YERIM TO DHAMAR.
The immediate approach to Yerim is over a level plain a mile or two in
width, across which, immediately in front of one, lies the town—a poor
enough looking place, lying half on the level ground and half on the
steep slope of a mountain, Jibel Samára. This flat ground is dotted
in places with tanks, and here the townspeople congregate to do their
washing, and many a pretty group we passed of men, women, and children
engaged in that wholesome pursuit. Eastern washing processes are too
well known to need any description here: suffice it to say that it is
generally performed by men, whose one desire seems to be, by stamping on
the clothes and beating them with large stones, to see how many fragments
they can tear them into. They are generally successful in sending the
things back in shreds. It must be an invigorating profession; for the
fact that one places the clothes upon a rock, and then proceeds to dance
first on one leg and then on the other with all the energy and strength
one possesses, at the same time issuing a series of low cries, must tend
to strengthen not only the limbs but the lungs also!
We did not stay, however, to watch the washers, but hurried on into
the town; for although I had some days before successfully crossed the
frontier of Turkish Yemen at the _jimerouk_ near Kátaba, this was the
first time I was to find myself in a Turkish garrisoned town.
[Illustration: UPPER FLOOR OF A KHAN AT YERIM.]
As soon as we had approached the place Turkish soldiers became apparent,
and a miserable crew they were. A few were sauntering about near the
gate, laughing and talking to others who leaned over the parapet of the
old tower that forms one corner of the fortified entrance to the place.
Passing through the gateway without any particular notice being taken
of us, we proceeded by narrow streets to an open square, which serves
as a market, and entered the huge doorway of a large caravanserai or
khan. This place, typical of the country, calls for some description.
The building was evidently an old one, the material used being stone on
the lower storeys, and above sun-dried bricks. An archway led one into
a large covered space, some ten or fifteen yards in width, and perhaps
thirty in length. There was no light admitted except from the great
doorway and a curious barred window above it. This portion of the khan
was of great height, the roof of the building forming the only obstacle
between it and the sky. This roof was supported by large arches on
buttresses running out from the wall on either side. A series of brick
fire-places for charcoal ran along one side of the building, divided from
one another by low brick seats, where the Arabs could sit and brew their
own _keshour_, or drink of coffee-husks. Farther in the space served as
a stable, and there were quite a number of camels, mules, and donkeys
within its precincts. The opposite side to that on which the stoves were
was taken up by a staircase leading to a long gallery. Here the better
class of people, such as merchants and native sheikhs, congregated. The
buttresses supporting the roof divided the gallery into compartments,
and it seemed to be the custom for a party to engage one for themselves,
where they would spread their carpets and smoke their hubble-bubbles,
calling to the khan servants below for their coffee and food, and
charcoal for their pipes. One end of this gallery, on the left of the
staircase, formed a little room, which I was able to procure for my use.
The fact that it was built immediately above the kitchen, and that the
thickest of wood fumes crept up between the ill-laid boards, did not add
to my comfort. The ceiling and walls of the whole building were black
with the smoke of ages, but the scene was a most picturesque one, and I
sat at the doorway of my little chamber and sketched the place.
However, I was not to be left very long in peace, for an impudent young
Turk came and began to search my luggage, and to speak in such an
impertinent manner that he had to be ejected. I knew that, whatever
orders he might have had, he would have received none that would allow
of his conducting himself in this way—for the Turk, be he what he may,
seldom if ever fails to be polite. There is an innate manner in him that
is always charming, in spite of the many other drawbacks to his character.
I called on the Kaimakam a little later and told him what had happened,
saying that I was quite prepared to have my luggage searched, but asking
that I might be treated with a certain amount of decent respect. The Turk
of whom I complained was sent for, and such wrath did the Kaimakam show
with him that the young man, a junior clerk in one of the Government
offices, had to ask me to beg the Governor to forgive him, which I
readily did. I found my host as pleasant and gentlemanly as any Turk I
met in the country, and he insisted on my spending an hour with him and
his brother officers. I showed him my passport, for here there was no
longer any need to pretend that I was a Greek trader, and he seemed much
impressed with the number of seals and stamps with which it was covered.
Of what value the wording and decoration of this British passport was at
Sanaa will be told anon. But more astonished still was his Excellency
at the fact that I had pushed through the Owd tribe and arrived from
Kátaba—for, as he said, the road had been impassable for many months,
and he laughed heartily at an Englishman having been the first to open it
again. Yerim, he said, was the dullest of dull places, and he longed for
the society and gaieties of his native town—some out-of-the-way spot in
Asia Minor, the name of which I had never even heard.
