THE WOMAN OF THE DESERT
“Behold the townsman,” cried one of the Bedouins, “they have for the
desert but a single word, while we have a legion.”
The desert, which in many eyes is a wilderness of desolation, has for
the dweller beneath the tents another aspect. It is the desert which he
loves, where he was born, under the brown tents of his tribe where he
hopes to pass his life, and in the sands where he wishes to be buried.
He loves each one of its many phases, from the sand burnt to powder by
the white fire of the noonday sun, to the cool breeze of the dying day,
that causes the smoke from the many fires to rise in blue-grey wreaths
to the evening sky, which changes from violet to greyer blue, and then
to the intense dark blue of the precious sapphire.
The Bedouin, to whatever tribe he may belong, sitting astride his camel,
padding softly through the desert sands, sees before him the low black
tents of a desert village, and knows that he may descend and find a
welcome. The host will say to him, “Every stranger is an invited guest,
and the guest while in the tent is the lord thereof.” He may sit before
the large round bowl of mutton and eat his fill, and when the stars have
come out, and seem so near that he may put up his hand and pluck them
from their field of blue, he will be conducted to the guest-tent or to
the tent of the headman, and, wrapping himself more tightly in his long
cloak, he will lie down secure, knowing that his life is safe so long as
he remains a guest of the tribe, having eaten of their salt and drank
their water.
These Arabs of the desert are proud with a pride we do not understand.
They are proud of their long lineage, of the purity of their blood, of
their unbroken traditions. They are an impulsive, restless people, who,
with their emotional temperament, give impetuosity to everything which
they touch. They are the real adventurers of the world, and their
nervous, high-strung, daring characteristics have become so absorbed
into their very being as to have become permanent marks of their race.
At the seat of all troubles, in countries where the Bedouins are strong,
one finds them ready to do and dare anything that appeals to their
imagination. At the rising of a Mahdi, it is the Arab of the desert who
is his strongest support, who will die for him, who will sweep down like
a holocaust upon the people who do not share with him his beliefs in the
cause, for which he throws his life away with a bravado that makes men
of a more sluggish blood gasp in astonishment. This cause must appeal to
his emotions—those same riotous emotions which never produce, but always
ruin. We are told that the Bedouin is the author of complete desolation,
and that destruction follows in his pathway; that his effects are always
sinister, and that this race brings ruin to any land where they have
been permitted to have full sway. We know he is not a creature of habit,
and that routine, a settled existence, a fixed round of duties, are
things which he does not understand nor practise. He does not reason and
is not practical, yet it is the Arab that has succeeded in sending the
faith of El Islam around the world, and every movement of revival comes
directly from the desert.
Few people travelling in Egypt or Algeria see the real dweller beneath
the tents. There are Bedouins in the cities, and one soon learns to tell
them, with their keen eyes, their eager faces, and majestic stride, from
the more placid, self-satisfied Egyptian. But in the city he is not his
true self, as life in the cities has a permanent and degrading effect on
the character and physique of the race; the fire of the desert dies
within him. It is in the shifting sands beneath the tents that he is at
his best. There he carries out his tribal customs, and there he
practises that wonderful virtue of hospitality that Mohammed, himself an
Arab, laid upon his people. He said, “Whoever believes in God and the
Resurrection must respect his guest; and the time of his being kind to
him is one day and night; and the period of entertaining him is three
days; and after that if he does it longer, it benefits him more, but it
is not right for a guest to stay in the house of a host so long as to
incommode him.” It is said that even a deadly enemy may come to the tent
and demand water and salt, and it will be given him, and he will be
allowed to rest for the night. In the morning he will be sent on his
way, and his life is safe until he has passed the boundary of the
tribe’s dominions, then his enemy is entitled to follow him and kill him
if he can.
All tourists passing through Egypt look forward to a few days passed in
the desert. The guide paints in glowing colours the wonders of the
sands, the colours of the evening sky, the sounds of the hobbled camels
as they wait for the morrow’s march, and the traveller from the West
decides to see for once the life of which he had read and dreamed so
many years. In every soul is a cry for romance, a desire to leave the
prosaic everyday life which he knows too well, and explore the mysteries
of the unknown, hoping that there by chance he will find food to feed
his hungry imagination. A trip to the desert does this for many people.
