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Title: Siwa: the oasis of Jupiter Ammon
Author: Charles Dalrymple Belgrave
Contributor: Sir F. R. Wingate
Release date: December 11, 2024 [eBook #74874]
Language: English
Original publication: United Kingdom: John Lane The Bodley Head Ltd
Credits: Galo Flordelis (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIWA: THE OASIS OF JUPITER AMMON ***
SIWA
[Illustration: THE WALLS OF SIWA]
SIWA
THE OASIS OF JUPITER AMMON
BY C. DALRYMPLE BELGRAVE
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
GENERAL SIR REGINALD WINGATE
BART., G.C.B., ETC. ETC. ILLUSTRATED
WITH SKETCHES AND PHOTOGRAPHS
BY THE AUTHOR
JOHN LANE THE BODLEY HEAD LTD.
LONDON: VIGO STREET, W. 1
_First Published in 1923_
Printed in Great Britain at
_The Mayflower Press, Plymouth_. William Brendon & Son, Ltd.
TO
MY MOTHER
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
THE COAST
Siwa — Whereabouts — The ex-Khedive and Germans — The
ancient Libyans — The coastal belt — The Mariut Railway
— Mersa Matruh — The Bay — Antony and Cleopatra — Greek
Traders — Motor Maniacs — Sponge fishers — From Matruh to
Sollum — Barrani and Bagbag — Sollum Bay — Western Desert
Arabs, characteristics, tents, carpets, appearance, marriage
customs, women — An Arab meal — “Gold tooth” — Buried
money — Horses — Hawking — Silugi hounds — Hunting —
Shooting — The Scarp — Flowers — The Rains — Houses —
The Cruiser _Abdel Moneim_ — A tripper 1
CHAPTER II
THE DESERT
The Frontier Districts Administration — The Camel Corps —
Harimat — Story of a stove — The Booza Camp — The men —
Diary of trek from Sollum to Siwa — Departure — Augerin,
a Roman cistern — Bir Hamed — A desert dance — Ascent
of Scarp — Qur el Beid — Camel riding — Evening on the
desert — Camp — Utter desert — Mud pans — Mirage —
“Khuz” bread — Desert tracks — Bisharin trackers —
Night marching — A caravan — “The country of Dogs” —
Among the ravines — The Megahiz Spring — Siwa — District
Officer’s House — “Taking over” wives — A typical day
— Siwan manners — The Sheikhs — The staff — View from
Siwa — Aghourmi village — A slave woman — A rifle raid 37
CHAPTER III
THE HISTORY OF SIWA
FIRST PERIOD. THE TEMPLE OF JUPITER AMMON
The Siwan Deity — A local religion — Legendary origin of
the God — Herodotus — The Kingdom of the Ammonians —
Lysander’s visit — Cambyses — A lost army — Cimon’s
death foretold — The “Fountain of the Sun” — The temples
— The King’s court — The temple to-day — Alexander visits
Siwa — His adventures on the way — Ritual of the temple —
Decline of its fame — Strabo’s theory — The Romans —
Christianity 74
SECOND PERIOD. MEDIÆVAL SIWA
Arab invasion of Egypt — Attempts to subjugate the oasis —
Arab historians — The marvels of Siwa — Hidden cities —
Emerald mines — Siwans become Mohammedans — King Rashwan
— “The Thirty” — Sidi Suliman — Legends about him —
Style of living — Quarrel between east and west — Civil wars
— Recent disturbance — Browne at Siwa — Hornemann 89
THIRD PERIOD. THE TURKISH RULE
Invasion of Siwa — Hassein Bey — Colonel Butin — Ali Balli,
the Omda — Hamilton at Siwa, his imprisonment — Punitive
expedition — Death of Yousif Ali — Turkish mamurs — A
desert firebrand — “The Widow’s War” — Osman Habun
— Abdel Arti, smuggler — Death of “The Habun” 102
FOURTH PERIOD. SIWA AND THE WAR
The Italians in Tripoli — German intrigues — The Senussi
confraternity — Mohammed el Senussi, his life at Siwa — Caves
of the Kasr Hassuna — Growth of the Senussi — Mohammed el
Mahdi — Sayed Ahmed — The situation in 1915 — Evacuation
of Sollum — Capture of the crew of the _Tara_ — Matruh —
Battle on Christmas Day — Wadi Majid — Battle of Agagia and
occupation of Barrani — Sayed Ahmed at Siwa — Occupation
of Sollum — Sayed Ahmed goes to Dakhla and back — Siwans
revolt — Battle of Girba — Occupation of Siwa — Rescue
of _Tara_ crew by Duke of Westminster — Sayed Ahmed retires
to Constantinople 117
CHAPTER IV
SIWA TOWN
The town — Architecture — Wells — Custom of whitewash —
Date Markets — Mosques — School — Shops — Interior of
houses — The Roofs — “Dululas” — The Siwan race —
Men — Women — Appearance — Clothes — Religious sects —
Springs, gardens, irrigation, water rights — Salt lakes —
Fever — Spring cleaning — “Sultan Mousa” — A luncheon
party — The ceremony of tea — Appetites — Dog eaters —
Life of an Englishman in Siwa — Two “cases” — Women
witnesses — Bakshish 133
CHAPTER V
SUBURBAN OASES
Zeitoun and Kareished — The oasis of Gara — The village —
The curse of Sheikh Abdel Sayed — A legend of Gara — The
Mejberry pass — El Areg and Bahrein — The Arabs of Maragi
— The northern oases — Jerabub — Sheikh Ithneini and his
treasures — _Terra incognita_ — Kufra — Excavating in
Siwa — The “Oldest Inhabitant” his wedding — Industries,
baskets, mats, and earthenware — The “Bedouin Industries”
— Animals and birds — Snakes, snake charming 177
CHAPTER VI
CUSTOMS AND SUPERSTITIONS
Belief in Superstitions — Divine and Satanic magic — Demons
— A birthday — Naming the child — Women — Marriage and
divorce — A wedding, the bride’s bath, fetching the bride,
presents — “Ghrula,” customs of a widow — The Town Crier
— Funerals — Cemeteries — Evil Eye, charms to avert the
curse — A visit to a witch — Methods used to obtain a husband
— Invoking demons — Discovering stolen property — Exposing
a thief — Divination and fortune telling — Sacrificing a bull
— The Pilgrimage, rolling the bangles, to ensure a safe journey
— “Yom el Asher,” the children’s “Christmas” 207
CHAPTER VII
“FANTASIAS”
Social life in Siwa — Games — “Lubki” drinkers — Giving
alms to the poor — Sheikhs in fiction and in fact — “Beit
el Mal” — Ramadan, the Mohammedan Lent — The Mulid of Sidi
Suliman — Paying calls — Etiquette of eating — The religious
dance of the Medinia — The “Zikr” — Bacchanalian revels
— Siwan music and singing — Women dancers 239
ILLUSTRATIONS
The Walls of Siwa Frontispiece
Col. The Honble. M. G. Talbot, C.B.; Sheikh
Idris el Senussi; and The Idrisi of Luxor to face foreword
The Author „ page 2
A Falconer outside a Bedouin Camp „ „ 26
Silugi Hounds „ „ 30
Camel Corps „ „ 44
Camel Corps trekking to Siwa, near Megahiz Pass „ „ 58
Sheikh Mahdi Abdel Nebi, of Aghourmi, with his
Daughter and Cousin „ „ 70
Ruins of “Omm Beyda,” The Temple of Jupiter
Ammon „ „ 86
The Citadel and Mosque of El Atik „ „ 98
Gate into the Western Quarter „ „ 112
“Kasr Hassuna,” The District Officer’s House „ „ 120
Sheikh Mohammed Idris, the Chief of the Senussi „ „ 132
The Western Quarter from an Eastern Roof „ „ 144
Cleaning Tamousy Spring „ „ 160
In the Western Quarter „ „ 176
The Spring of Zeitoun „ „ 178
Siwa Town from the South „ „ 200
A Bride — The Daughter of Bashu Habun before
her Wedding „ „ 214
The Town-Crier’s Daughter „ „ 222
A Little Siwan Girl „ „ 238
A “Fantasia” at the tomb of Sidi Suliman „ „ 252
Map.
[Illustration: COL. THE HONBLE. M. G. TALBOT, C.B.; SHEIKH IDRIS EL
SENUSSI; AND THE IDRISI OF LUXOR]
FOREWORD
KNOCKENHAIR,
DUNBAR,
_2nd November_, 1922.
DEAR MR. BELGRAVE,
When you begged me to write a “Foreword” for your first book
on Siwa, you asked me if I remembered you as a Junior Officer in
the British Camel Company at Khartoum in the early days of the
Great War—and later in the Camel Corps of the Frontier Districts
Administration of Egypt. My answer is that I remember you well in
both capacities, and I have a very happy recollection of the excellent
services rendered by both the units in which you served. The appearance
of British soldiers patrolling on camels up the White and Blue Niles
had the best possible effect in cementing and consolidating the
good relations existing between the Sudanese populations and our
troops and confirming that spirit of loyalty and goodwill which,
throughout the war, characterized the once fanatical Dervishes of
Mahdist times—a truly marvellous transformation which had changed
them from a fierce and ruthless enemy into loyal and brave soldiers
and peaceful inhabitants, who were enabled to render the British
cause wholehearted and ready support at a most critical period of
our history.
Your transfer to the Frontier Districts Administration of Egypt also
interests me, for it may not be known to you that one of the first
reforms I instituted on my own transfer from the Governor-Generalship
of the Sudan to the High Commissionership of Egypt at the end of
1916 was the organization of the new Administration to which you
were appointed.
Before our reconquest of the Sudan I had, as Director of Military
Intelligence in Egypt, some connection with the oases of the
Libyan Desert and the activities of the Senussi, as well as with the
government of the Sinai Peninsula. In those early days of the British
occupation of Egypt, Turkish rule prevailed in Tripoli, and the actual
frontier between that province and Egypt was often in dispute—whilst
a somewhat similar condition existed on Egypt’s eastern frontier in
Sinai. It was thought politically desirable at that time to maintain
the _status quo_ and to avoid trouble with the Turkish authorities
to whom Egypt still owed a nominal Suzerainty—that this was not
always feasible is evidenced by the celebrated “Akaba incident”
which at one time threatened to disturb the peace between the two
countries. The preservation of the _status quo_ to which I refer,
meant the maintenance on the extreme eastern and western frontiers
of Egypt of the purely Egyptian administrative control which, owing
to the almost total absence of supervision, was of the lightest and
could hardly be designated as efficient. The necessity of inaugurating
some improvement in both directions had frequently been mooted,
but it was not until the advent of the Great War and the military
operations against the Turks in Sinai, on the one hand, and against
the Senussi invasion of Egypt, on the other, that the long-postponed
reorganization became possible. By that time Italian had given
place to Turkish control in Tripoli, whilst it was also evident that
Palestine and Arabia were no longer to remain an integral portion of
the Turkish Empire.