Returning from his residence to the khan, he followed me half an hour
later and returned my call, accompanied by a couple of his officers.
However, the fact that one could scarcely see across the room for smoke
did not tend to detain him long, and I was soon left to my own devices.
As soon as it was cool enough, under the guidance of Saïd, who knew
the place well, I sauntered out and strolled through the bazaars; but
although I wore on my head a Turkish fez, all sorts of rumours had been
spread about concerning me, and I was the whole time the centre of a
large crowd, who, though they pressed me rather hard, were polite but
dirty, so that I found it advisable after a short time to beat a retreat.
Yerim apparently has no great pretensions to antiquity, although
there formerly stood on the same spot, or somewhere in the immediate
neighbourhood, a city of the name of Dhu-Ruayn. The ancient capital of
this district is Zafar, the ruins of which, lying some miles to the
south-east, are still visible on the summit of a circular hill.
There is but little to see in Yerim. The town is essentially a poor
one, and although built partly on the slope of a mountain where stone is
procurable, the houses are almost entirely composed of sun-dried bricks.
Dirt and squalor abound on every side, and the streets of narrow bazaars
show no signs of any great commerce or trade. What little importance the
place can lay claim to is owing to the fact that it lies on the main
road from Sanaa to Aden, and is a garrisoned city. Like Dhamar, it fell
into the hands of the Arabs during the rebellion at the end of 1891, but
was retaken by Ismail Pasha, whom we had seen a month or two after its
recapture, encamped at Kátaba. The Arabs, however, seem to have gone to
no excesses; and beyond taking prisoner the Kaimakam, who was still at
this time in the hands of the Imam at Sadah, and his officers, behaved
with great leniency toward the Turks, many of whom threw in their lot
with the Arab cause.
During the evening I received many callers, who came probably from
curiosity rather than from any other reason. Amongst them were several of
the “Ashraf,” of the family of Ahmed ed-Din, the leader of the rebellion,
who had seen all through that their cousins’ cause was a hopeless one,
and had remained neutral during the war. I found them exceedingly
pleasant, and they conversed for a long time about their country. One was
especially a fine man, young and exceedingly handsome. As is the custom
amongst the nobility, these guests all had closely-shaven heads. One
or two of them were richly dressed in silk robes, and wore daggers of
exquisite silver and gold work. It was late before I got rid of the last
of them, and was able to seek a few hours’ rest before starting again.
At dawn we were off, our caravan augmented by a couple of Arab soldiers
in the service of the Turks, who, by the by, would have proved of little
advantage in an attack, as they were armed solely with spears; but in all
probability they were sent to watch my movements. The Turks employ a very
considerable number of these soldiers in their service, many being of the
class of “Akhdam,” probably descendants of the Abyssinians who invaded
the Yemen in A.D. 525; while others come from Yaffa and Hadramaut, and
are ready to fight against any one so long as pay and booty are to be
obtained.
We left Yerim by a gate to the north of the city, near which is a
picturesque stone mosque, with a white dome, which I had failed to notice
the previous day.
Emerging through the gateway, the track proceeds for a time along a
straight level road, lying below the slopes of Jibel Samára, on which a
few Arabs, mounted on ponies, were galloping to and fro, with the evident
purpose of thrilling me with their equestrian powers. They were good
riders certainly, and very picturesque they looked with their long black
hair waving behind them, and the rising sun sparkling on their polished
spear-heads.
The level surface of the plateau over which we were passing made one
forget the great altitude we had reached; and such is the appearance of
the surrounding country, that one could scarcely realise that one was not
on some low level plain, but at an elevation of over eight thousand feet
above the sea-level.
At one spot, however, this is forcibly brought to one’s mind, for the
road passes close to the edge of a deep narrow gorge through which flows
the river Kha. This valley presents a most extraordinary appearance
as seen from above, for it is nothing more or less than a huge slice
cut out of the plateau. We passed it at its apex, and could see down
nearly its whole course. The distance from side to side at the upper
part is extraordinarily small, the sides of the valley being formed of
perpendicular precipices. Far, far down below us, some thousands of feet
at the nearest part, were the coffee-groves and villages, dotted here and
there along the broken rocks that fringed the edge of the river, which
we could follow with our eyes, a thread of silver, till it was lost in
the hazy mists that lay across the valley many miles away. Beyond this
again rose the torn fantastic peaks to which we were now becoming so
accustomed. It was a wonderful sight, and we reined in our mules and
stood, Arabs and European alike, gazing at it with wondering eyes. The
Wadi Kha, unlike so many of these Yemen rivers, eventually reaches the
sea. It flows into the Wadi Zebeed, and continuing its course through
the city of that name, and across the Teháma, reaches the Red Sea at Ras
Zebeed, opposite the island of Jibel Zukur. Just as suddenly as we had
come in sight of this strange gorge, just so suddenly did we lose it
again, and only a few minutes after having left its brink the surrounding
scenery assumed its former appearance, that of a dusty rocky plain.