There the broker or the banker, with the wife he has looked upon for
many years, sit in front of their hired tent, and watch the camel man,
as with scolding voice he prepares the growling, surly camels for the
night. When all is quiet but the distant barking of the dogs, they sit
in front of the evening fire and watch the stars come out in the sky
that seems a great inverted cup of blue above them. The camel drivers,
dragomen, and guards sprawl in easy attitudes and chant mournful, weird
songs that have come to them from the Persian mystics of olden time.
These people from New York or London do not realize that they are not
seeing the real desert nor the people of the desert. The setting is all
staged most carefully by the wily dragoman, who imports his Bedouins
from the neighbouring villages, who dresses tents until they would cause
the man who calls them home to stare in blank amazement at their tawdry
hangings. The only thing he cannot import is the wonderful dessert
sands, the sky, the cooling breezes that always come when the sun has
set. These are free for all, to the ragged camel driver as well as to
the man who scatters so freely the English gold.
We had the pleasure of knowing the chief of a large tribe of Bedouins,
and from his castle on the edge of the desert were permitted to make
many visits to these picturesque people. Our first glimpse of the true
man of the desert was obtained from the visitors in the guest-house,
where any Bedouin could stop from one to three days as the guest of the
chief, and every day about sundown strange white-robed men with guns
strapped across their back rode up on horses and dismounted at the gate,
craving the hospitality of the chief. There were always from ten to
thirty guests within the rest-house, men looking like the Senouisses,
who cause so much trouble for the unbelievers of foreign lands. We were
told that many of them were going to join their brothers in Tripoli to
fight against the hated unbeliever. They were not permitted by the
Government to go openly, as Egypt was supposed to be neutral, so they
took the long caravan journey of thirty days across the desert to aid in
what they considered an unjust war against the true faith.
Within the harim of my hostess were rooms set aside for travelling
Bedouin women, but they were seldom occupied, as the women of the tents
are not wanderers like their husbands, unless the whole tribe moves. My
hostess was a young, educated girl, to whom the confines of a Bedouin
harim must have been very wearying. The laws concerning the women of the
tribe were very strict, one being that a woman must stay within her
apartment until the birth of her first child. My friend was not blessed
with children, but had been compelled to conform to the usages of her
husband’s family, in part at least, by remaining within her home for a
year. Now she went about freely among the villages of the Bedouins near
the castle, only taking the precaution of being veiled. These Bedouin
women were quite another type from those seen in the cities. They had
magnificent physiques, tall and supple, and carried themselves with a
stately grace. They were dressed in long, straight, cotton gowns of blue
or black, and a many-coloured sash was wrapped around the waist. The
only foot covering was the anklets of silver that fell down over the
instep; and they wore over their hair, which was braided in many braids,
and in which was plaited small gold coins that clinked as they moved
their heads, a veil of black with a coloured border, or of dark red with
a yellow border. This veil adds to the dignity and beauty of a woman in
a most charming manner. At the time of feasting or of gaiety the plain
veil is changed for one sewed with bright-coloured beads or sequins.
From the lower lip to the neck, and lost in the covering of the dress,
are three dark blue lines of tattooing. This is seen now only on the
older women, and is being thrown on the altar of modernity by the
daughters of the Bedouins who have peeped into the world and are trying
to be like their more sophisticated Egyptian neighbours. The hair is
straight and black, and with many has been given a tinge of red by
washing it in henna. I saw no grey-haired women; because those who have
been touched by the finger of time, kindly custom has allowed to dye
their locks, and there were many flaming heads above wrinkled faces.
While a guest with the Bedouins, they were quite determined to give me
the touch of red that to them is so beautiful. They say it keeps the
hair cool and prevents it from falling out, protecting it from the
burning sun. I resisted, although I watched the process, which was most
interesting. The henna powder is mixed with water until the consistency
of a paste, and then the head is covered and left for the night, when in
the morning it is washed, and if not applied too thickly there is just a
glint in the dark locks. Henna is also applied to the nails of the
fingers and toes, and with many it practically covers the fingers to the
first joint, making the hands look most uncleanly to European eyes. The
inside of the feet and the palms are not forgotten by the Bedouin or the
Egyptian woman who has conserved the customs of her mother, but the
henna-dyed hands are rarely seen now by the newer generation, who have
relegated the henna-pot to the lumber-room along with the tattooing-ink.
A great mass of jewellery was worn, not the diamonds and rubies found in
the French shops of Cairo, but the true ornaments of a barbaric people.
