I will not weary you, dear L., with descriptions of twenty-six quiet,
similar, uninteresting days,--days of sleep, and pipes, and coffee,--spent
at Zayla, whilst a route was traced out, guides were propitiated, camels
were bought, mules sent for, and all the wearisome preliminaries of
African travel were gone through. But a _journee_ in the Somali country
may be a novelty to you: its events shall be succinctly depicted.
With earliest dawn we arise, thankful to escape from mosquitoes and close
air. We repair to the terrace where devotions are supposed to be
performed, and busy ourselves in watching our neighbours. Two in
particular engage my attention: sisters by different mothers. The daughter
of an Indian woman is a young person of fast propensities,--her chocolate-
coloured skin, long hair, and parrot-like profile [1] are much admired by
the _elegants_ of Zayla; and she coquettes by combing, dancing, singing,
and slapping the slave-girls, whenever an adorer may be looking. We sober-
minded men, seeing her, quote the well-known lines--
"Without justice a king is a cloud without rain;
Without goodness a sage is a field without fruit;
Without manners a youth is a bridleless horse;
Without lore an old man is a waterless wady;
Without modesty woman is bread without salt."
The other is a matron of Abyssinian descent, as her skin, scarcely darker
than a gipsy's, her long and bright blue fillet, and her gaudily fringed
dress, denote. She tattoos her face [2]: a livid line extends from her
front hair to the tip of her nose; between her eyebrows is an ornament
resembling a _fleur-de-lis_, and various beauty-spots adorn the corners of
her mouth and the flats of her countenance. She passes her day
superintending the slave-girls, and weaving mats [3], the worsted work of
this part of the world. We soon made acquaintance, as far as an exchange
of salams. I regret, however, to say that there was some scandal about my
charming neighbour; and that more than once she was detected making
signals to distant persons with her hands. [4]
At 6 A.M. we descend to breakfast, which usually consists of sour grain
cakes and roast mutton--at this hour a fine trial of health and cleanly
living. A napkin is passed under my chin, as if I were a small child, and
a sound scolding is administered when appetite appears deficient. Visitors
are always asked to join us: we squat on the uncarpeted floor, round a
circular stool, eat hard, and never stop to drink. The appetite of Africa
astonishes us; we dispose of six ounces here for every one in Arabia,--
probably the effect of sweet water, after the briny produce of the "Eye of
Yemen." We conclude this early breakfast with coffee and pipes, and
generally return, after it, to the work of sleep.
Then, provided with some sanctified Arabic book, I prepare for the
reception of visitors. They come in by dozens,--no man having apparently
any business to occupy him,--doff their slippers at the door, enter
wrapped up in their Tobes or togas [5], and deposit their spears, point-
upwards, in the corner; those who have swords--the mark of respectability
in Eastern Africa--place them at their feet. They shake the full hand (I
was reproved for offering the fingers only); and when politely disposed,
the inferior wraps his fist in the hem of his garment. They have nothing
corresponding with the European idea of manners: they degrade all ceremony
by the epithet Shughl el banat, or "girls' work," and pique themselves
upon downrightness of manner,--a favourite mask, by the by, for savage
cunning to assume. But they are equally free from affectation, shyness,
and vulgarity; and, after all, no manners are preferable to bad manners.
Sometimes we are visited at this hour by Mohammed Sharmarkay, eldest son
of the old governor. He is in age about thirty, a fine tall figure,
slender but well knit, beardless and of light complexion, with large eyes,
and a length of neck which a lady might covet. His only detracting feature
is a slight projection of the oral region, that unmistakable proof of
African blood. His movements have the grace of strength and suppleness: he
is a good jumper, runs well, throws the spear admirably, and is a
tolerable shot. Having received a liberal education at Mocha, he is held a
learned man by his fellow-countrymen. Like his father he despises
presents, looking higher; with some trouble I persuaded him to accept a
common map of Asia, and a revolver. His chief interest was concentrated in
books: he borrowed my Abu Kasim to copy [6], and was never tired of
talking about the religious sciences: he had weakened his eyes by hard
reading, and a couple of blisters were sufficient to win his gratitude.