These facts made it very desirable to establish a closer Administrative
Control in both directions, and it is to me a matter of great
satisfaction that an organization known as the Frontiers District
Administration materialized, under the able direction of Colonel
G. G. Hunter and his efficient staff of British and Egyptian officers
and officials, with its well-equipped Camel Corps, its patrolling
system, and its more intimate and sympathetic government of the
oases and of the somewhat unruly nomad tribes on both western and
eastern frontiers.
The mere fact that you, as one of these District Officers, have
been resident for nearly two years in the important, though remote
and little-known, Oasis of Siwa, and have been able to write a very
interesting and useful account of your experiences—together with an
admirable survey of its ancient, mediæval and recent history—its
customs, superstitions and its social life, is but one proof amongst
many others of the value of this new organization which, in spite of
the various political changes in Egypt, has, I hope, come to stay.
As an ex-officer and one who was lately in Egypt, you are wise to
avoid in your book all reference to recent political events and the
complicated situations to which they have given rise. In this letter
I shall observe a similar reticence, and the more so having regard
to the positions I have held in Egypt and the Sudan. Remarks on so
controversial a subject must be complete and detailed if they are to
assist the general public in forming a true estimate of the “tangled
skein” which the political situation now represents—a situation
in which truth and fiction are almost inextricably involved.
The perusal of the proof sheets you have sent me, together with your
excellent series of illustrations (and here may I congratulate you on
the artistic skill of the charming sketches displayed in the coloured
reproductions?), recall that “lure of the desert” which is so
fascinating to all of us whose lot has been cast in those countries
bordering on the Great Nile waterway and the illimitable stretches
of sandy desert beyond. Your apt quotations at the beginning of each
chapter show that the “lure” has seized you also, and I can
well understand your desire to undertake further service in those
regions which so evidently attract you, and in which you have won the
sympathy and respect of the nomad Arab and sedentary Berber tribes
of the Western Desert.
The title of your book is well explained in Part I, Chapter III,
and you are wise to add a bibliography of the various works you have
consulted, for there is no subject more debatable than the origin
of the Berber tribes of whom you write. “This crossing to Africa
by the Northern Mediterranean peoples,” says Professor Breasted
in his _History of Egypt_, “is but one of the many such ventures
which in prehistoric ages brought over the white race whom we know
as Libyans.” His remarks refer to events in the thirteenth century
B.C., when people known as the Tehenu lived on the western borders of
the Delta of Egypt, beyond them were the Libyans, and still further
to the west were the Meshwesh or Maxyes of Herodotus—all of them
doubtless ancestors of the great Berber tribes of North Africa.
In the reign of the Pharaoh Mereneptah, the successor of Rameses
the Great, it appears that one Meryey, King of the Libyans, forced
the Tehenu to join him, and supported by roving bands of maritime
adventurers from the coast (the Sherden or Sardinians, the Sikeli,
natives of early Sicily, the Lysians and the Etruscans), invaded
Egypt. It is with these wandering marauders that the peoples of Europe
emerge for the first time upon the arena of history.
It is probable that not long before this invasion a great Canaanite
migration into Libya had taken place, for it is recorded by the
historian Procopius, a native of Cæsarea (565 B.C.), how the Hebrews,
after quitting Egypt, attacked Palestine from beyond Jordan under
Joshua. After the capture of Jericho they advanced westwards, drove
out the Gergazites, Jebusites and other tribes inhabiting the eastern
shores of the Mediterranean, and forced them to flee into Egypt,
where they were not allowed to settle, but were obliged to move
westwards along the North African coast and into the oases. There
is also evidence that some of these emigrants, under Roman pressure,
were forced further westwards to Morocco and were called Moors. Later
on they, in their turn, were followed by a similar migration of Jews
from Palestine.
Thus it would appear that as far back as the thirteenth century
B.C. the original Libyans, a warlike race, became co-mingled with
maritime adventurers from Southern Europe, with Canaanites, Jews
and Egyptians—a truly wonderful admixture of Asiatics, Africans and
Europeans, and it is with the ancestors of this international potpourri
that you deal so interestingly when you trace onwards, through the
ages down to the present day, the history of those desert nomads and
those sedentary dwellers of the Oasis of Jupiter Ammon. Surely your
story will stimulate interest not only in the archæologist, but in
all who desire to trace the manners, customs and characteristics
of present-day peoples to their original sources. Those Siwans of
whom you make a special study are of all people perhaps the most
interesting, for, living, as it were, on an island, in a sea of desert,
they—like the Abyssinians on the east—have been less affected
by the world-changes than those who inhabit the main highways of
the great African continent. The cult of Ammon and the seat of the
Great Oracle, it is true, brought countless hordes of strangers to
that mystic depression lying some seventy feet below the level of the
Mediterranean, but the leading characteristics of the inhabitants have
probably altered little, and religion—from Ammon worship to Islam,
with an occasional admixture of Christian, Jewish and Pagan rites
(the last brought by countless slaves from Central Africa)—has
remained the all-absorbing interest of these oases dwellers.
As you truly say, the origin of the branching-horned ram as the fleshly
symbol of the great God Ammon, “the King of the Gods,” “the
unrevealed,” “the hidden one,” still remains a mystery. We know
that the solar god Ra, whose supremacy in the “Old Kingdom” was
so marked, from the Fifth Dynasty onwards and was at its zenith in
the Twelfth Dynasty, became linked in the religion of the “Middle
Kingdom” with Ammon, hitherto an obscure local god of Thebes
who attained some prominence in the political rise of the city and
was called by the priests Ammon-Ra. His cult gradually spread over
the civilized world, and in the Roman period he was worshipped as
Jupiter Ammon. He was essentially the god of Oracles, but how he
came to have his special sanctuary in the Western Desert is still a
mystery, though your account of this in the legends of the Arabic
history of Siwa (Chapter III) throws an interesting light on the
subject. Herodotus, we know, gave to Siwa the name of Oasis (probably
derived from the Coptic word Ouahe, to dwell, from which the Arabic
Wa is derived)—that is to say a fertile spot surrounded by desert,
and thus from Siwa all other oases have derived their names.
To Siwa then came kings and wise men of the East, merchants and
pilgrims, all bringing offerings to the temple of the god and
soliciting the advice of the Oracle on their mundane affairs. For
a thousand years and more these treasures were accumulating, but
where are they now? As Egyptian research has yielded up unexpected
buried treasure, may not the ancient god still have something in
reserve for the archæologist and treasure-seeker who is bold enough
to undertake excavation work in the little village of Aghourmi,
some two miles east of Siwa, where the ruins of the Temple of Ammon
still exist? Your interesting account of these ruins and the legends
you have so sedulously culled from the Siwans, cannot fail again to
create interest in the hidden treasures of the desert. One who has had
some terrible experiences at the hands of the Senussi Arabs during the
war—I refer to the gallant and gifted author of that thrilling story,
_Prisoners of the Red Desert_, Captain Gwatkin-Williams, R.N.—writes,
“It may be that this twentieth century of ours, this era of fish and
bird men, may see lifted the mystery which shrouds the hidden treasure
of Ammon, the ‘Unrevealed,’ for, so far as our limited modern
information goes, those treasures have never yet been discovered.”
Your interesting account of the visit of Alexander the Great (331
B.C.) to the Oracle, when, marching along the coast to Matruh,
he turned south and underwent great hardships before reaching his
destination, recalls a very different journey I made to Sollum in
1917. Leaving Alexandria by train for Behig, I there found a fleet of
armoured motorcars awaiting me, and the journey to and from Sollum,
then garrisoned by British troops, was comfortably accomplished
in four days. To my great regret I was too pressed for time to be
able to visit Siwa, where, “on all hands springs of water gushed
forth . . . that human ants’ nest, fabricated for the most part of
rock-salt, mud and palm trunks . . . to which the Great War surging
round the world had brought the drone of aeroplanes, the hum of
armoured cars and rattle of machine guns.”
Your reference in Chapter V to the wonderful work carried on by
Miss Nina Baird amongst the bedouin women and children rendered
destitute in consequence of the Senussi invasion, recalls several
visits Lady Wingate and I made to Amria—the village in the desert
west of Alexandria and not far from Lake Mariut, where, as you say,
this courageous lady worked practically singlehanded in teaching these
desert waifs and strays to make carpets—thus starting an industry
and giving the women and children a means of livelihood and a form of
protection which for ever will be remembered with gratitude by the
Western Arabs. A daughter of that well-known and greatly respected
Scotsman, Sir Alexander Baird, an excellent horsewoman, a good Arabic
scholar, and one who performed important services in the Egyptian
troubles in the spring of 1919, Miss Baird’s energetic efforts
throughout the war utterly exhausted her strength, and she fell
an easy victim to typhoid soon after—to be followed a few months
later by her talented father, and thus was the British community in
Egypt deprived of two valuable lives who had endeared themselves to
Europeans and natives alike and whose loss is deplored by all. On my
last visit the carpet-making industry was about to be removed from
Amria to an imposing structure built by Captain Jennings Bramley
at Behig, the headquarters of the Eastern District of the Western
Desert. Here this energetic official had also constructed, out of
the ruins of an old building, a mediæval-looking stronghold, where
we spent a few days and visited the ruined church of St. Menas, to
which you make a passing reference in Chapter I. This buried Christian
city is locally known as Abu Menas, and for long defied discovery,
as it had not occurred to those in search of it to connect it with
the Arab name of Abumna, until the German explorer, Kauffmann, and
his companion lighted on the historic spot, which lies from fifty
to fifty-five miles south-west of Alexandria. Your readers may be
interested to know that Menas was an Egyptian in the Roman army
who became a Christian and took the opportunity of a great public
function to make an avowal of his faith which was proscribed under
the Emperor Diocletian. He was tortured and eventually beheaded. His
friends begged or stole his body, tied it on a camel and determined
to found a settlement wherever the camel should lie down. Menas
before death had expressed a wish to be buried near Lake Mariut,
and here surely enough the camel insisted on lying down, and could
not be induced to go further—so his followers buried the body on
the spot. Many miracles were reported of his tomb, the settlement
became a large Christian city with a magnificent cathedral built of
granite from Assuan and marble from Italy. For some centuries the
place became a resort for pilgrimage from all parts of the near East,
but soon after the Arab conquest it was despoiled to provide material
for the mosques in Alexandria and Cairo. Gradually the ruins were
silted up with the ever-shifting sand, becoming mere mounds, and it
was the chance discovery of a small terra-cotta plaque imprinted with
the figure of Menas, standing erect with arms outstretched between
two kneeling camels and a rough inscription, that led Herr Kauffmann
and his friend to unearth the great basilica which had contained the
tomb. The walls of the cathedral appear to have been lined with marble,
whilst small pieces of mosaic on the floor give the impression that
the dome was probably adorned in the same way. Some of the bases and
capitals of the pillars are decorated after the Greek style with
acanthus leaf ornaments, others in the stricter Roman method of
straight panels. The dwelling-houses are small and constructed in
blocks separated by narrow streets. Not far distant, on the coast,
stand the ruins of Abusir (the Taposiris Magna of the Romans) which was
evidently used as a port of arrival and departure by the thousands of
pilgrims who came across the sea to pay their vows in this hallowed
sanctuary. When I visited this place it was garrisoned by the very
efficient Indian Camel Corps which the Maharajah of Bikaner had sent
as his contribution to the Egyptian Expeditionary Force.