Great hoops of gold were in the ears, one from the top of the ear,
another hanging from the lobe. The neck, even to the waistline, was
covered with chains formed of balls of gold or of coins, and on the arms
were bracelets. In writing coldly of the Bedouin woman, her tattooing,
her henna-coloured hair, her kohl-blackened eyes, and her massive chains
of gold and anklets of silver, it seems as if she were living in an age
of barbarism, yet it is becoming to her rich colouring, and she is not
overdressed. They all belong to the time and place, and are made for
these women, who need strong settings for their savage beauty.
The women of the desert are much more free to come and go than are the
women of the cities, and it is only when they come in close proximity to
an Egyptian village that the Bedouin expects his wife to be secluded.
They do not mix with members of the other sex as do the women of the
West, because that is contrary to the instincts of all Eastern women,
but naturally they cannot be confined so strictly within the tents as
can the women who live in houses. In each tent is a division or curtain,
behind which the women retire when men approach, but they may be seen
sitting in front of their doorways, and passing to and fro in the
villages without veiling their faces. They pass their spare time when
not occupied in the household duties in weaving gaily coloured blankets,
striped red and yellow and black. These constitute the woman’s fortune.
My friend took me to one tent in which there were forty of these
blankets piled around the edge of the tent, and she said, “Five or six
of these in the possession of a woman and she is considered rich in this
world’s goods. This woman is a multi-millionaire.” She was an old woman
who seemed to be the leader of her village. It was she who met us and
conducted us to the guest-tent, which was at least twenty by thirty feet
in circumference, and which was hung with these beautiful hand-woven
blankets. The sands were covered with rugs on which we sat, and on which
the large round tray was placed for the meal which the kindly hospitable
women insisted that we should eat with them. There are no tables, beds,
nor chairs. The Bedouin says that we can never understand the desert
until we get close to her, rest our feet on her sands, and our head on
her bosom—
But man is earth’s uncomfortable guest
Until she takes him on her lap to rest.
One thinks of a tent in the desert under the pitiless sun as a most
uncomfortable place of retreat, but I found it quite the opposite, as
the strong wind, that seems to be always trying to temper the actions of
its enemy, blew over the desert and entered the open flaps, and crept
under the turned-up edges of the tent, fanning into flame the fire of
sweet-smelling woods that had been kindled in the tiny brass jar. Water
was hanging in porous bottles and in sheepskins in the draught, and when
mixed with the perfumed syrups was cool and refreshing. Coffee with a
touch of ambergris in the cup was served, and melons were given us in
great cool slices. These latter are a favourite fruit of the desert
people, I presume because of the vast amount of water of which they are
composed, and water is the luxury of all luxuries to those who dwell
among the sands. An old Arabian poet said: “There are seven things when
collected together in a drinking-room, it is not reasonable to stay
away. A melon, honey, roast meat, a young girl, wax lights, a singer,
and wine.” Twice during our visit was perfume sprinkled over us, and the
brass brazier was often replenished with sandalwood, a small packet of
the latter being given us as we were leaving. The Arabs, in fact all
Eastern people, love perfumes, and they use them in far greater quantity
and of stronger essence than we consider delicate. Musk and a heavy
perfume distilled from jasmine and roses seems to be a favourite.
Mohammed himself loved perfumes, and speaks of them in his promises to
the faithful who shall fall in battle: “And the wounds of him who shall
fall in battle shall on the day of judgment be resplendent with
vermilion and odorous as musk.” We visited the smaller tents, and in
some it was impossible to stand erect even at the ridge pole. In one was
a young baby wrapped in white cloth and twined with yards and yards of
camel’s-hair rope, only his tiny head and feet protruding to show that
there was a real baby in the bundle. He was bound practically the same
as are the babies of our North American Indian. I took him in my arms,
and he stared at me with great black eyes, and then he laughed and
cooed, much to the delight of the young father, who stood proudly by.
The mother was quite a young girl, not more than fifteen years old, I
should judge, and in her shyness she retired into the security of the
tent, resisting all my friendly overtures to have her picture taken with
the baby in her arms. Children abounded; there will be no race
extinction of the Bedouins so long as they remain in their deserts.
Their little brown bodies snuggled up to us, and their black eyes
twinkled saucily as they shyly held out their hands for the gifts which
evidently my friend always brought with her. They were a much better
type of children than are those in Egyptian villages—strong, pretty
bodies, and without the unhealthy eyes that are seen so much on the
young in Egypt.
In every tent was hung a gun, as robbers are frequent visitors, and each
dweller in the tent must protect his own. He keeps a fierce and noisy
dog that sees a stranger far across the sands, and one is followed far
beyond village confines by these canine police.