Mohammed is now the eldest son [7]; he appears determined to keep up the
family name, having already married ten wives: the issue, however, two
infant sons, were murdered by the Eesa Bedouins. Whenever he meets his
father in the morning, he kisses his hand, and receives a salute upon the
forehead. He aspires to the government of Zayla, and looks forward more
reasonably than the Hajj to the day when the possession of Berberah will
pour gold into his coffers. He shows none of his father's "softness:" he
advocates the bastinado, and, to keep his people at a distance, he has
married an Arab wife, who allows no adult to enter the doors. The Somal,
Spaniard-like, remark, "He is one of ourselves, though a little richer;"
but when times change and luck returns, they are not unlikely to find
themselves mistaken.
Amongst other visitors, we have the Amir el Bahr, or Port Captain, and the
Nakib el Askar (_Commandant de place_), Mohammed Umar el Hamumi. This is
one of those Hazramaut adventurers so common in all the countries
bordering upon Arabia: they are the Swiss of the East, a people equally
brave and hardy, frugal and faithful, as long as pay is regular. Feared by
the soft Indians and Africans for their hardness and determination, the
common proverb concerning them is, "If you meet a viper and a Hazrami,
spare the viper." Natives of a poor and rugged region, they wander far and
wide, preferring every country to their own; and it is generally said that
the sun rises not upon a land that does not contain a man from Hazramaut.
[8] This commander of an army of forty men [9] often read out to us from
the Kitab el Anwar (the Book of Lights) the tale of Abu Jahl, that Judas
of El Islam made ridiculous. Sometimes comes the Sayyid Mohammed el Barr,
a stout personage, formerly governor of Zayla, and still highly respected
by the people on acount of his pure pedigree. With him is the Fakih Adan,
a savan of ignoble origin. [10] When they appear the conversation becomes
intensely intellectual; sometimes we dispute religion, sometimes politics,
at others history and other humanities. Yet it is not easy to talk history
with a people who confound Miriam and Mary, or politics to those whose
only idea of a king is a robber on a large scale, or religion to men who
measure excellence by forbidden meats, or geography to those who represent
the earth in this guise. Yet, though few of our ideas are in common, there
are many words; the verbosity of these anti-Laconic oriental dialects [11]
renders at least half the subject intelligible to the most opposite
thinkers. When the society is wholly Somal, I write Arabic, copy some
useful book, or extract from it, as Bentley advised, what is fit to quote.
When Arabs are present, I usually read out a tale from "The Thousand and
One Nights," that wonderful work, so often translated, so much turned
over, and so little understood at home. The most familiar of books in
England, next to the Bible, it is one of the least known, the reason being
that about one fifth is utterly unfit for translation; and the most
sanguine orientalist would not dare to render literally more than three
quarters of the remainder. Consequently, the reader loses the contrast,--
the very essence of the book,--between its brilliancy and dulness, its
moral putrefaction, and such pearls as
"Cast the seed of good works on the least fit soil.
Good is never wasted, however it may be laid out."
And in a page or two after such divine sentiment, the ladies of Bagdad sit
in the porter's lap, and indulge in a facetiousness which would have
killed Pietro Aretino before his time.
[Illustration]
Often I am visited by the Topchi-Bashi, or master of the ordnance,--half a
dozen honeycombed guns,--a wild fellow, Bashi Buzuk in the Hejaz and
commandant of artillery at Zayla. He shaves my head on Fridays, and on
other days tells me wild stories about his service in the Holy Land; how
Kurdi Usman slew his son-in-law, Ibn Rumi, and how Turkcheh Bilmez would
have murdered Mohammed Ali in his bed. [12] Sometimes the room is filled
with Arabs, Sayyids, merchants, and others settled in the place: I saw
nothing amongst them to justify the oft-quoted saw, "Koraysh pride and
Zayla's boastfulness." More generally the assembly is one of the Somal,
who talk in their own tongue, laugh, yell, stretch their legs, and lie
like cattle upon the floor, smoking the common Hukkah, which stands in the
centre, industriously cleaning their teeth with sticks, and eating snuff
like Swedes. Meanwhile, I occupy the Kursi or couch, sometimes muttering
from a book to excite respect, or reading aloud for general information,
or telling fortunes by palmistry, or drawing out a horoscope.