Close to this spot is a mark in a rock which is supposed to be the
footprint of Ali, the son-in-law and one of the successors in the
Caliphate of the Prophet Mahammed, or of his horse, there seems to be no
certainty which. The imprint itself is vague enough to be anything, but
too large to be either of those mentioned.
Below the village of Digishúb we stopped to refresh ourselves and take
breakfast. A few rough stone huts have been erected by the roadside,
near which some kind philanthropist has built a series of small tanks,
supplied with delicious cold water by a spring. In one of these tanks
live an enormous quantity of fish. The water is very shallow, and the
pond small, and were it not that the passers-by feed them on crumbs,
there would be but little chance of their being able to exist in such a
small space. Unlike fish in the springs of Morocco, they are not held in
any way sacred, and the Jews often catch and cook them, though the Arabs
say that they themselves never touch them.
The funniest old specimen of age, rags, and dirt made our coffee for
us—as dishevelled an old witch as ever man set eyes upon. She is
reported, in spite of her filthy condition, to be of great wealth—for
the country, of course—and is apparently a well-known character upon the
road. Quite a number of caravan-men, who happened to be resting there,
kept up a continual volley of chaff, which reached its climax when, on
hearing of her reported riches, I offered to become a Moslem, and lead
her a blushing bride to the altar. She took it all in very good part, and
laughed as much as her begrimed parchment-like skin would allow, but I
feared now and again it would crack.
On the road between Digishúb and the city of Dhamar are three sets of old
Himyaric tanks, cut in the solid rock, as are, with the exception of a
few where the nature of the country allows of some small gully being made
use of, all the tanks of this period. Although resembling somewhat the
tanks of Aden, there are here none of the natural advantages to be found
at that place; for there the crater pours its water by aqueducts and
natural channels into the tanks, which are built tier above tier in the
wall of rock and between precipices. These between Digishúb and Dhamar,
however, lie in the level plain, and are excavated. They are dependent
entirely upon the rainfall for supply, and, as far as has been found
possible, the water has been drained toward them; but this, owing to the
dead level of the country, is to a very slight extent practicable. These
tanks are circular in form, and of considerable size and depth. At one
spot a flight of steps descends to the water’s edge, while a smaller
tank above the steps can be filled from buckets, &c., for the animals to
drink from. The entire tanks are lined with intensely hard cement, which
takes a peculiar polish, and on one were visible rough designs of men on
horseback, and gazelle, scratched into the plaster evidently at the time
it was originally applied. The extraordinarily perfect condition in which
these tanks are to-day, steps and all, speaks to the excellence of the
workmanship of those who excavated and built them; and the caravans are
still mainly dependent upon these extremely antique reservoirs for water
for the men and their beasts of burden.
Again, the plateau is broken by valleys to the west, but in no way to
compare with that through which the Wadi Kha flows. There a slight
descent takes one from the boulder-strewn undulating hills to the flat
ground again, broken here and there by rocky barren crags which stand out
against the dull yellow earth. On one of these is situated Dhamar el-Gar,
a village of some size; and on approaching this spot we caught sight
of, far ahead of us, all shimmering in the fierce sunlight, the city of
Dhamar itself. For the last hour and a half of the road we proceeded
over perfectly level ground, strewn with sandy dust, and, though showing
signs of cultivation, boasting scarcely a blade of anything green. As we
neared the city we obtained a better view of the place, so twisted and
turned had it at first been by the steaming vapour rising from the heated
ground.
Dhamar lies in the flat plain, the nearest hill of any size being Hait
Hirran, a mountain rising some hundreds of feet above the surrounding
country a couple of miles or so to the north of the city. Many high
mountains, however, are visible, especially the range of Jibel Issi to
the east, though it is a long way distant. This and its neighbouring
mountains must be of great height, for Dhamar itself is situated almost
exactly eight thousand feet above the sea-level. It is not a walled city,
but is more or less defended by a series of small, and, for the most
part, mud-built forts. Three minarets dominate the town, one of them
sadly out of the perpendicular, as it was struck by a cannon-shot during
one of the many wars it has been its lot to witness.