Polygamy is practised by the Bedouin more than it is by his city
brothers. I visited in the tent of a woman who was the second wife of
her husband, the other wife living in a tent adjoining. She had two
children, and the first wife one, and from what I heard there was not
the most pleasant relationship between them. Divorce is also one of the
evils, and these primitive men take advantage of it to an alarming
degree. Nearly every one I met had been divorced some time or other. It
was such a common occurrence that it produced no feeling of shame in the
woman who had been divorced.
The Bedouins are so proud of their lineage that they wish to keep the
tribal blood pure, and it leads to intermarriage. Cousins are frequently
married, and often a whole tribe is related in some manner. I was told
that the Bedouin settled an argument with a scolding or recalcitrant
wife by giving her a good chastising with a stick. While in Cairo I met
a most charming Bedouin who had left the sands for the gaieties of the
city. He was quite the polished gentleman to be found in any city, and I
was surprised when told that he had divorced his Bedouin wife because
she was not as progressive as his cosmopolitanism now required, and my
gossipy friend informed me, “They used to quarrel dreadfully and he
would beat her most frightfully.” I saw the lady in question, who had
returned to the tribe and remarried, and I rather admired the hardihood
of the somewhat effeminate man who would dare to try to beat this great
stalwart Bedouin woman, who looked as if she would take an active part
in any chastening that might be passing around her tent.
There is no such word as “privacy” in the Bedouin vocabulary; their
private life must be an open book to all the tribe. Their one great
blessing is the wonderfully clear, dry air, which gives them health and
vigour and makes them immune to many of the diseases that afflict their
Egyptian neighbour. But if they leave the desert and go to live within
the cities, they fall easy victims to the great white plague,
tuberculosis.
The Bedouins are followers of Mohammed, but they put their faith in holy
tombs and charms and sacred groves. They are not so strict in regard to
prayers as are the people who live within call of the muezzin, and the
religion of the women seems to be more superstition than worship of a
God. They placate a God who may do them harm, and they have innumerable
charms and amulets for the guarding of their children. In the desert
whirlwinds they see sweeping across their sands are “ginns” and evil
monsters; and at night, when a star shoots across the dark blue sky,
they believe it is a dart thrown by God at an evil genie, and they
whisper, “May God transfix the enemy of the faith.” Around the naked
children’s neck is hung a small box containing some quotation from the
Koran that will guard them from the evil eye, that curse most dreaded by
all mothers of an Eastern land. For every evil that man is heir to, the
Koran is the cure. A few words from its precious pages are bound upon
the arm of the camel driver, who feels that with this as guardian he
will not be lost upon the trackless sands. When ill, the wife will call
the astrologer, who writes a few words upon a piece of paper, and
soaking it in water, gives it to the wailing child, and the mother is
assured that all will soon be well, because has he not drunk of the very
fount of wisdom, the words that came from God?
The old custom of a life for a life prevails in the desert, and feuds
are handed down from father to son. If a father or brother is killed, it
is the duty of the son or brother to take the life of the enemy of his
house. In the olden time there was blood money which could be paid,
although it was considered a cowardly thing to accept it. A man’s life
was worth a hundred camels, a woman’s only fifty, but the man of honour
asked the life. The chief of the tribe has the power to decide in all
cases between his people, and the English Government does not materially
interfere in the life of the Bedouin.
In regard to the custom of taking a life for a life, there is a story
told of how in the early days the missions made a convert from
Mohammedanism, the only convert made among these tribes. In a blood feud
a man stabbed his enemy, but not fatally, and fleeing to the tent of a
friend he lingered there many days. This tent was one visited by the
missionary of the Christian faith, and while lying on his bed of pain
the wounded man heard of a faith that said, “Love your enemies,” and
before his death he sent word to his tribe that they must forget his
death and not try to avenge it. He even sent word that he forgave his
enemy. This was so astonishing that neither could the man who killed him
nor his tribe believe the fact, and secretly the enemy decided to find
for himself what had caused the unheard of message to be brought to his
tent. He learned of the new religion that said, “Revenge is Mine, saith
the Lord,” and he became the only Bedouin convert to the Christian
faith.
Living in this home on the edge of the desert we saw the real life of
the tent people. We watched them as, weary and tired looking, they
returned from their long journeys. We saw the trains of laden camels as
they started for the distant cities. We saw the shepherd boys drive in
the flocks of sheep or goats, looking as they did in olden Bible times.