Your interesting sketch of the rise of the great Senussi, the
establishment of his now widespread confraternity and his invasion,
at the instigation of German and Turkish officers and officials, of
Egypt in 1915; his hostile occupation of the oases and the successful
campaign so ably directed by General Sir W. Peyton, which finally drove
his forces across the frontier and re-established Egyptian domination
in the Western Desert, merits careful perusal if the reader wishes to
understand the last of that series of invasions from the West which
began in the days of the Pharaoh Mereneptah, nearly three thousand
five hundred years ago, and which, given favourable conditions,
may yet be repeated.
All you so interestingly describe recalls my long connection with
the doings of the Confraternity when Sayed Mohammed el Mahdi, the son
of Sayed Ben Ali, the virtual founder of the order, was its titular
head. To him, in 1883, the Sudan Mahdi wrote, offering the position
of third Khalifa in his new hierarchy. Had Sayed Mohammed accepted, it
is possible that, in addition to the Sudan revolt, the whole of North
Africa might have been ablaze; but the Senussi Mahdi aimed at peaceful
penetration rather than military occupation: his zawias (religious
rest-houses) had gradually been extended to Central and West Africa,
they “were neutral meeting-places where difficulties, tribal,
commercial, legal or religious, could be settled by an unbiassed
authority. His akhwan were judges as well as missionaries. They defined
tribal areas, settled water and grazing rights as well as meting out
the justice of the Koran to those who infringed the code of Islam.”
The interest of the Turkish Government in this great movement dates
back many years, and I well remember when the late Ghazi Mukhtar
Pasha (then Turkish High Commissioner in Egypt) procured the original
manuscript Senussi prayer-book, had one thousand copies lithographed
in a private printing press in Cairo, and dispatched them as a present
to the Senussi with a request in the title-page for the great religious
leader’s “help in prayer.”
Sayed Mohammed died on the 1st June, 1902. I had full knowledge of
the dispatch to Kufara—the then headquarters of the Order—of his
tombstone which had been secretly cut and engraved in Cairo by an
expert native stonemason; but if I digress in this manner I shall soon
exceed the limits of a “Foreword,” and so must rapidly pass over
these early experiences which, nevertheless, proved useful when the
Great War let loose all the hidden forces of hostility and revealed the
immense influence of Islamic teaching for good or ill as applied in the
interests of the various opponents. That, on the one hand, Sayed Ahmed,
the uncle and successor of Sayed Mohammed, should have espoused the
Turco-German cause and harboured Enver Pasha and other notable Turkish
officers who had crossed to the north coast of Africa in submarines,
to organize the Senussi campaigns against Egypt and the Sudan; whilst,
on the other hand, British influence and British officers were enabled
to assist the Sherif of Mecca—the Guardian of the Holy Places of
Islam—in his successful revolt against Turkish rule in Arabia,
are interesting and little-understood features in the history of the
great world upheaval from which we have but recently emerged, and no
doubt they will be chronicled in due course by those concerned in these
“side-shows,” as they are somewhat inadequately described. It must
not, however, be forgotten that—insignificant as they may appear in
comparison with the terrific clash of arms in Western Europe—they
have resulted in giving Egypt tranquillity on its western frontier,
in restoring to the Sudan the great lost province of Darfur, and in
freeing the Arabian Peninsula—results which in pre-war days would
have been characterized as epoch-making events, but which have passed
almost unnoticed in the great changes which have taken place in the
territorial redistributions of the Treaty of Versailles.
To touch on but one little-known detail, you refer to the Talbot
Mission. This has not attracted the attention it deserves, but I
venture to think history will credit Colonel Milo Talbot with no
mean achievement when it is realized that his mission effected the
triangular treaties between Great Britain, Italy and the present head
of the Senussi Confraternity, Sayed Mohammed el Idrisi, whereby both
Egypt and Tripoli have secured, let us hope, a trusted ally.
Incidentally—through the good offices of Colonel Talbot’s able
Egyptian coadjutor, Hassanein Bey— that intrepid lady, Rosita Forbes,
accompanied by the Bey, was enabled to penetrate to the Oasis of
Kufara in 1921. Another member of the Talbot Mission—Mr. Francis
Rodd—is also utilizing his experiences of the Senussi Confraternity
and the Western Desert by making a prolonged and important journey
with Mr. Buchanan from West Africa, which should throw much new and
interesting light on many still obscure localities.
In these days of improved communications—when the two ends of
the great iron road destined to connect South with North Africa
are gradually approaching one another, and when other railways are
either under construction or projected to connect the Atlantic with
the Indian Ocean and the Red Sea—the time may not be far distant
when the great Sahara and Libyan Deserts, too, will be traversed from
north to south and east to west, and the undoubted mineral wealth and
raw products of Central Africa will be brought to the nearest ports
for shipment to all parts of the world. Your remarks, therefore, on
mining, industries, trade and the means of communication southwards
from the Mediterranean through the oases which you and others have
visited, will doubtless prove of value and merit careful consideration.
Meanwhile, much good work remains to be done by officers and officials
like yourself who take a keen interest in the welfare of the sparse
nomad and sedentary populations of these still remote districts,
fostering amongst them those feelings of confidence and goodwill which
will go far towards preparing them for the advent of the amenities
of civilization which must come with the inevitable development of
the no longer Dark Continent. Now, however, that the clash of arms
is past and, let us hope, a new era of peaceful development set in,
I might well have prefaced my remarks with this quotation:
“God’s benison go with you, and with those
That would make good of bad and friends of foes.”
The immortal poet’s words seem to me not only to synchronize with
the pleasantly conversational style of your own narrative which has
induced the somewhat novel method I have adopted of writing you a
letter by way of an introduction—but they also express the spirit
which will, I trust, animate us in our present and future relations
with those nations and peoples of the Near East who unfortunately
for themselves espoused our enemies’ cause in the Great War, but
whose best interests lie—now and henceforth—in the friendship
and goodwill of the Allies.
Your chapters on the customs, superstitions and “fantasias” of
the Siwans recall much that is similar amongst the Sudan tribes and
peoples—especially those of the Moslem Faith—and your account of
the “zikr” is particularly interesting. In the words of an Islamic
writer, by means of this religious exercise “the whole world and all
its attractions disappears from the vision of the faithful worshipper,
and he is enabled to behold the excellence of the Most High. Nothing
must be allowed to distract his attention from its performance, and
ultimately he attains by its medium a proper conception of the Tauhid,
or unity of God. . . . To enter Paradise one must say after every
prayer ‘God is Holy’ ten times, ‘Praised be God’ ten times,
and ‘God is great’ ten times.”
If the age of miracles has not gone for ever then these Moslem
devotees—the descendants of the ancient warriors of the Libyan
Desert, side by side with their courageous and resourceful British
helpers—may yet cause the great Oracle of Jupiter Ammon to reveal
the secrets of that old-time sanctuary with which your book deals
so interestingly.
[Signature: Yours sincerely
Reginald Wingate.]
“On grassy slopes the twining vine boughs grew
And hoary olives ’twixt far mountains blue,
And many a green-necked bird sung to his mate
Within the slim-leaved thorny pomegranate
That flung its unstrung rubies on the grass.”
“But a desert stretched and stricken left and right, left and right,
Where the piled mirages thicken under white-hot light—
A skull beneath a sandhill and a viper coiled inside—
And a red wind out of Libya roaring ‘Run and hide.’”
SIWA
SIWA
THE OASIS OF JUPITER AMMON
CHAPTER I
THE COAST
“. . . Some strip of herbage strown
That just divides the desert from the sown.”
SIWA—pronounced “Seewah”—is a little-known oasis in the Libyan
Desert on the borders of Egypt and Tripoli. It lies 200 miles south
of Sollum, the Egypt-Tripoli frontier port on the Mediterranean coast,
and almost 400 miles west of the Nile Valley. Siwa is the northernmost
oasis of a string of oases which stretch from Egypt into the middle
of Tripoli. These “Islands of the Blessed”—as they were
called by the ancients—are natural depressions in the great Libyan
table-land which are preserved from the inroads of shifting sand by
the high limestone cliffs that surround them, and are made fertile and
habitable by numbers of sweet water springs. Siwa consists of a little
group of oases in a depression about 30 miles long and 6 miles wide,
lying 72 feet below the level of the sea, surrounded by a vast barren
table-land, parched and featureless, where rain rarely falls, which can
only be crossed if one carries sufficient water for the whole journey.
Siwa is one of the least known and most interesting places in
North Africa, but owing to its inaccessibility very few Europeans
had visited it prior to the outbreak of the Great War. It has a
population of between three and four thousand inhabitants, who are
not Arabs but the remains of an older race, of Berber origin. They
have a language of their own, which is only spoken, not written,
and has survived among the dwellers of the oasis from many centuries
before the Arab invasion, owing to the remoteness of the country and
the slight communication between Siwa and the outer world. At present
the birth-rate is considerably lower than the death-rate, so it appears
likely that in course of time the Siwan race will become extinct.
It was my fortune, after spending a year or so on the coast, to be
stationed at Siwa, during 1920-21, in command of a section of the
Frontier Districts Administration Camel Corps, and for some time as
the District Officer of the oasis. Under the present regime there
has been one British officer, seconded from the Army for service
under the Egyptian Government, posted alone in the Siwa oasis. While
I was there I spent my spare time in discovering as much as possible
about the history of the place, and the manners and customs of this
desert community, which differ very considerably from those of the
Arabs or the people of Egypt. No history, from its earliest times
to the present day, has ever been written of this strange place,
and it appears probable that now, when British officials are being
withdrawn from Egypt, Siwa will once more sink back into obscurity.
[Illustration: THE AUTHOR]
The oasis is most easily reached from Sollum, or from Matruh, another
port on the Mediterranean coast west of Alexandria. The journey can be
done in two days by car, when the rough desert track that is called
a road is in good order; it takes six days on a trotting camel, and
about ten days with a bedouin caravan of slow walking camels. The
Arab covers the whole distance on foot, living on a surprisingly
small quantity of dates, water and camel milk. The desert is quite
waterless, except for the first few miles, where there are occasional
rock cisterns which fill during the rains and provide a little water
during the first few months of the hot weather.