It argues "peculiarity," I own, to enjoy such a life. In the first place,
there is no woman's society: El Islam seems purposely to have loosened the
ties between the sexes in order to strengthen the bonds which connect man
and man. [13] Secondly, your house is by no means your castle. You must
open your doors to your friend at all hours; if when inside it suit him to
sing, sing he will; and until you learn solitude in a crowd, or the art of
concentration, you are apt to become _ennuye_ and irritable. You must
abandon your prejudices, and for a time cast off all European
prepossessions in favour of Indian politeness, Persian polish, Arab
courtesy, or Turkish dignity.
"They are as free as Nature e'er made man;"
and he who objects to having his head shaved in public, to seeing his
friends combing their locks in his sitting-room, to having his property
unceremoniously handled, or to being addressed familiarly by a perfect
stranger, had better avoid Somaliland.
You will doubtless, dear L., convict me, by my own sentiments, of being an
"amateur barbarian." You must, however, remember that I visited Africa
fresh from Aden, with its dull routine of meaningless parades and tiresome
courts martial, where society is broken by ridiculous distinctions of
staff-men and regimental-men, Madras-men and Bombay-men, "European"
officers, and "black" officers; where literature is confined to acquiring
the art of explaining yourself in the jargons of half-naked savages; where
the business of life is comprised in ignoble official squabbles, dislikes,
disapprobations, and "references to superior authority;" where social
intercourse is crushed by "gup," gossip, and the scandal of small colonial
circles; where--pleasant predicament for those who really love women's
society!--it is scarcely possible to address fair dame, preserving at the
same time her reputation and your own, and if seen with her twice, all
"camp" will swear it is an "affair;" where, briefly, the march of mind is
at a dead halt, and the march of matter is in double quick time to the
hospital or sick-quarters. Then the fatal struggle for Name, and the
painful necessity of doing the most with the smallest materials for a
reputation! In Europe there are a thousand grades of celebrity, from
statesmanship to taxidermy; all, therefore, co-exist without rivalry.
Whereas, in these small colonies, there is but one fame, and as that leads
directly to rupees and rank, no man willingly accords it to his neighbour.
And, finally, such semi-civilised life abounds in a weary ceremoniousness.
It is highly improper to smoke outside your bungalow. You shall pay your
visits at 11 A.M., when the glass stands at 120°. You shall be generally
shunned if you omit your waistcoat, no matter what the weather be. And if
you venture to object to these Median laws,--as I am now doing,--you
elicit a chorus of disapproval, and acquire some evil name.
About 11 A.M., when the fresh water arrives from the Hissi or wells, the
Hajj sends us dinner, mutton stews, of exceeding greasiness, boiled rice,
maize cakes, sometimes fish, and generally curds or milk. We all sit round
a primitive form of the Round Table, and I doubt that King Arthur's
knights ever proved doughtier trenchermen than do my companions. We then
rise to pipes and coffee, after which, excluding visitors, my attendants
apply themselves to a siesta, I to my journal and studies.
At 2 P.M. there is a loud clamour at the door: if it be not opened in
time, we are asked if we have a Nazarene inside. Enters a crowd of
visitors, anxious to pass the afternoon. We proceed with a copy of the
forenoon till the sun declines, when it is time to escape the flies, to
repair to the terrace for fresh air, or to dress for a walk. Generally our
direction is through the town eastwards, to a plain of dilapidated graves
and salt sand, peopled only by land-crabs. At the extremity near the sea
is a little mosque of wattle-work: we sit there under the shade, and play
a rude form of draughts, called Shantarah, or at Shahh, a modification of
the former. [14] More often, eschewing these effeminacies, we shoot at a
mark, throw the javelin, leap, or engage in some gymnastic exercise. The
favourite Somali weapons are the spear, dagger, and war-club; the bow and
poisoned arrows are peculiar to the servile class, who know
"the dreadful art
To taint with deadly drugs the barbed dart;"
and the people despise, at the same time that they fear firearms,
declaring them to be cowardly weapons [15] with which the poltroon can
slay the bravest.
