THE MOHAMMEDAN FLY AND OTHER CREATURES LIVING ALONG THE NILE
Egyptian civilisation is supposed to be stationary, except in the
larger cities. The fellahin scratch the rich alluvial soil with the
same kind of clumsy wooden plough that was used when Marc Antony came
down from Rome on a business trip and got all snarled up with
Cleopatra. They live in the same type of snug mud hut--about the size
of a lower berth. They lift the water from the Nile by exactly the
same wooden sweep that was in vogue when Cheops began work on the
Pyramids. It may be remarked, _en passant_, that the fellahin are the
farmers of Egypt. I might have said "farmers" in the first place, but
what is the use of spending a month in a place and paying large hotel
bills if one cannot pick up words of the fellahin description to parade
up and down in front of his friends and cause them to feel ignorant and
untravelled? The _en passant_, which is tucked in so neatly above, I
found in Paris. It means "under your hat," or something like that. It
is impossible to translate these French phrases without sacrificing
some of the piquant significance of the original. For instance,
"string beans" can never be _haricots vert_. They may look the same
and taste the same, but when they are both on the bill, me for the
_haricots vert_ every time.
To resume:--The outlying districts of Egypt are supposed to be
absolutely nonprogressive. This is a mistake. While driving out from
Assiut to visit another cheerful group of tombs we came upon a large
gang of workmen engaged in improving the road. As soon as the carriage
ahead of ours struck the improved road it turned turtle, and for a
moment the air was full of jumping tourists. Our conveyance started
over the improved section, but mired down, so we got out and walked
until we came to an unimproved road, and then we jumped in and sped
merrily on our way. I stopped for several minutes to watch the men at
work, and I was deeply impressed by the fact that here in this heathen
land, where they had no normal schools or farmers' institutes to guide
them, no agricultural weeklies to beacon them out of the darkness, the
simple children of the Orient were "improving" the roads just as I had
seen them improved during my boyhood days in Indiana. In other words,
they were scooping dirt out of the ditch on either side and dumping it
in tall, unsurmountable hillocks right in the middle of the roadway.
The most hydrocephalous township supervisor in the whole Middle West
could not have done a more imbecilic job.
In Indiana every voter is required to "work the roads" or pay a road
tax. Of late years, under intelligent direction, the highways have
been vastly improved, but there was a time when "working the roads" was
a large joke. To avoid paying the tax the farmer would have to go out
with a team and do something to a public highway. Usually he selected
a road which he would not traverse in going to town, and he would
plough it up and "scrape" it into hollows and leave it looking like a
sample of the Bad Lands of Montana. As soon as the tax was "worked
out" he discontinued the improvement. After two or three days of
"working," a fairly bad road could be made altogether impassable. If I
were a military commander and had to execute a retreat and cut off any
pursuit by a superior force I would have a corps of flat-headed
township supervisors bring up the rear and "work" the roads.
[Illustration: _Working out his taxes and improving the roads_]
It was in this same town of Assiut that we visited one of the greatest
bazaars in Egypt. We had heard about this bazaar every day since
landing. The traveller who had been up the Nile and who had come back
to Cairo, sunbaked and full of the patronising airs of the veteran,
invariably said, "By the way, when you are in Assiut you must see the
bazaar." He might as well have said, "When you are in Washington be
sure to take a look at the Washington Monument."
"Bazaar" has a seductive, Far Eastern sound, the same as "mosque." It
is much luckier to shut your eyes and think of a mosque than to
actually see a deserted lime kiln with an upturned sugar bowl on top of
it. The same for "bazaar," only it goes double. A bazaar is a cosey
corner gone wrong. If you will take the long corridor of an American
second-class hotel, tear off the roof and substitute a canopy of
tattered rag carpets, cover the walls with the imitation merchandise of
a five and ten cent store, kick up a choking dust, turn loose twenty or
thirty ripe odours and then have one hundred and fifty coffee-coloured
lunatics all begin talking at the same time, you will have a rather
tame imitation of the genuine Oriental bazaar as made famous in song
and story. The crude articles sold in these bazaars, if displayed in
the windows of a department store in America, would attract no
attention whatever, but the tourist, as soon as he has had a touch of
the Egyptian sun, seems to become easy and irresponsible, and he wants
to bargain for everything in sight. It is a kind of temporary mania,
known as curiosis, and is closely allied to the widely prevalent
souveniria, or post card fever, which attacks even the young and
innocent.
The intelligent reader may have noticed that now and then I have
referred to the dust of Egypt. Egypt makes all the other dusty spots
on earth seem dank and waterlogged. We asked truthful Hassim, our
guide at Assiut, if there had been any rainfall lately. He said that
about five years ago there had been a light shower, and during one of
the Ptolemy administrations there had been a regular old drencher. The
Ptolemy family occupied the throne about two thousand years ago. At
home, take it in the dog days, if we have no rain for two weeks and the
crick dries up, all the local apostles of gloom and advance agents of
adversity clot themselves together in front of the Post Office and
begin pronouncing funeral orations over the corn crop. Fourteen days
without rain and the whole country is on the toboggan, headed straight
for bankruptcy. Yet here in Egypt, where they haven't experienced a
really wet rain for twenty centuries, the people go about cheerfully,
and there is no complaint regarding Providence.