The coastal belt of Western Egypt was comparatively unknown
country before the war, though by no means as remote as the inland
oases. Strangely enough, excepting the few officials of the Egyptian
Coastguards Administration, the Europeans who seemed to know most
about this country before the war were Germans, who were encouraged
by Abbas Helmi, the ex-Khedive, in their attempts to exploit the
commercial and agricultural possibilities of the coast. In 1913 Herr
Ewart Falls published a book called _Three Years in the Libyan Desert_
which was an account of some archæological works carried out by him
and his colleagues—Germans—on the site of the ancient city of
St. Menas, south-west of Alexandria. In this book he describes how
he accompanied the Khedive on his visit to Siwa in 1905. He gives a
flamboyant description of the Royal progress. The party consisted of
the Khedive, four Europeans, twenty soldiers, a number of servants, 62
riding camels, horses, and 288 baggage camels, which seem an incredibly
large number. The Khedive drove the whole way—200 miles—in a
carriage, a species of phaeton, constantly changing horses. Herr Falls
mentions the intense enthusiasm of the natives on the occasion of the
Kaiser’s birthday, and discusses the possibilities of a Pan-islamic
rising against the much hated English who “curtail the Khedive’s
political activities.” He gives statistics on the fighting forces
of the Arabs, and considers that the time is ripe for stirring up
sedition. One of his theories is that the Arab tribe “Senagra”
originate from a German boy, called Singer, who was wrecked on the
coast. There is a photograph in his book of one of the main streets
in the old town of Siwa which he calls “Interior of an ancient
tomb”! It is really a very remarkable book and gives one a good
insight into German ideas in Egypt before the war.
In ancient days the coast west of Alexandria was inhabited by various
Libyan tribes, the most famous being the Nasamonians, who lived by
the plunder of wrecks, and the Lotophagi, who are immortalized in
Tennyson’s famous poem “The Lotus-Eaters,” dwellers of a land
“In which it seemed always afternoon.” These two tribes lived
on the coast that lies west of the present frontier. The coast which
lies between the present frontier and Alexandria was thinly populated
by wandering tribes of Libyans, a nomadic people, who depended, as
the bedouins do now, on the rains to feed their flocks. The inland
country was a land of mystery vaguely described as being the haunt
of strange wild beasts, although nowadays this waterless tract
nourishes few wild creatures of any description. In later times
Persians, Greeks, Romans and Byzantines established some centres
of civilization on the coast, but this strip immediately west of
Alexandria was never thickly populated, and one finds few signs of any
former civilization. The Arabs, after planting Mohammedanism in Egypt,
continued their victorious course westward along the coast, forcing
their religion on the people at the point of the sword, or driving the
natives inland to the oases, which remained unconquered till a later
date. Thus, the Arabs of the desert have always considered themselves
to be the conquerors, and the oasis dwellers to be the conquered.
The coastal belt from Alexandria to the sea slopes gently upwards in
strips of undulating country till it reaches the foot of the ledge of
the great Libyan plateau. This narrow strip of fairly fertile country
between the desert and the Mediterranean gradually diminishes in
width, from east to west, till at Sollum the cliffs of the Libyan
plateau reach the sea. At its widest part, near Alexandria, the
coastal belt stretches inland for nearly 40 miles before merging into
the desert. The coast is inhabited by Arabs of the Awlad Ali tribe,
who move about with their flocks and camels from well to well, having
only a transitory interest in the soil, which they sow with a little
barley in the places where it will grow, and depending on the rains,
which are very heavy on the coast, to fill their wells and cisterns,
and to water the wild vegetation that feeds their herds. The land is
most fertile close to the sea, but for the first 10 or 20 miles on
the high desert plateau above the cliffs there is flat scrub-covered
country that makes a good grazing-ground for sheep and camels. Farther
south one sees less vegetation, and very soon the real desert begins,
which stretches hard and dry under the blazing sun for 200 miles down
to Siwa, and beyond Siwa over unexplored country till it reaches the
distant Sudan.
As one goes farther west from Alexandria the country becomes wilder
and one sees fewer people, but there are several little towns, or
settlements, along the coast. The ex-Khedive had a project of opening
up this district and, aided by German enterprise, he built a railway
which was destined to connect Alexandria with his western frontier at
Sollum, and shorten the sea journey from Europe to Egypt. But the line
only got as far as Bir Fuca, about 100 miles west of Alexandria. The
Khedive found that his agricultural experiments in the Western Desert
were not a success and, realizing this, he tried to sell the railway
to a German firm, but Lord Kitchener, who was then High Commissioner,
stepped in and secured it for Egypt. There is a motor road, known as
the Khedival Road, from Alexandria to beyond Matruh, and another road,
of very inferior quality, from Matruh to Sollum.
Mersa Matruh—Mersa means a harbour—a small town on the coast about
200 miles west of Alexandria, is where the Governor of the Western
Desert has his headquarters. Matruh is the ancient Parætonium,
sometimes called Ammonia, and was the port for Siwa in the days when
that place was known as the oasis of Ammon. Matruh consists of a few
dozen little one-storied stone houses, plastered and painted white,
with gay shutters, yellow, green and blue, inhabited by Greek colonists
who do a thriving business by trading with the Arabs, and exporting
barley and sheep to Alexandria. There is a picturesque mosque on the
cliffs above the bay, whose minaret forms a landmark for many miles,
a hospital, police barracks, the Governor’s house, and a number of
Government offices and houses of Government officials. There are large
numbers of resident Arabs in the neighbourhood who remain near Matruh,
as it is the commercial centre of the desert. At most times, especially
in the summer, Matruh is a singularly attractive little place, but when
it is visited by a “khamsin” wind, which blows up the fine white
sand—and this is not unfrequent—it becomes a more detestable spot
than anywhere else on the desert. The cliffs at Matruh suddenly cease
and are carried on by a reef of partly submerged jagged rocks which
protect the large harbour. The entrance—between two rocks—is so
narrow that only ships of moderate size can pass, and when a heavy
sea is running outside the entrance is impassable. The bay is 1½
miles long and half a mile wide, but in places where there are shoals
the water is only 2 fathoms deep. To the east and west of the harbour
there are a series of lagoons separated from the sea by a line of low
cliffs, and divided from each other by narrow spits of sand. On the
cliff above the bay, commanding the entrance, there is an old ruined
Turkish fort, a yellow castellated building, which was occupied during
the war by a detachment of Royal Artillery. The houses are on the
southern shore, behind them there is a low rocky ridge crowned with
some little forts which were built during the Senussi rising in 1916,
when Matruh was for some time the British base. The bay is surrounded
by firm white sands sloping gently down to the brilliantly coloured
water. It is well sheltered and, consequently, never very rough; the
varying depths of the water cause it to assume different colours—in
some cases almost as brilliant as those of the kingfishers who fly
up and down the shore; at times it is incredibly blue, so blue that
the open sea outside looks black in comparison, and at other times it
is vividly green, with long streaks of purple where the dark seaweed
shows through the water. Matruh is a pleasant place in summer-time,
the bathing is ideal, and the climate is cooler than Alexandria,
which is the summer resort of all Egypt. But the great disadvantage
is the lack of water; there are several wells, but the water in them
is of an indifferent quality, so at present it is brought by boat
from Alexandria, at great expense, and pumped into tanks on the shore.
Some signs of former civilization are still visible, and it is evident
that the Romans, with their usual appreciation of beautiful places,
realized the attraction of this smooth, brilliant bay. There are
ruins of several villas on the banks of the lagoons, and in places
flights of steps have been cut through the rock leading down to the
water. The Governor’s bungalow is built on the site of a villa
that was once inhabited by Cleopatra. According to tradition, Antony
retired there after his defeat at Actium and found solace in the
embraces of Cleopatra. One can scarcely imagine a more ideal spot
than this for the site of the villa. It stood among low sand-hills
a few feet above the harbour, right on the edge of the bay, so near
that the rippling water must have sounded through the marble halls
of the villa. From the windows of the present building one looks over
the gorgeously blue bay to a line of sharp black rocks where the white
waves break, and beyond to the deep blue open sea. At night, when the
water shines silver in the moonlight, and the little waves creep up
the white shore and break with phosphorescent splashes on the sands,
one can easily picture Antony and Cleopatra gliding smoothly in a boat
through the lagoons, which were connected by channels in those days,
or feasting superbly to the sound of
“Some Egyptian royal love-lilt
Some Sidonian refrain,”
in the villa above the bay. In the summer quantities of “Mex
Lilies” (Amaryllis) grow on the hills and scent the air with their
heavy perfume. A short time before the war an American archæologist
made some valuable finds among the foundations of Cleopatra’s
villa, and on several occasions coins have been unearthed in the
neighbourhood.
The present-day Greek colonists of Matruh are not very attractive
people. They are very clever at their trade and seem to become
prosperous in a remarkably short time. They make their money by
squeezing the Arabs, who are forced to deal with them, as there is
nobody else from whom they can buy necessities such as tea, sugar,
rice, etc. The Greeks have the monopoly of trade and sell their goods
at a prohibitive price, quite out of proportion to their worth, even
considering the cost of transport. Their favourite system is to buy
whole crops of barley from the Arabs before it is ripe, when the owner
is particularly hard up. The Administration, to a certain extent, is
able to check excessive profiteering, but there are innumerable ways
in which the Greek is able to “do” the Arab. It seems a pity,
because, in my estimation, the Arab is a much better man than the
Greek trader. Not unnaturally, Greeks are very unpopular. Farther
along the coast, in Tunis and Algeria, their place is taken by the
Jews, but on the Western Desert there are no Jews—so the Greeks
have it all their own way.
There are generally two or three English officials at Matruh,
and possibly their wives, so there is usually more going on there
than at any other place on the coast; in fact, Matruh is a sort of
metropolis of the desert, but at the same time it is very much a desert
station. Lately, when I was staying there, there arrived one evening
an enormous new American car containing two English officers on leave,
and a very smartly dressed lady, wife of one of them. By amazing good
luck they had managed to get through from Alexandria without mishap,
stopping a night _en route_. On arrival at Matruh they asked to be
directed to the “Hotel,” which they had heard was “small, but
very clean and comfortable.” They looked exceedingly blank when
we told them there was no hotel—and never had been—but they were
conducted to the rest house, where they settled down. Next day they
complained that the rest house was neither clean nor comfortable. The
greatest disadvantage, to my mind, in all the rest houses on the
Western Desert is the multitude of fleas which nothing that one can do
is able to destroy or even keep under. This car was not the kind used
by the Administration on the desert; the party had brought no spare
parts for it, no servant, no provisions except some biscuits and a
tin or two of peaches, only a few glass bottles of water, which were
naturally almost boiling after some hours in the heat of an August
day, and none of them could speak any Arabic. At dinner that night
they all appeared in full evening dress which they had brought with
them, and, to everybody’s horror, they announced their intention of
“running down to Siwa” on the next day. We explained carefully that
to reach Siwa they would have to cross 200 miles of waterless desert,
and no car ever attempted the trip alone. But nothing seemed to daunt
them. Finally, however, the Governor heard of their plan and forbade
it forthwith; they started off to Alexandria on the following day,
with an escort of two cars, and as they went they murmured indignantly
about “red tape and absurd restrictions.” It is amazing what a
strange idea of the desert some people seem to have.
