel of Harran, whose history is set forth
in Mr Fraser’s _Short Cut to India_.
[53] I regret that I cannot state the amount, which was variously put
at five, six, seven, ten, twenty, and thirty thousand tomans (Persian
money). It would appear from most reliable evidence that the amount was
about ten thousand, or roughly, two thousand pounds.
[54] This custom has been adopted from the Arabs of Mosul.
[55] Kurdish, “It is a fault, little father.”
[56] It should be remembered that the population of Sulaimania town,
though they have adopted the language and part of the dress of the
Kurds, do not entirely belong to that race, as has been shown in the
descriptive note upon these people’s origin.
[57] Practically every Kurd and Persian wears a silver ring with a
torquoise, which is a recognised part of dress.