[Illustration: _The whole country is on the toboggan_]
But what an unsatisfactory hang-out for the weather shark! In Egypt
the oldest inhabitant never gets up in the morning and says, "I'm
satisfied we're going to have rain to-day, because my rheumatiz
bothered me all night." There is no need of looking for rings around
the moon. You never hear anyone say, "It looks a little black in the
north, but I think it'll blow around, because the wind is in the wrong
direction." Every morning the sun rolls up in silvery splendour and
surveys the same old parched landscape, with the strip of irrigated
green, and after a leisurely and monotonous day sinks through a golden
glow into the far-stretching desert. No one is looking for rain or
hoping for it. When it comes it is regarded as a calamity. It washes
down the mud huts, collects in pools and makes breeding spots for
microbes and leaks through hotel roofs, so that tourists have to carry
umbrellas in going to the dining-room. In March of this year there was
a heavy rainfall around Assouan, extending as far north as Luxor, and
when we came along, a few weeks later, the natives were still bewailing
the visitation of Allah's wrath.
The extreme dryness of the air in Egypt causes the visiting microbe to
feel like an alien. It becomes enervated and discouraged, incapable of
initiating any new and fashionable epidemics. This same air, however,
seems to have a tonic effect on the flea. In no other clime is he so
enterprising, so full of restless energy, so given to unexpected
achievements. During a dull season, if there is a short supply of
tourists, he associates with the natives. He prefers the tourist, but
come what may, he is never idle. The bacillus, on the other hand, has
circumscribed opportunities. Inasmuch as the entire population of the
country lives along the river one might suppose that harmful germs
would be bred and disseminated by the billion. Yet both natives and
visitors drink from the river with impunity. "The sweet water of the
Nile" it is called and even the most apprehensive travellers learn to
take it after putting in about twenty drops of Scotch, so as to benumb
the bacilli, if any should be present. There is an explanation of the
micro-organism's failure to do very much harm in Egypt. If a bacillus
living anywhere along the Nile starts for a ramble on shore he is
sunstruck, and falls helpless in the sand. If he sticks to the water
the monotony of travel begins to wear upon him, and after about seven
miles he dies of _ennui_.
If Egypt is a happy hunting ground for the flea it is likewise a
paradise for the fly. If I had to be something in Egypt I should
prefer to be a Mohammedan fly. This little creature, which in most
countries is hounded and persecuted and openly regarded as a pest, is
treated with consideration in Egypt--humoured, petted, indulged,
actually spoiled. In the U.S.A. a fly is almost as unpopular as the
millionaire. He is wary, fretful, and suspicious, because he knows
that all humanity is joined in a conspiracy to put him out of business.
If he strolls up to a pool of water, temptingly set forth in a white
bowl, he finds himself a few minutes later writhing in cramps and full
of corrosive sublimate. He sees what appears to be a tempting luncheon
of sweets and when he starts in to serve himself he discovers that he
is caught and held by the treacherous "tanglefoot" mixture. He sees a
sign, "This way to the dining-room," and after passing through a long
corridor he lands in a wire trap from which there is no escape. If he
alights on a bald head and tries to use it as a rink somebody strikes
at him and calls him names.
[Illustration: _In the U.S.A. the fly is almost as unpopular as a
millionaire_]
It is all different in Egypt. The greatest indignity that a Mohammedan
ever offers a fly is to give him a gentle shove and request him to move
on. It is contrary to the religious teachings to kill or even cripple
this diminutive household companion. The belief in the transmigration
of souls seems to prevail everywhere in the mystical East, and perhaps
the fly that follows and nags you all afternoon may harbour the
spiritual essence of a former head waiter or a bey or some other
dignitary. When the flies assemble in large numbers around the various
apertures of a baby's face, the child, obeying an instinct of
self-defence, tries to "spat" them and drive them away. But the mother
restrains the infant by holding its hands and the flies give themselves
over to unmolested enjoyment. The older children have learned their
lesson and seldom make any effort to brush away the flies which loiter
all over their bright young features. This is not a pleasant thing to
talk about, but inasmuch as the fly is omnipresent during a trip up the
Nile and this friendly understanding between the fly and the native is
constantly under the traveller's observation, a description of Egypt
would be sadly incomplete without a chapter on the fly.
Having been a privileged class for many generations, the flies are
impudent and familiar to a degree. When the white unbeliever, with no
conscientious scruples against murder, comes up the river, they swarm
about him and buzz into his ears, "Welcome to our city." Then when he
begins sparring with them and using sulphurous language, they gather
about him in augmented numbers and dodge when he strikes and side step
when he slaps himself and seem to think that he is trying to teach them
some new kind of a "tag" game. The Mohammedan fly cannot by any effort
of the imagination bring himself to believe that a human being would
wilfully injure him. This feeling of overconfidence in mankind breeds
carelessness, and during the open season for tourists many of them are
laid low. Mr. Peasley said that if there was anything in the
transmigration theory, he figured that he had massacred a regiment of
soldiers, several boards of directors, a high school and an insane
asylum. The mortalities during the tourist season do not seem to lower
the visible supply or in any way discourage the surviving millions.