Matruh is the centre of the sponge fishing industry which is carried
on during certain months of the year along the coast. The sponge
fishers are mostly Italians, and a fine-looking lot of men. They have
a little fleet of sailing-boats, and one steam-tug. The boats put out
for several days at a time, working up and down the coast. They use
no diving-bells, but when a man dives he holds on to a heavy stone,
which sinks rapidly; he makes a jab at the sponges, cutting off one,
and then lets go of the stone and rises to the surface. Sometimes the
men seem to bound out of the water when they rise to the top. They
are able to remain submerged for several minutes. But the work tells
on their health; they are highly paid, but they say themselves that
they usually die at about forty, and there is always the horrid
possibility of being attacked by sharks, which are more plentiful in
the Mediterranean than they used to be before the war. At Sollum there
are several graves of sponge fishers who were killed in this way. I
never bought a single sponge myself during the whole time I was on
the Western Desert. When I was at Sollum I used to ride out along the
shore with a syce carrying a bag after every heavy storm and we would
usually pick up about a dozen first-class sponges worth about half a
guinea each at home. Fortunately, the Arabs had no use for such things
as sponges. One found pumice stone lying about the shore also. During
the war an enormous amount of wreckage was swept ashore and collected
by patrols of Camel Corps for building purposes and firewood. Sometimes
the whole coast would be littered with cotton from a wrecked ship
carrying cotton to Europe; another time we collected stacks of good
brown paper, which is still being used on the Western Desert, and
another time a number of casks of wine and rum were picked up.
Between Matruh and Sollum there is a little place called Sidi Barrani,
which consists of a police barracks and a high gaunt building which
is a rest house and office, and about half a dozen white bungalows
belonging to Greek traders. Each of these places has either a British
officer or, if it is not sufficiently important, an Egyptian mamur
who is responsible for keeping order, etc. Barrani is a desolate
place, but very beautiful in springtime when the country is ablaze
with flowers and green budding corn. Rest houses in Egypt and the
Sudan correspond to the Dak Bungalows in India. Those on the Western
Desert are quite comfortably furnished and well provided with plate
and linen. An old Sudanese soldier looks after each rest house. It is
a relief after trekking along the coast by car or camel to arrive at
a place where everything is ready and, in winter-time, to get a roof
over one’s head, though probably a leaky one.
Two roads run from Barrani to Sollum; one goes along the coast among
the strangely white sand-hills which are a feature of the district,
and the other, which is less liable to be flooded in winter, is higher
and farther inland. The country that one passes on the upper road
between Barrani and Sollum, between the blue Mediterranean and the
high rocky Scarp that runs parallel to the sea, is very attractive,
especially in the soft evening light. In the heat of the day it looks
dry and parched, except during a month or two immediately after the
rains. One meets very few travellers on the narrow road that winds up
and down, round low hills which are covered with heathery undergrowth,
and often topped with rough stone cairns. Some places are very like a
Scotch moor, or a stretch of Dartmoor. There is a certain plant which
is the colour of purple heather, and another that looks from a distance
like withered bracken. In summer-time, especially on the lower road,
one is constantly deceived by the vivid mirage that hovers above some
salt swamps close to the white sand-hills on the shore.
Occasionally, one passes a party of Arabs, with their skirts tucked
high above the knees, stalking along behind their woolly shuffling
camels, or perhaps one meets a patrol of Camel Corps, black Sudanese,
in khaki uniforms, trotting briskly along on fast riding camels;
then an old bedouin sheikh, wrapped in his long silk shawl, ambles
past on his Arab pony. Farther on, one smells the sharp sweet scent
of burning brushwood that comes from the fires outside the low black
tents where some Arabs are camping, and one can see them squatting
round the flame in the tent doors, with their white woollen cloaks
pulled over them, while in the distance a boy drives the camels and
sheep close up to the camp for the night. On the lower road, near
the shore, between Barrani and Sollum, there is a lonely little hill
crowned by a rough block-house where there used to be a detachment
of the Camel Corps. This place is called Bagbag and was used as a
frontier post before the war in Tripoli between the Italians and the
Turks. As one approaches Sollum the escarpment on the left comes
nearer, the foot-hills cease, and the road runs across a mile or
two of flat country within sound and sight of the sea right at the
foot of the towering cliffs. Before arriving at the camp the road
crosses several deep water-courses which come “from thymy hills
down to the sea-beat shore” through rocky ravines in the Scarp;
they are dry and sandy in summer, but during the rains they become
rushing torrents, quite impossible to cross in a car. Riding home in
the evening, one sees a number of twinkling fires in the bedouin camp,
and above them, sharply outlined against the primrose-coloured sky,
is the top of the great rocky Scarp, like a dark wall that one has
to ascend before reaching the desert.
Sollum consists of about a score of little buildings, and a large
bedouin encampment, situated on the shore of a bay in an angle
made by the sea and the Scarp which rises to a height of over 600
feet immediately behind the camp, and juts out into the sea in a
rocky promontory. There are several wells at Sollum and one little
orchard of fig-trees which breaks the monotony of the brown-coloured
soil. Most of the buildings, including a large Camel Corps barracks,
were erected since the war. There are one or two little shops, owned
by Greeks, and a rough native café presided over by an evil-looking,
one-eyed Egyptian, who is also the barber of the place. For a long
time there was a British garrison, but this was recently withdrawn,
leaving a force of Camel Corps and a small detachment of Light Cars
in the old Turkish fort on the top of the cliffs above the bay. At
one time there were about a dozen officers quartered here, and five
or six of them had their wives with them. Sollum became quite like an
Indian hill station—perhaps even worse, and when a certain elderly
general, well known as a misogynist, inspected the place, he stated
in his report that there were six officers’ wives and six different
sets, the result being that they were very shortly moved and replaced
by unmarried officers.
One gets to feel hemmed in at Sollum. On the north lies the sea, and on
the south and west rise the rocky cliffs of the Scarp. The only open
country is along the coast towards the east. A steep twisting motor
road, like a Swiss mountain pass, leads up the face of the cliff on
the track of an old Roman road, and several very precipitous paths
ascend the Scarp behind the camp to the high table-land above. But
once one has climbed the Scarp and reached the top there is a great
flat plain stretching out into the distance, which is good country
for riding, and full of hares and gazelle. This is the bedouins’
grazing ground, and every few miles one comes across great herds
of camel and sheep, and large camps of Arabs. There are a few rock
cisterns on the northern edge of the plateau and from these the Arabs
get their water. They often camp 10 or 15 miles away from a well and
send in a party of women and boys to fill the water-skins every other
day. Arabs seldom bathe, even when they are camped close to the sea,
but fortunately the sun is a wonderful purifier.
The nomad Arabs of the Western Desert are a hardy, picturesque race,
very different from the fellahin of Egypt. Their active open-air life
makes them strong and healthy. Patriarchalism is a dominant system
among them; they are divided into a number of tribes and sub-tribes,
each under its own sheikh who is responsible to the Government for
the good behaviour of his people.
These tribal divisions breed factions, enmities and lifelong feuds,
which result in occasional raids and forays on neighbouring tribes,
and the carrying off of camels. Another source of dispute are the
rights and ownerships of wells, which cause frequent fights, so
a District Officer on the coast needs to be well acquainted with
the tribal politics of the Arabs in his area. One of the greatest
grievances of the Arabs on the Egyptian side of the frontier is the
fact that, since the Senussi rebellion in 1916, they are not allowed
to be in possession of fire-arms, but their neighbours, over the
border in Tripoli, are under no such restrictions. The Arabs on the
Egyptian desert argue, quite rightly, that they are liable to suffer
from raids by the western Arabs who can dash across the frontier,
drive off a herd of camels, and retire again into Tripoli where they
will be safe from pursuit, as the Italians have very little influence
outside their coastal towns, and of course if anybody belonging to
the Egyptian Administration ventured across the frontier without an
invitation, and was caught, it might almost lead to international
complications. But the Egyptian Government considers that the forces
of the Administration are sufficient to keep order on the frontier
and protect the Arabs. (The situation is not dissimilar to that in
Ireland during 1920.)
The Arabs are a pastoral people. As the Siwans depend almost entirely
upon their date palms, so do the Arabs depend on their camels and
sheep, and to a lesser extent on the barley crop. Their tents,
called “kreish,” in which they live, are made of camel wool,
woven into long strips and fastened together, supported in the
middle by two poles about 6 feet high, sloping down to about 3 feet
above the ground, with a movable fringe hung round the sides from
the bottom of the roof-piece. These tents are very comfortable,
especially in summer-time when the sides are kept open, propped up
with short poles. There is no furniture inside them, but the floor is
covered with matting and bedouin carpets, which are made of finely
spun wool, white sheep’s wool—sometimes dyed scarlet, brown,
grey—yellow camel’s wool, and black goat’s hair. They are woven
in stripes and geometrical designs, and ornamented with black and red
tassels. The largest tents are often 20 or 30 feet long and 10 feet
wide, sometimes divided into two parts by a striped Tripoli blanket
which is hung across the middle. One can be very comfortable in one
of these tents, with no furniture except a heap of carpets and rugs.
Each bedouin has two sets of tents, a thin summer one, and a thicker
one which is used during the winter; the latter is lined with a
wonderful patchwork made from pieces of coloured cotton and linen,
like an old-fashioned patchwork quilt. When it rains the wool of the
roof swells and tightens, and the water slides off the steep sides
of the tent as it does from the proverbial duck’s back. Being so
low they are not torn up by the wind, and I have seen a whole camp of
army tents laid flat by a hurricane which tore many of them to pieces,
while the Arab ones remained standing and dry within.
