PERSONAGES
Mahomed the Interpreter--Mahomed as magistrate--Mahomed as
author--Mahomed's reason for Ramathan--Mahomed as fighting
man--Buralli Robleh, policeman and gentleman--Buralli's domestic
affairs--Mohamed Auwit, petition writer.
I
Mahomed is the court interpreter, a personage of considerable
importance and would-be dignity. In spite of a decidedly perverse
sense of proportion, leading him at times to confuse the duties of
interpreter with those of magistrate, he is not a bad fellow. He
has certain peculiarities and some aggravating ways, all of which
I readily condone by admitting that Mahomed means well. But though
meaning well a man may still do badly, and I suspect that our
Mahomed is not the tremendous success he imagines himself to be. The
day may come--though I doubt it--when he will decide to discard the
turban for a hat, in which case, should he find one large enough to
fit his head, and if by any chance there lies within his nature a
spark of humour capable of asserting itself, the great Mahomed will
become quite a human, lovable character.
I have learned much from him; among other things the respect and
honour due to a court interpreter. Upon these points my education,
I regret to say, had been sadly neglected, but Mahomed has done his
best. My first mistake was regrettable. I had occasion to interview
an Indian shopkeeper. Mahomed was not present, and I did not send
for him. I plead in self-defence that the matter was trivial, but,
later on in the day, Mahomed pointed out what a serious thing it
would be if magistrates were allowed to glean information through
other than the official channel, the interpreter. I felt that to
apologise, as I should like to have done, would show Mahomed how
deeply ashamed I was of myself, and, that out of consideration for
my feelings, he might never reprimand me again. But I wanted to
learn.
An occasion arose for him to speak to me a second time. Mahomed
was trying a case in his official capacity as interpreter, I was
assisting in mine of magistrate. An old Arab had died, leaving
some property to be divided amongst several sons; as yet this
had not been done; the property was in charge of the deceased's
brother and stored in his house. One of the heirs was in a hurry
to pouch his share, and removed a hubble-bubble without mentioning
the matter to the others. He was ordered to return it, and to wait
until a proper distribution of the property could be made. But the
fellow was a bad lot; he broke into his uncle's house and stole
a beautifully carved old bed, and some mats. I was examining a
witness, concerning this theft, who had apparently contradicted
herself. It was all about the bed--these people know everything
concerning one another's beds, which are heirlooms. The woman giving
evidence stated, in the first instance, that the bed produced in
court had been given to the accused's aunt by her father-in-law as
a wedding present. The father-in-law was the accused's grandfather.
Further on in her statement the witness said it had been given to
the accused's aunt by a woman. I asked her, through Mahomed, to
explain the discrepancy. Mahomed refused to put the question. It was
quite unnecessary, he said. He knew the woman referred to was the
accused's grandmother, and the bed was a joint present from her and
her husband--quite simple.
"But," I said quietly, "I should like the witness, who is on oath,
to tell me that, not you. Please put my question!"
"But I have already explained to you, it is quite unnecessary to ask
the woman!"
I insisted.
Mahomed turned to the inspector of police and said in aggrieved
tones, "The Sahib doubts my word. It is useless my interpreting in
this court."
I felt that on this occasion I must apologise. I cleared the court
and asked Mahomed to stand in the prisoner's cage so that he could
hear every word I said. I told him how sorry I was--for him. He
accepted my apology. He begged that I would not give the matter
another thought, that I would forget all about it. He realised that
his reputation would suffer if people knew how badly I had been
trained at his hands. To save his reputation I agreed to push my
apology no further. But I know Mahomed will not trouble to teach me
any more. I am hopeless.
Mahomed has written a book. He told me so himself. Later on in the
conversation he said that he had written it in collaboration with a
European Sahib. He told the Sahib the names of all the insects and
animals in Somaliland, the Sahib wrote them down, and they are in
the book.
Mahomed has psychic powers. I asked him the other day why he, and
all good Mahomedans, fasted during the month of Ramathan. He did not
know. I expressed surprise. Up to that moment I believed Mahomed
knew everything. He said he would find out and let me know, as he
was sure my version of the origin of the fast was a wrong one. That
evening he came to me and said that, during his midday's siesta, it
had come to him in a dream why he and his friends fasted. When Adam
eat the apple in the garden of Eden it disagreed with him; it was a
green apple and stayed in his belly. Mahomed never uses other than
good old English words. When Adam went to heaven he fasted for a
month, at the end of which time the apple was digested. That is why
all good Mahomedans fast at Ramathan--according to Mahomed's vision.
I advised him to write another book; it would be interesting.