The Somali spear is a form of the Cape Assegai. A long, thin, pliant and
knotty shaft of the Dibi, Diktab, and Makari trees, is dried, polished,
and greased with rancid butter: it is generally of a dull yellow colour,
and sometimes bound, as in Arabia, with brass wire for ornament. Care is
applied to make the rod straight, or the missile flies crooked: it is
garnished with an iron button at the head, and a long thin tapering head
of coarse bad iron [16], made at Berberah and other places by the Tomal.
The length of the shaft may be four feet eight inches; the blade varies
from twenty to twenty-six inches, and the whole weapon is about seven feet
long. Some polish the entire spear-head, others only its socket or ferule;
commonly, however, it is all blackened by heating it to redness, and
rubbing it with cow's horn. In the towns, one of these weapons is carried;
on a journey and in battle two, as amongst the Tibboos,--a small javelin
for throwing and a large spear reserved for the thrust. Some warriors
especially amongst the Eesa, prefer a coarse heavy lance, which never
leaves the hand. The Somali spear is held in various ways: generally the
thumb and forefinger grasp the third nearest to the head, and the shaft
resting upon the palm is made to quiver. In action, the javelin is rarely
thrown at a greater distance than six or seven feet, and the heavier
weapon is used for "jobbing." Stripped to his waist, the thrower runs
forward with all the action of a Kafir, whilst the attacked bounds about
and crouches to receive it upon the round targe, which it cannot pierce.
He then returns the compliment, at the same time endeavouring to break the
weapon thrown at him by jumping and stamping upon it. The harmless
missiles being exhausted, both combatants draw their daggers, grapple with
the left hand, and with the right dig hard and swift at each other's necks
and shoulders. When matters come to this point, the duel is soon decided,
and the victor, howling his slogan, pushes away from his front the dying
enemy, and rushes off to find another opponent. A puerile weapon during
the day, when a steady man can easily avoid it, the spear is terrible in
night attacks or in the "bush," whence it can be hurled unseen. For
practice, we plant a pair of slippers upright in the ground, at the
distance of twelve yards, and a skilful spearman hits the mark once in
every three throws.
The Somali dagger is an iron blade about eighteen inches long by two in
breadth, pointed and sharp at both edges. The handle is of buffalo or
other horn, with a double scoop to fit the grasp; and at the hilt is a
conical ornament of zinc. It is worn strapped round the waist by a thong
sewed to the sheath, and long enough to encircle the body twice: the point
is to the right, and the handle projects on the left. When in town, the
Somal wear their daggers under the Tobe: in battle, the strap is girt over
the cloth to prevent the latter being lost. They always stab from above:
this is as it should be, a thrust with a short weapon "underhand" may be
stopped, if the adversary have strength enough to hold the stabber's
forearm. The thrust is parried with the shield, and a wound is rarely
mortal except in the back: from the great length of the blade, the least
movement of the man attacked causes it to fall upon the shoulder-blade.
The "Budd," or Somali club, resembles the Kafir "Tonga." It is a knobstick
about a cubit long, made of some hard wood: the head is rounded on the
inside, and the outside is cut to an edge. In quarrels, it is considered a
harmless weapon, and is often thrown at the opponent and wielded viciously
enough where the spear point would carefully be directed at the buckler.
The Gashan or shield is a round targe about eighteen inches in diameter;
some of the Bedouins make it much larger. Rhinoceros' skin being rare, the
usual material is common bull's hide, or, preferably, that of the Oryx,
called by the Arabs Waal, and by the Somal, Baid. These shields are
prettily cut, and are always protected when new with a covering of
canvass. The boss in the centre easily turns a spear, and the strongest
throw has very little effect even upon the thinnest portion. When not
used, the Gashan is slung upon the left forearm: during battle, the
handle, which is in the middle, is grasped by the left hand, and held out
at a distance from the body.