In appearance the Western Desert Arabs are fairer than the Arabs
of Arabia and Palestine. This is probably due to the fact that
when they originally took the country it was occupied by Berbers,
a blue-eyed, fair-haired type, who are supposed to have crossed
over from Europe into Africa at some remote period several thousand
years ago. The Arabs are slightly darker than the Egyptians with
features that are distinctly Semitic, expressing more intelligence
than the fellahin. They are of a finer build and more wiry. Some of
the Arab women are very handsome, and their costume is particularly
becoming. They usually wear a long black robe with full sleeves, but on
special occasions the robe is of striped silk, and a red woollen belt,
several yards long, twisted round the waist like a cummerbund. Their
head-dress consists of a coloured silk handkerchief tied tightly
over the head, but allowing two coils of braided hair to appear on
both sides of the face, then, above this, a long black scarf with
a coloured fringe and a red and yellow border twisted into a high
head-dress, folded like a mediæval coif below the chin, with the
fringed ends hanging down behind. Soft scarlet leather boots complete
the costume. Almost all the women tattoo their chins and often their
foreheads with a blue pattern; this is considered by them to be very
ornamental, but to European eyes it is singularly ugly. Old women
dye their hair a brilliant orange colour, and men sometimes tint the
tips of their beards, as well as their horses’ tails, with henna,
presumably following what one sees advertised as “The henna cult
of beauty.”
As in most Eastern countries when an Arab marries he pays “marriage
money” to the parents or guardians of the bride. So a daughter is
a source of riches to her parents if she is attractive enough to be
worth a handsome dowry. The amount varies on the Western Desert from
about five to a hundred pounds, according to the age, appearance and
position of the girl. Half is paid on marriage, and the remainder is
paid later by instalments, and it is liable to be forfeited if the
wife does not behave well, but if the husband divorces the wife he
must pay up the residue of the money to her parents. This makes a man
very careful in the choice of a wife. In many ways the plan of buying
a wife on the instalment system is a good one. Arabs have more freedom
in these matters than many other Orientals. Women are not veiled, and
men and girls have plenty of opportunities of seeing each other, and
even speaking together, before marriage, though the actual negotiations
are always carried out by a third person representing each party. Arabs
rarely have more than two wives, though their religion allows them to
have four, and divorce is not so very common among them. The women have
a certain amount of influence which they exert without the men quite
knowing it, but although their position is better than that of the
Egyptian women, and infinitely better than that of Siwan women, they
have a very hard time. They weave wool and make tents and carpets;
they milk the flocks and make butter and cheese; they grind corn
on rough mill-stones for making bread; they fetch water, often from
a well many miles distant; and they collect wood every day for the
camp fires; all this in addition to looking after their children and
cooking. Mohammedan women of all classes are not expected to concern
themselves with religion; they are not allowed to enter mosques, except
on one day of the year, and during seven years in the Sudan and Egypt
I only twice saw a Mohammedan woman praying in public. There are very
definite social divisions among the Arabs, especially among their
women. The wives of respectable Arabs never associate with or speak
to women whose morals are considered doubtful. These ladies of the
_demi-monde_ inhabit tents, generally on the outskirts of the camps,
and are conspicuous, as in every part of the world, by the brilliant
colours of their clothes, and their many ornaments.
The Arabs are a kindly, hospitable people, not phlegmatic like
the fellahin, but easily moved. I had some very good friends among
them. When I was out on trek, if I came across an encampment, they
would see us from a long distance off and invariably come out and
invite me to dismount and rest awhile, and “fadhl” in their
camp. “Fadhl” is an untranslatable word which means roughly
“Stop and pass the time of day.” Sometimes I used to accept their
hospitality for a few hours in the heat of the day, and rest in a
cool dark tent, or wait talking in the tents in the evening while my
men rode on ahead and prepared my camp a little distance away. One
could never camp near bedouins, as their camels generally had mange,
which is very catching, and their dogs were a nuisance at night,
being “snappers up of unconsidered trifles” in the way of food,
etc., and not always “unconsidered” either. These dogs are white
or yellow woolly creatures who guard the flocks with great apparent
courage, and attack any stranger, but when threatened they run yelping
away with their tails between their legs. When I dismounted I would
wait for a minute or so talking to the men, so as to give the Arabs a
chance to arrange things. Women would run frantically from tent to tent
carrying mats and carpets, and shooing away sheep and goats and small
brown children; then the sheikh would lead me to the largest tent,
spread with black and scarlet carpets, with probably a long striped
blanket hung across the centre and screening one side of it. Or on
warm summer nights the carpets were spread in front of the tents,
on the open desert under the stars. Unless I specially asked to be
excused the finest kid of the herd would be caught and killed and an
hour or so later it would be brought in, boiled, on an enormous wooden
dish, and I would be expected to eat “heavily” of this, also of
the “asida” that followed. Asida, a dish which I always had the
greatest difficulty in pretending to eat, consists of lightly cooked
flour dough, with a hole scooped in the middle full of oil or melted
fat and sugar, however, _de gustibus non disputandum_. The sheikh,
and perhaps one or two of his relations, would join in the feast,
watched with the greatest interest by the ladies of the camp who would
collect on the other side of the curtain, and gaze firmly at me from
underneath it, whispering, giggling and tinkling their bangles and
ornaments as they moved. If I knew the people well they would not
bother about hanging up a curtain, and women and children would creep
into the tent and sit staring from the far end, or carry on their
usual occupations—milking goats, spinning or making semna—but no
woman would ever eat in the presence of a man out of respect to him,
and a son would never think of sitting down and eating with his father
unless he was specially invited to do so. Generally the sons waited
on the party, and ate afterwards.
Semna is a kind of cheese made from goat’s milk. In the morning the
sheep and goats are milked into wooden bowls, the milk is poured into
a water-skin and rolled vigorously up and down by two women seated on
the ground till it thickens into a sort of butter. The addition of a
certain herb is needed if it is to be made into cheese. One kind of
white butter made by the Arabs is very good and forms an excellent
substitute for real butter, and a change from the tinned species.
Arabs are very free in their conversation, and personal remarks are
not considered to be ill-mannered. They usually ask one’s age, and
inquire whether people are married or not. The idea of a man being over
twenty and still unmarried surprises them enormously; they think that
he can’t afford to buy a wife. They always show a keen interest in
what they consider the peculiar habits of Europeans. Hardly any of them
can read or write, and very few have ever been off the desert. When
a bedouin gets to Alexandria he is like a countryman in London. The
bedouin are superstitious, but not as intensely so as the oasis
dwellers. In every tent one notices a little bundle of charms hung on
one of the tent poles to avert the Evil Eye. One such collection would
consist of a black cock’s leg, a red rag, a dried frog, two bones,
and a little leather charm, tied together and hung on the pole.
One day I was sitting talking to some Arabs in a tent when suddenly I
realized that everybody was staring in a fascinated way at my mouth. I
wondered what was the matter. Then I heard the women whispering
to themselves: “He must be a very wealthy one; see how he adorns
himself with gold.” I couldn’t imagine what they meant as I was
only wearing a shirt, shorts and stockings, nothing very remarkable
in the way of clothes. Then I heard something about “Gold tooth,”
and I realized that their attention had been caught by a hideous gold
crown that had been put over one of my front teeth in a great hurry
just before I left Cairo the last time I was on leave. They thought
it a most attractive and novel form of decoration.
When Arabs get money they either invest it in sheep and camels or bury
it in the ground. Some of these men who lead the most primitive lives,
living in a tent and feeding on a meagre diet of milk, bread, rice
and dates, are the owners of many thousands of sheep and hundreds of
camels. Sheep are generally worth two or three pounds, and camels
about fifteen pounds each. Besides this, they often have a little
bag of gold buried somewhere in the desert. They never spend their
money on creature comforts, and the poorest and the richest men live
practically in the same way. My Sudanese Camel Corps men used to
criticize them, saying what a waste it seemed that they had so much
money, and apparently didn’t know how to enjoy it, whereas in the
Sudan when a man made money he would build a house, feed better and
live in a more comfortable way than his neighbours. An Arab when
he was “mabsout” (well off) didn’t seem to know how to be
“mabsout”—meaning also “happy.”
Once I was camped near some Arabs and one of them, an old sheikh,
was ill and considered by his relations likely to die. He was known
to possess some money buried somewhere in the neighbourhood, and
his relatives were most anxious that he should not die until he had
disclosed the hiding-place. But the old man obstinately refused to tell
them where it was. A deputation of his heirs called on me and asked
me to make him speak. I agreed that it was unfortunate for them, but
I could do nothing. When I suggested that they should take him to the
hospital at Sollum, they were quite indignant and said that evidently
Allah willed that he should die; the only distressing thing was his
obstinacy about the money. This went on for several days, and then,
to every one’s surprise, the old gentleman suddenly recovered. Some
of his relations seemed sorry, and some relieved. When I last saw
him he was watching a “fantasia” which was being held in honour
of his recovery, with a pleased, benignant expression. Personally,
I always had a faint idea that the money never existed, but all his
people firmly believe in it, and he has kept the secret to this day.
[Illustration: A FALCONER OUTSIDE A BEDOUIN CAMP]
One rather associates the idea of an Arab with his steed, a wonderful
fiery creature that skims across the desert like a bird. The ponies
on the Western Desert are a somewhat sorry collection. Only a few of
the well-to-do Arabs keep horses. They are small hardy ponies very
unlike the Arab steed of fiction. But they look better when they are
ridden, with their high scarlet saddles, great iron stirrups and gaily
tasselled bridles. The Arabs ride them either at an uncomfortable
jog trot or at a tearing gallop. They have some curious ideas on the
“points” of a pony; certain things are considered lucky or unlucky;
for instance, if a pony has white stockings on both forelegs it is
much esteemed, but a white stocking on one fore and one hind leg is
exceedingly unlucky. There are many stretches of hard stony ground
along the coast, so horses have to be shod; this is done by covering
the whole of the foot with a flat piece of iron, and results in a
terrific noise when they gallop over stony ground.
There is very little sport to be had on this part of the desert. The
only form that the Arabs indulge in is the ancient pastime of
hawking. Certain men of each tribe are proficient in training and
hunting with hawks. Skill as a falconer seems to be hereditary in
the same way as snake charming, fortune telling and various other
practices. The Arabs prefer catching a full-grown bird and training it,
to taking a young bird from the nest, which would appear to be the
easiest plan. The method of trapping them is rather clever. When an
Arab wants to catch a hawk, he takes a pigeon, slightly clips its wings
to prevent its escape, and fastens a number of horsehair loops round
its body, then he releases the pigeon, which flutters away. A hawk
sights the pigeon, swoops down and becomes entangled in the meshes of
the horsehair, so that the Arab is able to run up and secure it. The
hawk takes many months to train. Gradually it becomes accustomed to
its master, who invariably feeds it himself, and whistles when he
gives it food in a way that it learns to know. Later he takes the bird
on his wrist, hooded, and fastened by a leather thong; by degrees it
becomes accustomed to his wrist and then he carries it about with him,
still hooded. Finally he removes the hood and lets it tackle a hare
or two which he brings to it, then one day he takes it out on to the
desert and looses it at a running hare. The bird attacks the hare,
brings it down, and sits on its prey till the master arrives, or
if it flies up he draws it back by whistling and flinging a lump of
meat into the air. Sometimes an Arab will catch over a dozen hares
in a day’s hawking, but occasionally, after months of training,
when he looses his bird for the first time it will fly away and never
return. One sees a tethered hawk outside a tent in almost all the big
encampments. A well-trained bird is worth several pounds among the
Arabs, and it is very difficult to persuade them to part with one;
they are used to catch pigeons, quail and other birds, besides hares.