When we started up the river a peddler came to the boat and offered us
some small fly brooms. They are very much like the brush used by the
apprentice in a blacksmith shop to protect the horse that is being
shod. The brush part is made of split palm leaves or horsehair and the
handle is decorated with beadwork. The idea of a person sitting about
and whisking himself with this ornamental duster struck us as being
most unusual, not to say idiotic. Before we travelled far up the Nile
we had joined the grand army of whiskers. The fly broom is essential.
It is needed every eight seconds. At Luxor we went out to see a
gymkhana under the auspices of the Luxor Sporting Club and every one of
the two hundred spectators sat there wearily slapping himself about the
head with the tufted fly brush while looking at the races.
The Luxor Sporting Club is not as dangerous as it sounds. The
presiding judge of the races was a minister of the gospel and the
receipts were given to local charities. A gymkhana is the last resort
of a colony shut off from the metropolitan forms of amusement, and yet
it can be made the source of much hilarious fun. Nothing could have
been more frivolous than the programme at Luxor, and yet the British
spectators seldom gave way to mirth. Doubtless they were laughing
inwardly. Several ponderous committees had charge of the arrangements
and attended to them with due solemnity.
First there was a race between native water-carriers, distance about
three hundred yards, and each contestant carrying a goat skin filled
with water. Then there was a donkey boys' race, each rider being
required to ride backward. This enabled him to encourage his mount by
twisting the tail. In the donkey race for ladies several of the
contestants fell off gracefully and were carried to the refreshment
booth, where they revived on tea. The "affinity race" was an
interesting feature. The contestants rode their donkeys in pairs, a
gentleman and a lady holding a long ribbon between them. They were
required to gallop about two hundred yards, turn a post, and return to
the starting point without letting go of the ribbon. By far the most
exciting features of the programme were the camel and buffalo races.
These animals have associated with the hysterical natives so long that
they have lost all of their natural horse sense and are quite daft and
irresponsible. At the word "Go!" instead of running down the course,
they would snort madly and start off in all directions. If any of them
finished under the wire it was by mere chance and not because of any
guiding intelligence. One demented water buffalo turned and ran at
right angles to the course. The last we saw of him he was disappearing
over a hill toward the setting sun, with the native jockey riding on
all parts of the upper deck, from the horns back to the tail.
The gymkhana is intended to provide an afternoon of undiluted nonsense,
and for the benefit of those who find reason tottering on her throne
and who don't care what they do as long as they enjoy themselves, I
shall append a few sample competitions from an Egyptian programme and
suggest that they be tried in America.
Bucket Contest--Competitors to gallop past three buckets, throwing a
potato into each bucket. Marks to be given for pace. Best of two runs.
Hat Trimming Competition--Gentleman to ride to lady with parcel
containing hat and trimmings. Lady to trim hat and gentleman to return
to the winning post wearing hat.
Dak Race--Competitors to drive at the trot about one-half mile,
unharness and saddle same pony and ride 200 yards, returning to the
winning post.
Housekeeping Stakes--Gentleman on side saddle to ride to lady and give
her envelope containing an addition sum. Lady to open envelope, add up
this sum and return it to gentleman. First past the post with correct
sum wins.
Needle Threading Competition--Lady carries needle and thread 100 yards
to gentleman partner. He threads the needle and returns it to lady.
First past the post with needle properly threaded wins.
Egg Carrying Competition for Ladies--Each lady carries an egg in an
ordinary teaspoon for a distance of about fifty yards. If egg is
dropped it must be recovered with the spoon and must not be touched
with the hands. First past the post with unbroken egg wins.
There are many other contests which tax the intellect in a similar
manner, but possibly the foregoing will be sufficient to provide a
fairly demoralising afternoon. Of course, in America it is impossible
to secure the real Levantine donkey. In Egypt the donkey takes the
place of the motor car, the trolley, the hansom, and the bicycle. In
size he ranges from an average goat to a full grown St. Bernard.
Ordinarily he is headstrong and hard to manage, having no bridle wisdom
whatever, but he is of tough fibre and has a willing nature, and behind
his mournful countenance there always seems to be lurking a crafty and
elusive sense of humour. The names are marvellous. At the various
stops on our way up the Nile I became personally acquainted with
Rameses the Great, Rameses Telegraph, Rameses Telephone, Jim Corbett,
Whiskey Straight, Lovely Sweet, Roosevelt, Sleeping Car, Lydia Pinkham,
and others equally appropriate which I cannot now recall.
As I have indicated above, our wanderings have carried us as far as
Luxor. Luxor (the ancient Thebes) is the superlative of all that is
old and amazing in Egypt and therefore it calls for at least one
separate chapter.