A narrow street, twisting and turning amongst open drains, ruined tombs,
and apparently objectless walls, leads one into the city. Here there are
signs of more wealth, many of the houses being well built of stone, while
a wide open square gives quite a handsome appearance to the place.
It is on to this square that the Government offices look, and before
we had half crossed it our mules were stopped by a number of Turkish
soldiers, under whose guidance we proceeded to visit the Kaimakam of the
town.
[Illustration: _Mosque and minaret at Dhamar._]
Alighting at a large gate leading into a yard and garden, we entered a
house, built in European style and with glass windows, and, ascending
a staircase, found ourselves in a large room. Divans surrounded the
walls, and a few shabby chairs and a table or two stood about the place.
Seated at one end of the room, drinking coffee and smoking, were four
or five Turkish officers in clean bright uniforms. As I entered one of
these rose, and, walking to meet me, shook hands with me, and led me
to the divan, at the same time calling to a servant for cigarettes and
coffee. My guard, who had come with me from Yerim, presented a letter
that had been intrusted to him by the Kaimakam of that place, which was
immediately opened and read. The officer then told me I was welcome,
and we conversed for about half an hour on general subjects. He could
not understand how I had ever attempted or succeeded in getting through
the country between Kátaba and Yerim, and laughed considerably when I
told him of my adventures. He was, in fact, as were those with him, most
polite and kind, and the one or two calls I paid to him, and he to me,
during my stay, will always be remembered by myself as most pleasant.
Before leaving the Kaimakam I obtained his permission to take up my
residence in the house of Saïd during my stay in that town; for the
latter had insisted on my not going to a khan, but spending the few
days we had determined to stay here in his father’s house. This favour
was readily granted me, and mounting my mules once more, Saïd, full of
impatience, leading the way, we crossed the big square, and winding
in and out amongst the narrow streets, finally drew up at a large
three-storeyed detached mud-brick house, which Saïd, almost dancing with
delight, pointed out to me as “_el-beit betaana_”—“our house.”
[Illustration: MY QUARTERS AT DHAMAR.]
Saïd received quite an ovation on his arrival, being kissed and hugged
in turns by all manner of strange people: an old grey-bearded father
followed his grey-haired mother; brothers, sisters, cousins, children,
aunts, swarmed out of that house like ants, until one believed that
every available inch of the place must be taken up by living people,
and I began to feel quite nervous as to where room would be found to
put myself away. At length the greetings were got through, and the male
portion of the relations turned their attention to my mules, which were
quickly unpacked and the baggage carried indoors. Then Saïd approached
me, and having run his hand through his wavy black curls, as was a habit
of his, bade me enter. As I stepped into the doorway with him he greeted
me in true Yemen fashion, and with all the demonstration an Arab loves so
much—and I believe in his case it was genuine.
Climbing to the top storey of the house, we entered a large airy room,
the proportions and decoration of which fairly astonished me, for
from the outside, although the house was large, it had a poor enough
appearance, being built entirely of sun-dried mud-bricks.
The guest-room, for such the chamber evidently was, measured some
thirty-five feet in length by fifteen wide. One end showed a bare floor
of cement, but the other was richly carpeted with rugs and striped
cloths, while divans, thick woollen mattresses, ran round the walls. The
room was evidently not in use, which was reassuring, as I feared vermin.
A number of handsome bronze brasiers, and strange bowls and coffee-pots,
were piled up in one corner, while another was occupied by a pile of
cushions, principally covered in European cottons, and happily tolerably
clean. Sunk into the walls were alcoves, in which scent-bottles and
sprinklers, cups and saucers, and many other things in which the heart
of the Oriental delights, were standing. But of all the pretty things
with which the room was filled, the windows were certainly the most
lovely. Except for two or three that closed with wooden shutters from the
inside, they did not open, the place of glass being taken by alabaster.
The effect of the light falling through the semi-opaque stone was soft
and luxurious, a rosy yellow in colour. The slabs used for these windows
vary in thickness, so that the light is regulated, and though in this
particular instance they were of uniform depth, in other places I saw
them richly carved in relief, so that the background was a monotone of
yellow; but where the carving, principally geometric designs, was, a
much deeper tone of colour was reflected, owing to the thickness of the
material being greater. Such, then, were the quarters we took up in the
house of Saïd el-Dhamari.
[Illustration: KARIAT EN-NEGIL.]