Another sport which we went in for along the coast was coursing hares
with Silugi dogs. These dogs are gazelle hounds and came originally
from Arabia. There are now a certain number of them in Egypt, and all
the officials on the Western Desert keep one or two. Silugis are very
similar to greyhounds, generally white or pale coffee colour, with
feathery tails and long-haired, silky ears. They are very fast indeed,
but have no sense of scent, and hunt entirely by sight. They are rather
delicate and very nervous, and in most cases they show little affection
for human beings. At Matruh there was quite a pack which included a
couple of fox-hounds, silugis, several terriers—of sorts—and a
few nondescript bedouin pariahs. The Matruh pack specialized in foxes,
but at Sollum there were more hares than foxes. The desert hares are
rather smaller than the English ones, but they seemed to be faster.
The open country above the Scarp stretches over alternate patches
of hard stony ground, and strips covered with low vegetation where
a certain plant that smells like thyme predominates. Generally
two or three of us went hunting together, or if there were only
two Englishmen we took a couple of Sudanese syces or servants,
who thoroughly enjoy all forms of hunting, all mounted on ponies,
and accompanied by four or five dogs. We rode in extended order with
intervals of about thirty yards between each rider, the dogs generally
trotting along in front. Whoever raised a hare gave a wild yell and
galloped after it, “hell for leather,” the rest following. The
hounds would sight the hare and fling themselves in pursuit. Quite
often the hare got away before they saw it, or managed to reach a bit
of cover well ahead of the hounds, and then they would slacken down,
at a loss, and wait till the riders came up and scoured the country
round to put up the hare again. It sounds rather unsporting, but the
hare stood a very good chance; in fact, generally more than half of
them got away, and it gave one some splendid long gallops across the
country. Sometimes we would raise a gazelle, and give chase, but few
dogs or ponies can catch up a gazelle when it gets a little start and
is really moving. I think the scale of speed was, gazelle, silugi,
hare and ponies. It was a primitive form of hunting, but one liked
it none the less, and jugged hare made a welcome change in the menu.
There were a certain number of gazelle on the desert quite close to
the top of the Scarp and it was occasionally possible to get a shot at
them, but they were very shy, and needed careful stalking over country
that was almost without cover. When anybody went out specially to shoot
gazelle none would appear, but when riding along on a camel one saw
numbers of them; however, by the time one had dismounted and loaded the
gazelle would be out of range, probably standing a long distance away
“at gaze.” Gazelle do not mind camels if they have no people on
them, and the Arabs sometimes get quite close to a gazelle by stalking
it from among a number of grazing camels. At one time, after the war,
the men of the Light Car Patrols took to hunting gazelle in Ford cars
with a machine-gun; fortunately this practice was forbidden, but it
scared the gazelle from the neighbourhood for a considerable time.
Numbers of rock pigeons nested among the cliffs on the coast, and
quantities of them collected round the camel lines and fed off the
refuse grain. In the autumn thousands of quail arrived on the coast
from Europe; they were often so exhausted that the Arab boys could
catch them in their hands. The natives netted them for sale to the
Greeks, who exported them alive in crates to Alexandria. One got
very tired of eating quail during the month or two that they were in
season; still, at first they were extremely good. Among the wadis
in the Scarp there were occasional coveys of red-legged partridge,
and lately there have been a few sand-grouse about the high country;
once or twice I have seen duck on the marshes near the sea, and an
occasional bustard, but, on the whole, there was very little to be
had in the way of shooting.
[Illustration: SILUGI HOUNDS]
A number of jackals and a few wild cats lived in the caves among the
wadis in the Scarp. Their mournful wailings echoed through the rocky
ravines, and owing to its eeriness at night the bedouins thought that
it was haunted by evil spirits. But in the daytime they climbed about
it quite unconcernedly, and their goats snatched a scanty pasturage
among the rocks. During most of the year the Scarp looks harsh and
forbidding, but after the rains a change comes over it; one notices
a faint green tinge about the cliffs, and a closer examination shows
that it is covered with blossoming flowers and rock plants. The slopes
become gay with mauve, pink, yellow and blue flowers, saltworts,
samphires, sea lavender, yellow nettle, campanulas, little irises,
marigolds, ranunculas, Spanish broom, masses of night-scented stock
and a quantity of other little flowering plants which clothe the grim
rocks in a robe of brilliant colour. The flat country, too, blossoms
out into colour. One sees scarlet poppies, mallows, and tall scabious
among the budding corn, and fields of swaying asphodel, and the whole
desert is scented in the evening by the night-scented stock.
The rain that causes this transformation falls occasionally during
the winter months from November till about March. During this time
there are clouds in the sky, and sometimes terrific downpours. The
Arabs greet the first rain of the season with great delight, the men
sing and shout, and the women raise piercing shrieks to show their
pleasure. Unless there is a good rainfall none of the barley grows, and
the grazing on which the sheep and camels depend is insufficient. When
it rains the wadis become rushing torrents, roads are impassable,
every house leaks, and many of the roofs subside. The camels have to
be led from their flooded lines to the higher ground where they stand
shivering. Camels hate rain. If one is out on trek and a really stiff
shower comes on the camels barrack down, with their backs towards
the direction of the rain, and nothing will make them budge till it
is over. One just has to wait till it stops. If the track is muddy
and wet the camels slither and slide and one must dismount and lead
them; they were made for hot, dry countries, not for a damp, wet
climate. Hardly any of the houses at Matruh or Sollum are watertight,
and it was nothing out of the ordinary when one called on a man to find
him camped out in the middle of his most watertight room, surrounded
by his perishable belongings, with a sort of canopy consisting of a
waterproof sheet and a mackintosh or two stretched out above him. But
though rain storms were very violent they did not last long, and
the sun soon came out and dried everything up again. When, however,
one was caught by a bad storm out on trek on the desert, with only
a thin tent, and no change of clothes, it was very disagreeable.
The word “house” is misleading. People imagine at least a
large comfortable bungalow. But on the Western Desert the average
house occupied by an English official, with possibly a wife, was a
three-roomed stone hut, with plastered walls and a wooden roof, with
a very thin layer of cement. The largest room would be about twelve
feet square, the plaster invariably crumbled off the walls owing
to the salt in it, and the cement invariably cracked in the summer
so that the rain poured through the roof in the winter. Cement for
some reason was almost impossible to get. One always heard that for
“next year” the Administration had included the building of real
houses for its officials in the Budget, but this item was always one
of the first to be struck out on the grounds of economy. Nobody has
yet discovered an ideal roofing for the Western Desert, where there
are extremes of heat and cold and occasional terrific hurricanes and
downpours. So far, the best type of abode seems to be the bedouin tent.
One of the chief events on the coast was the arrival of the cruiser,
_Abdel Moneim_, which came up from Alexandria about once every
fortnight or three weeks bringing mails, supplies and sometimes
high officials on tours of inspection. She spent a day or two in
harbour at Matruh and Sollum on each trip. This little cruiser was
built in Scotland for the Egyptian Government, and with two other
boats comprises the navy of Egypt. She was a neat-looking grey ship,
always very spick and span with fresh paint and shining brass, manned
by a crew of Egyptians in white or blue sailors’ uniform and red
tarbooshes. Her captain was an English bimbashi in the Egyptian
Coastguards Administration, whose uniform was somewhat confusing,
as he wore, besides the naval rank on his sleeve, a crown and star
on his shoulder. The cruiser was carefully built so as to allow a
spacious saloon and two state cabins, for the accommodation of the
Director-General. Two machine-guns were posted fore and aft. The _Abdel
Moneim_ had the well-deserved reputation of being warranted to make
the very best sailor seasick, even in comparatively calm weather. She
rolled and pitched simultaneously in a more horrid manner than any
ship I have ever known. The result was that, when people went down
the coast to Alexandria on leave, they arrived in Egypt looking and
feeling like nothing on earth, and spent the first few days of their
all too short leave recovering from the evil after-effects of the
voyage. I have never yet met anyone who really enjoyed a trip on the
cruiser. Personally, the only time that I felt comfortable on board
was when we were firmly moored to the quay at Matruh or Sollum. When
the high officials landed after a sea trip they were generally feeling
so ill that their visits were not entirely a pleasure to the people
who were being inspected.
Occasionally misguided individuals, who knew nothing about it,
got permission to go up to Sollum and back by cruiser, hoping for
a pleasant little trip on the Mediterranean. Generally, when they
arrived at Matruh, they inquired anxiously whether it was possible to
return to Alexandria by car, or even by camel. Some queer visitors
sometimes came on these “joy rides,” but very little joy was
left in them by the time they reached Sollum. On one occasion, a
Mr. B. of the Labour Corps, a Board School master in private life,
arrived by cruiser at Matruh. He announced that he had come to study
the coast and the Arabs. He was just the type that Kipling describes
so well in his poems. The Governor invited him to lunch; he arrived
in spurs, belt, etc., though it was the summer and every one else was
wearing the fewest and thinnest clothes; however, that may have been
politeness. There happened to be three or four other men present. At
lunch Mr. B. proceeded to air his views on how the desert should be
run; we heard some startling facts about it; he disapproved of the
Administration, and told us so; he then proceeded to tell us about the
Sudan, as he had lately spent one week in an hotel at Khartoum. The
Governor had been recently transferred from the Sudan, where he had
been Governor of one of the largest provinces, and as it happened
every single man present had served there for some considerable time,
so, naturally, we were interested to be told a few facts about it!
A couple of days later I happened to go down the coast with Mr. B. and
a certain District Officer. The latter spent his whole time, when he
wasn’t ill, telling Mr. B. the most outrageously impossible stories
of camels, Arabs and the desert, which he swallowed unblinkingly and
noted down in a copybook in order to give lectures, so he told us,
at his club when he returned home. That club must have heard some
startling stories. One of the facts—or fictions—that interested
him particularly was a description of “watch camels which are posted
by the Arabs round their flocks and when a stranger appears they
gallop across to the camp and warn their masters.” Another very
vivid story was the description of a whole herd of camels going mad
from hydrophobia. It is wonderful how credulous some people can be,
but I think he deserved it.
CHAPTER II
THE DESERT
“So on, ever on, spreads the path of the Desert,
Wearily, wearily,
Sand, ever sand—not a gleam of the fountain;
Sun, ever sun—not a shade from the mountain;
As a sea on a sea flows the width of the Desert
Drearily, drearily.”