We are sometimes joined in our exercises by the Arab mercenaries, who are
far more skilful than the Somal. The latter are unacquainted with the
sword, and cannot defend themselves against it with the targe; they know
little of dagger practice, and were beaten at their own weapon, the
javelin, by the children of Bir Hamid. Though unable to jump for the
honour of the turban, I soon acquired the reputation of being the
strongest man in Zayla: this is perhaps the easiest way of winning respect
from a barbarous people, who honour body, and degrade mind to mere
cunning.
When tired of exercise we proceed round the walls to the Ashurbara or
Southern Gate. Here boys play at "hockey" with sticks and stones
energetically as in England: they are fine manly specimens of the race,
but noisy and impudent, like all young savages. At two years of age they
hold out the right hand for sweetmeats, and if refused become insolent.
The citizens amuse themselves with the ball [17], at which they play
roughly as Scotch linkers: they are divided into two parties, bachelors
and married men; accidents often occur, and no player wears any but the
scantiest clothing, otherwise he would retire from the conflict in rags.
The victors sing and dance about the town for hours, brandishing their
spears, shouting their slogans, boasting of ideal victories,--the
Abyssinian Donfatu, or war-vaunt,--and advancing in death-triumph with
frantic gestures: a battle won would be celebrated with less circumstance
in Europe. This is the effect of no occupation--the _primum mobile_ of the
Indian prince's kite-flying and all the puerilities of the pompous East.
We usually find an encampment of Bedouins outside the gate. Their tents
are worse than any gipsy's, low, smoky, and of the rudest construction.
These people are a spectacle of savageness. Their huge heads of shock
hair, dyed red and dripping with butter, are garnished with a Firin, or
long three-pronged comb, a stick, which acts as scratcher when the owner
does not wish to grease his fingers, and sometimes with the ominous
ostrich feather, showing that the wearer has "killed his man:" a soiled
and ragged cotton cloth covers their shoulders, and a similar article is
wrapped round their loins.[18] All wear coarse sandals, and appear in the
bravery of targe, spear, and dagger. Some of the women would be pretty did
they not resemble the men in their scowling, Satanic expression of
countenance: they are decidedly _en deshabille,_ but a black skin always
appears a garb. The cantonment is surrounded by asses, camels, and a troop
of naked Flibertigibbets, who dance and jump in astonishment whenever they
see me: "The white man! the white man!" they shriek; "run away, run away,
or we shall be eaten!" [19] On one occasion, however, my _amour propre_
was decidedly flattered by the attentions of a small black girl,
apparently four or five years old, who followed me through the streets
ejaculating "Wa Wanaksan!"--"0 fine!" The Bedouins, despite their fierce
scowls, appear good-natured; the women flock out of the huts to stare and
laugh, the men to look and wonder. I happened once to remark, "Lo, we come
forth to look at them and they look at us; we gaze at their complexion and
they gaze at ours!" A Bedouin who understood Arabic translated this speech
to the others, and it excited great merriment. In the mining counties of
civilised England, where the "genial brickbat" is thrown at the passing
stranger, or in enlightened Scotland, where hair a few inches too long or
a pair of mustachios justifies "mobbing," it would have been impossible
for me to have mingled as I did with these wild people.
We must return before sunset, when the gates are locked and the keys are
carried to the Hajj, a vain precaution, when a donkey could clear half a
dozen places in the town wall. The call to evening prayer sounds as we
enter: none of my companions pray [20], but all when asked reply in the
phrase which an Englishman hates, "Inshallah Bukra"--"if Allah please, to-
morrow!"--and they have the decency not to appear in public at the hours
of devotion. The Somal, like most Africans, are of a somewhat irreverent
turn of mind. [21] When reproached with gambling, and asked why they
persist in the forbidden pleasure, they simply answer "Because we like."
One night, encamped amongst the Eesa, I was disturbed by a female voice
indulging in the loudest lamentations: an elderly lady, it appears, was
suffering from tooth-ache, and the refrain of her groans was, "O Allah,
may thy teeth ache like mine! O Allah, may thy gums be sore as mine are!"