But I have said Mahomed is not a bad fellow. I really meant that. I
have only been depicting a type, taking Mahomed as a sample, Mahomed
the interpreter. Mahomed the private individual holds testimonials
of faithful service, rendered over long periods to European
masters, that any man might well be proud to hold. Once, when he
was very young, in the fight against the Mad Mullah at Erego, he
was placed in charge of the camel carrying the British officers'
water chaguls. In the course of the action he and the camel got
into a very warm corner, and the poor camel lost its life. Mahomed
was only a servant, but he removed a couple of water bags from the
corpse, together with a bottle of whisky someone had stowed away in
the pack, and made his way back to the British line, where, sitting
under a tree, he found his thirsty master and some friends. To them
he quietly presented the water and whisky he had risked his life to
bring them. Of course they were grateful, but that was a long, long
time ago, and most of the officers who sat under that tree are dead.
I wonder if those who are alive still remember Mahomed.
II
A human head sculptured from a block of Welsh slate, an exact
miniature replica of a sphinx, and you have sub-inspector of police,
Buralli Robleh, to the life. Inscrutable but kindly; gentlemanly,
with just a touch of fire to warn careless people that he is not a
man to be played with. Buralli is one of the most likeable natives
I have met in Zeila. For thirty years he has served the government
faithfully and well, and the general impression is that even when
he be retired on pension he will continue so to serve. He is the
terror of all criminals, and the despair of people who intrigue. He
sees that the caravans, as they approach the town, are not besieged
by a crowd of howling brokers and their satellites, but are allowed
to enter the market-place in peace; that the police are doing their
duty, and that their lines and equipment are kept clean; that the
D.C. hears the other side of the story as opposed to that presented
by careless and lazy Akils. He knows the private history of all the
litigants who appear in the District Court, and whether they are
trying to bring up a claim that has been tried fourteen years ago.
He knows whether the poor woman in rags, pleading for a rupee to buy
food for her starving child, is what she seems to be, or a humbug
who is quite well off. Rarely does he give an opinion until asked,
more rarely still is that opinion challenged, and never on the
ground that it is not an honest opinion. During his service Buralli
has served under many Sahibs, some of whom are now famous men; and
Buralli has learned much, among other things the psychology of the
Sahib.
He is not a detective; criminal investigation is not in his line;
but the prevention of crime is. Yet I have heard him confess that,
under certain circumstances, he is prepared to break the law
himself. These were the circumstances. Last night a man returning
home at midnight found a stranger in his house talking to his wife.
He beat the trespasser on the head with a stick, and was arrested by
Buralli. Buralli pressed his case hard. "Unless you punish this man,
Sahib, there will be trouble between his section and the injured
man's section!"
"Buralli," I said, "had you been in the accused's place what would
you have done?"
"I should have put my knife into the other fellow," said Buralli,
"but, had I done so, I should have deserved punishment."
To-day a mail arrived bringing a circular instructing the sons
of all Somal notabilities desirous of undergoing a course of
instruction at Gordon College, Khartoum, to present themselves at
Berbera, not later than the end of the month, for examination as
to fitness for selection. The only candidate in this district is
Buralli's eldest son.
"Better get that boy away at once, Buralli," I said, "or he will be
too late."
"He must wait," said Buralli.
"Why, don't you wish him to go?"
"Ha, Sahib, I wish him to go more than anything else in the world,
but his mother is very ill. She is deeply attached to the boy, and
it would upset her to part with him just now. When she is a little
better I shall tell her, and the boy can go."
And, do you know, I believe Buralli is deeply attached to his sick
wife. He is the first Somal I have ever met who could show such
tender consideration for a woman.
III
Mahomed Auwit, Arab, is the court petition writer. The son of an
influential Arab resident of Aden, who died many years ago leaving
Mahomed a handsome legacy. He belongs to the upper ten of Zeila
society. Rumour has it that the residuum of Mahomed's legacy is
buried in the floor of his house. He is a scholar, and reads and
writes not only Arabic but also English passing well.
It is customary for people with a plaint to engage the services
of Mahomed to write it all down in English, in what is called a
petition. The defendant and plaintiff in the same case may each
write a petition, which is handed up, with the other documents,
when the case comes on for trial. A very excellent plan, giving the
magistrate some idea of what the dispute is all about. Mahomed is
a past master at writing petitions, and some of his epistles might
well have been taken straight out of the Old Testament.
He is a most estimable, unassuming character, wears glasses, has
a pronounced stoop, and in appearance is not at all unlike a tall
thin old woman with a large nose, dressed only in a turban, her
nightdress, and a pair of sandals.
Mahomed the interpreter, Buralli, and Mahomed Auwit are the three
most important personages in Zeila district court.