A well-known and characteristic tale is told of the Gerad Hirsi, now chief
of the Berteri tribe. Once meeting a party of unarmed pilgrims, he asked
them why they had left their weapons at home: they replied in the usual
phrase, "Nahnu mutawakkilin"--"we are trusters (in Allah)." That evening,
having feasted them hospitably, the chief returned hurriedly to the hut,
declaring that his soothsayer ordered him at once to sacrifice a pilgrim,
and begging the horror-struck auditors to choose the victim. They cast
lots and gave over one of their number: the Gerad placed him in another
hut, dyed his dagger with sheep's blood, and returned to say that he must
have a second life. The unhappy pilgrims rose _en masse_, and fled so
wildly that the chief, with all the cavalry of the desert, found
difficulty in recovering them. He dismissed them with liberal presents,
and not a few jibes about their trustfulness. The wilder Bedouins will
inquire where Allah is to be found: when asked the object of the question,
they reply, "If the Eesa could but catch him they would spear him upon the
spot,--who but he lays waste their homes and kills their cattle and
wives?" Yet, conjoined to this truly savage incapability of conceiving the
idea of a Supreme Being, they believe in the most ridiculous
exaggerations: many will not affront a common pilgrim, for fear of being
killed by a glance or a word.
Our supper, also provided by the hospitable Hajj, is the counterpart of
the midday dinner. After it we repair to the roof, to enjoy the prospect
of the far Tajurrah hills and the white moonbeams sleeping upon the nearer
sea. The evening star hangs like a diamond upon the still horizon: around
the moon a pink zone of light mist, shading off into turquoise blue, and a
delicate green like chrysopraz, invests the heavens with a peculiar charm.
The scene is truly suggestive: behind us, purpling in the night-air and
silvered by the radiance from above, lie the wolds and mountains tenanted
by the fiercest of savages; their shadowy mysterious forms exciting vague
alarms in the traveller's breast. Sweet as the harp of David, the night-
breeze and the music of the water come up from the sea; but the ripple and
the rustling sound alternate with the hyena's laugh, the jackal's cry, and
the wild dog's lengthened howl.
Or, the weather becoming cold, we remain below, and Mohammed Umar returns
to read out more "Book of Lights," or some pathetic ode. I will quote in
free translation the following production of the celebrated poet Abd el
Rahman el Burai, as a perfect specimen of melancholy Arab imagery:
"No exile is the banished to the latter end of earth,
The exile is the banished to the coffin and the tomb
"He hath claims on the dwellers in the places of their birth
Who wandereth the world, for he lacketh him a home.
"Then, blamer, blame me not, were my heart within thy breast,
The sigh would take the place of thy laughter and thy scorn.
"Let me weep for the sin that debars my soul of rest,
The tear may yet avail,--all in vain I may not mourn! [22]
"Woe! woe to thee, Flesh!--with a purer spirit now
The death-day were a hope, and the judgment-hour a joy!
"One morn I woke in pain, with a pallor on my brow,
As though the dreaded Angel were descending to destroy:
"They brought to me a leech, saying, 'Heal him lest he die!'
On that day, by Allah, were his drugs a poor deceit!
"They stripped me and bathed me, and closed the glazing eye,
And dispersed unto prayers, and to haggle for my sheet.
"The prayers without a bow [23] they prayed over me that day,
Brought nigh to me the bier, and disposed me within.
"Four bare upon their shoulders this tenement of clay,
Friend and kinsmen in procession bore the dust of friend and kin.
"They threw upon me mould of the tomb and went their way--
A guest, 'twould seem, had flitted from the dwellings of the tribe!
"My gold and my treasures each a share they bore away,
Without thanks, without praise, with a jest and with a jibe.
"My gold and my treasures each his share they bore away,
On me they left the weight!--with me they left the sin!
"That night within the grave without hoard or child I lay,
No spouse, no friend were there, no comrade and no kin.
"The wife of my youth, soon another husband found--
A stranger sat at home on the hearthstone of my sire.
"My son became a slave, though not purchased nor bound,
The hireling of a stranger, who begrudged him his hire.
"Such, alas, is human life! such the horror of his death!
Man grows like a grass, like a god he sees no end.
"Be wise, then, ere too late, brother! praise with every breath
The hand that can chastise, the arm that can defend:
"And bless thou the Prophet, the averter of our ills,
While the lightning flasheth bright o'er the ocean and the hills."
At this hour my companions become imaginative and superstitious. One
Salimayn, a black slave from the Sawahil [24], now secretary to the Hajj,
reads our fortunes in the rosary. The "fal" [25], as it is called, acts a
prominent part in Somali life. Some men are celebrated for accuracy of
prediction; and in times of danger, when the human mind is ever open to
the "fooleries of faith," perpetual reference is made to their art. The
worldly wise Salimayn, I observed, never sent away a questioner with an
ill-omened reply, but he also regularly insisted upon the efficacy of
sacrifice and almsgiving, which, as they would assuredly be neglected,
afforded him an excuse in case of accident. Then we had a recital of the
tales common to Africa, and perhaps to all the world. In modern France, as
in ancient Italy, "versipelles" become wolves and hide themselves in the
woods: in Persia they change themselves into bears, and in Bornou and Shoa
assume the shapes of lions, hyenas, and leopards. [26] The origin of this
metamorphic superstition is easily traceable, like man's fetisism or
demonology, to his fears: a Bedouin, for instance, becomes dreadful by the
reputation of sorcery: bears and hyenas are equally terrible; and the two
objects of horror are easily connected. Curious to say, individuals having
this power were pointed out to me, and people pretended to discover it in
their countenances: at Zayla I was shown a Bedouin, by name Farih Badaun,
who notably became a hyena at times, for the purpose of tasting human
blood. [27] About forty years ago, three brothers, Kayna, Fardayna, and
Sollan, were killed on Gulays near Berberah for the crime of
metamorphosis. The charge is usually substantiated either by the bestial
tail remaining appended to a part of the human shape which the owner has
forgotten to rub against the magic tree, or by some peculiar wound which
the beast received and the man retained. Kindred to this superstition is
the belief that many of the Bedouins have learned the languages of birds
and beasts. Another widely diffused fancy is that of the Aksar [28], which
in this pastoral land becomes a kind of wood: wonderful tales are told of
battered milk-pails which, by means of some peg accidentally cut in the
jungle, have been found full of silver, or have acquired the qualities of
cornucopiae. It is supposed that a red heifer always breaks her fast upon
the wonderful plant, consequently much time and trouble have been expended
by the Somal in watching the morning proceedings of red heifers. At other
times we hear fearful tales of old women who, like the Jigar Khwar of
Persia, feed upon man's liver: they are fond of destroying young children;
even adults are not ashamed of defending themselves with talismans. In
this country the crone is called Bidaa or Kumayyo, words signifying a
witch: the worst is she that destroys her own progeny. No wound is visible
in this vampyre's victim: generally he names his witch, and his friends
beat her to death unless she heal him: many are thus martyred; and in
Somali land scant notice is taken of such a peccadillo as murdering an old
woman. The sex indeed has by no means a good name: here, as elsewhere,
those who degrade it are the first to abuse it for degradation. At Zayla
almost all quarrels are connected with women; the old bewitch in one way,
the young in another, and both are equally maligned. "Wit in a woman,"
exclaims one man, "is a habit of running away in a dromedary." "Allah,"
declares another, "made woman of a crooked bone; he who would straighten
her, breaketh her." Perhaps, however, by these generalisms of abuse the
sex gains: they prevent personal and individual details; and no society of
French gentlemen avoids mentioning in public the name of a woman more
scrupulously than do the misogynist Moslems.
After a conversazione of two hours my visitors depart, and we lose no
time--for we must rise at cockcrow--in spreading our mats round the common
room. You would admire the Somali pillow [29], a dwarf pedestal of carved
wood, with a curve upon which the greasy poll and its elaborate _frisure_
repose. Like the Abyssinian article, it resembles the head-rest of ancient
Egypt in all points, except that it is not worked with Typhons and other
horrors to drive away dreadful dreams. Sometimes the sound of the
kettledrum, the song, and the clapping of hands, summon us at a later hour
than usual to a dance. The performance is complicated, and, as usual with
the trivialities easily learned in early youth, it is uncommonly difficult
to a stranger. Each dance has its own song and measure, and, contrary to
the custom of El Islam, the sexes perform together. They begin by clapping
the hands and stamping where they stand; to this succeed advancing,
retiring, wheeling about, jumping about, and the other peculiarities of
the Jim Crow school. The principal measures are those of Ugadayn and
Batar; these again are divided and subdivided;--I fancy that the
description of Dileho, Jibwhayn, and Hobala would be as entertaining and
instructive to you, dear L., as Polka, Gavotte, and Mazurka would be to a
Somali.
On Friday--our Sunday--a drunken crier goes about the town, threatening
the bastinado to all who neglect their five prayers. At half-past eleven a
kettledrum sounds a summons to the Jami or Cathedral. It is an old barn
rudely plastered with whitewash; posts or columns of artless masonry
support the low roof, and the smallness of the windows, or rather air-
holes, renders its dreary length unpleasantly hot. There is no pulpit; the
only ornament is a rude representation of the Meccan Mosque, nailed like a
pothouse print to the wall; and the sole articles of furniture are ragged
mats and old boxes, containing tattered chapters of the Koran in greasy
bindings. I enter with a servant carrying a prayer carpet, encounter the
stare of 300 pair of eyes, belonging to parallel rows of squatters, recite
the customary two-bow prayer in honor of the mosque, placing sword and
rosary before me, and then, taking up a Koran, read the Cow Chapter (No.
18.) loud and twangingly. At the Zohr or mid-day hour, the Muezzin inside
the mosque, standing before the Khatib or preacher, repeats the call to
prayer, which the congregation, sitting upon their shins and feet, intone
after him. This ended, all present stand up, and recite every man for
himself, a two-bow prayer of Sunnat or Example, concluding with the
blessing on the Prophet and the Salam over each shoulder to all brother
Believers. The Khatib then ascends his hole in the wall, which serves for
pulpit, and thence addresses us with "The peace be upon you, and the mercy
of Allah, and his benediction;" to which we respond through the Muezzin,
"And upon you be peace, and Allah's mercy!" After sundry other religious
formulas and their replies, concluding with a second call to prayer, our
preacher rises, and in the voice with which Sir Hudibras was wont
"To blaspheme custard through the nose,"
preaches El Waaz [30], or the advice-sermon. He sits down for a few
minutes, and then, rising again, recites El Naat, or the Praise of the
Prophet and his Companions. These are the two heads into which the Moslem
discourse is divided; unfortunately, however, there is no application. Our
preacher, who is also Kazi or Judge, makes several blunders in his Arabic,
and he reads his sermons, a thing never done in El Islam, except by the
_modice docti_. The discourse over, our clerk, who is, if possible, worse
than the curate, repeats the form of call termed El Ikamah; then entering
the Mihrab or niche, he recites the two-bow Friday litany, with, and in
front of, the congregation. I remarked no peculiarity in the style of
praying, except that all followed the practice of the Shafeis in El
Yemen,--raising the hands for a moment, instead of letting them depend
along the thighs, between the Rukaat or bow and the Sujdah or prostration.
This public prayer concluded, many people leave the mosque; a few remain
for more prolonged devotions.
There is a queer kind of family likeness between this scene and that of a
village church, in some quiet nook of rural England. Old Sharmarkay, the
squire, attended by his son, takes his place close to the pulpit; and
although the _Honoratiores_ have no padded and cushioned pews, they
comport themselves very much as if they had. Recognitions of the most
distant description are allowed before the service commences: looking
around is strictly forbidden during prayers; but all do not regard the
prohibition, especially when a new moustache enters. Leaving the church,
men shake hands, stand for a moment to exchange friendly gossip, or
address a few words to the preacher, and then walk home to dinner. There
are many salient points of difference. No bonnets appear in public: the
squire, after prayers, gives alms to the poor, and departs escorted by two
dozen matchlock-men, who perseveringly fire their shotted guns.