THE Western Desert of Egypt is regulated by the Frontier Districts
Administration, a comparatively new department of the Egyptian
Government which was formed during the war and took over many of the
duties of the old Egyptian Coastguards Administration. The F.D.A. is
a military Administration with British officers, and is responsible
for the Western Desert, Sinai and the country between the Red Sea
coast and the Nile. In each of these provinces there is a Governor
and several District Officers and officers of the Camel Corps. The
Military Administrator at the head of the whole Administration is
Colonel G. G. Hunter, C.B., C.M.G., and the Governor of the Western
Desert is at present Colonel M. S. Macdonnell. The forces of the
F.D.A. consist of a Sudanese Camel Corps and local police.
On the Western Desert there is one company of Camel Corps, about 170
strong, divided into three sections, of which two are stationed on
the coast and one in the Siwa oasis. The duties of the Camel Corps
are practically those of mounted police, patrolling the coast and
frontier, preventing smuggling and gun running, and keeping order
among the Arabs in case of any disturbance or trouble. But since
the successful termination of the British operations against the
Senussi in 1917 the Western Desert has been very peaceable, and the
Arabs seem to be thoroughly satisfied with the organization by which
they are now governed. During all the trouble in Egypt in 1919-21,
when the country was seething with anti-British agitations, there
were absolutely no disturbances or demonstrations among the Arabs of
the Western Desert, and I have heard them in their tents discussing,
quite genuinely, the foolishness of the goings-on in Egypt.
The F.D.A. Camel Corps was originally formed of Sudanese men from
the Coastguard Camel Corps, with a large proportion of “yellow
bellies” (Egyptians) who were gradually weeded out and replaced
by Sudanese and Sudan Arabs, who were enlisted on the borders of
Egypt, as the Sudan Government does not allow recruiting inside its
territories except for the Egyptian Army. The F.D.A. Camel Corps is
supposed to consist entirely of Sudanese, but a certain number of the
men who were enlisted in the regions of Luxor and Kom Ombo are not
real Sudanis. They are very well paid, provided with good uniforms
and rations, and a certain percentage are allowed to have their wives
with them on the coast. Every camp has its “harimat”—married
quarters—where the married men and their families live. But before
a man is allowed to marry he has to pass a test in musketry. Many
of the men marry Arab women, and this sometimes caused considerable
trouble among the Sudanese wives, who are by no means fond of their
Arab “sisters.” As they all live close together in rather cramped
quarters they have a very lively time. One’s office hours are
often occupied in endeavouring to pacify some irate old Sudanese lady
who brings a furious complaint that the Arab wife of her next-door
neighbour is “carrying on” with her husband. Or one gets a long
involved case like the following story to inquire into, generally
when there is a great deal of other work to be done.
Ombashi (corporal) Suliman Hassan married an Arab lady called Halima
bint—daughter of—Ahmed Abu Taleb; when she married her father
gave her an old primus stove, a favourite possession of the Arabs at
Sollum, which he had bought from the servant of one of the English
officers—this incidentally caused another inquiry. The marriage
was not a success, and after six months of unhappy married life
Ombashi Suliman divorced his wife. Apparently he “celebrated”
the divorce “not wisely but too well,” because on the next day
he got a month’s hard labour for being drunk on duty. He took the
primus with him when he went to prison. Halima retired to Bagbag with
her goods and chattels, and after a suitable interval she married
another Camel Corps man, this time a “naffer”—private—who
brought her back with him to Sollum.
Ombashi Suliman had also consoled himself, and presented the primus
stove, now very worn and shaky, to his new wife, a buxom Sudanese. She
sold it to her married sister. It exploded and set a tent on fire;
so the sister gave it to her little girl Zumzum, a small black infant
with tight curls and one pink garment. Then one day Halima saw the
primus, her primus, in the hands of the small Zumzum, and remembered
about it. She rushed home to her new husband and stirred him to action;
so he arrived at my office with a long incoherent complaint, demanding
justice and the return of the stove.
I had to spend an entire morning unravelling this history and examining
endless witnesses, who all wished to talk about any subject except
the one I was getting at. When the present wife and the divorced wife
of Ombashi Suliman met outside the office they were with difficulty
restrained from fighting, and the lurid details which were wafted
through the window, about the lives and antecedents of both ladies,
were interesting, but quite unprintable. Eventually the small Zumzum,
now in a state of inaudible terror, produced the primus, which was
found to be worn out, irreparable, and absolutely useless.
One of the features of Sollum is a little cluster of tents and huts,
near the Camel Corps Camp, which is known as the “Booza Camp.”
It is run by about a dozen elderly Sudanese widows and divorcees
who manufacture “marissa,” a drink made from barley. The men
are allowed here at certain times and on holidays, as marissa is
not permitted to be brewed in the camp. The wives have the strongest
objection to this institution which attracts their husbands away from
home, as a public-house does in England, though the dusky barmaids
could not possibly be called attractive. One can rightly say of the
Sudanese that their favourite diversions are wine, women and song.
The Sudanis of the Camel Corps are a very likeable lot. They are
thoroughly sporting and have a strong sense of humour, but in many
ways they are very like children. They have an aptitude for drill and
soldiering, but are useless without British officers owing to their
lack of initiative. They are faithful and become very attached to
Englishmen, but they have a keen sense of discrimination. Like all
native troops there is a tendency for each man to consider himself a
born leader, and offer his advice and opinion on all occasions; this
takes a long time to subdue. But with careful training they become
efficient soldiers, and they look very smart in their khaki uniform,
which is rather similar to an Indian’s. Physically many of them
are splendid men, very powerful and muscular, like bronze statues,
but although the climate of their own country is intensely hot they
are by no means immune from the effects of sun, and they seem to be
almost more liable to catch fever than an Englishman.
The three sections take it in turns to go to Siwa, where they generally
remain from six to nine months. It is not a popular place, in spite
of the fact that every man is allowed to marry, with no restrictions,
such as first having to pass a musketry test. The men much prefer
being on the coast where there is more going on, as they are at
heart intensely sociable, and also, though living is cheap at Siwa,
the climate has a bad reputation.
The best time to go to Siwa is in the spring, when the weather is
cool and there is probably water on the road. The trip needs a good
deal of preparing for, especially as one has to take down stores for
many months. A camel patrol from Siwa used to meet a patrol from the
coast at the half-way point on the road once every month, and in this
way the mails were sent down to the oasis. A car patrol was supposed
to go down at certain intervals, but they were very irregular, and
sometimes, on the few occasions when they did come, they forgot to
bring the mail. One depended so much on letters at Siwa that this
was an intense disappointment. The following is a rough diary of a
trek down to Siwa in the hot weather.
_Saturday, July 24th._
Spent a busy morning making final arrangements for the trip and
seeing that everything was ready. We moved off from Sollum at 3.30
p.m., myself, 39 men, 50 camels, and one dog. The whole camp turned
out to see us off, including many small black babies belonging to
the men. Some of the men wept profusely at parting with their wives,
but almost before we were out of Sollum I heard them gaily discussing
which of the Siwan ladies they would honour by marriage. Saturday
is a fortunate day to start on a journey. Apparently the prophet
Mohammed favoured Mondays, Thursdays and Saturdays, but Saturdays
most of all. Another good omen was the appearance of two crows which
we passed just outside the camp; a single crow would have been cause
for anxiety, and to see a running hare before camping at night is
considered a very serious piece of ill-luck. I think this started
from the idea that a running hare was a sign of people on the move
close at hand, probably enemies.
We marched along the bottom of the Scarp and reached Bir Augerin,
where we camped for the night, at sunset. At Augerin there is one of
the many rock cisterns that one finds on the coast. These cisterns are
large rectangular underground tanks, often 40 feet square and 20 feet
high, with one or two square holes in the roof large enough to admit
a man. The Arabs draw the water up in leather buckets on the end of a
rope, or if the supply is low one man goes down and fills the bucket
which is drawn up by the man above. They are always built in the middle
of a hollow with several stone runnels that carry the rain water down
from the higher ground. Generally there is a mound near the well with
a sheikh’s tomb on the top of it, a cairn surrounded by a low wall,
ornamented with a few little white flags which are contributed by
passing travellers as a thank-offering for the water. According to
M. Maspero, the cisterns along the coast were built by the Romans in
the second century A.D., and were in use until the middle or end of the
fourth century. Most of them are now so out of repair that they only
hold water for a very short time after the rains have ceased, and when
they are dry they become the home of snakes, bats and owls; however,
I believe it is proposed to restore several of the most useful of them.
We camped near the well at Augerin. I had an indifferent dinner. My
new cook, Abdel Aziz, seems to be a fool and unaccustomed to being
on trek. He is a Berberin, a despised “gins”—race—but always
considered to be good cooks. The men I have got with me are a fine lot,
all “blacks” and mostly “Shaigis”—from the North Sudan. The
old Bash-Shawish—sergeant-major—was previously in the Coastguards
and knows the country well. I did not bother to put up a tent, but
slept in the open under the stars, which were gorgeous. Not a very
hot night.
_25th._
Moved off at 4.30 a.m. by chilly but brilliant moonlight. Led the
camels and walked for the first hour, then mounted and rode. The men
made a long line riding along in file. Arrived at Bir Hamed, another
cistern, at about 8 a.m. We stay here till to-morrow morning in order
to give the camels a good day’s grazing and watering, as this is
the last well before the real desert. Bir Hamed is a very wild,
picturesque place among the rocky foot-hills below the Scarp. In
the spring it becomes one mass of flowers, but now it looks dry and
barren. The camels drank frantically and then went out to graze. There
is still a fair amount of water in the well, which is icy cold and very
refreshing. I, and almost all the men, had a bath, as it is the last
opportunity till we get to Siwa. I spent a lazy day in my tent and the
men slept most of the time. At four o’clock the camels were driven
in to drink again, this time they were less eager to get to the water
and sipped it in a mincing way like an affected old lady drinking tea.
[Illustration: CAMEL CORPS]
After dinner, when I was sitting outside my tent in the moonlight,
I heard a faint sound of shouting in the distance. I took a couple of
men and walked in the direction the sound came from. About a mile from
the camp we sighted a large number of black Arab tents that showed
up clear in the moonlight on a slight rise in the ground. There had
been a marriage in the tribe and the festivities were being concluded
by a dance.
Two girls were slowly revolving round in the centre of an enormous
circle of white-robed bedouins each holding in her hand, above her
head, a long cane which she flourished in the manner that a dancer
uses a bouquet of flowers. The girls wore the usual Arab dress,
the black, long-sleeved robe and scarlet waist-band, but their faces
were hidden by long black veils, and they wore white shawls fastened
in flounces round the waist, which stuck out almost like a ballet
girl’s skirt. The moon flashed on the heavy silver bangles on their
arms and on their silver necklaces and earrings.
The audience were divided into four parties, the object of each party
being to attract the dancers to them by the enthusiasm of their singing
and hand-clapping. A man playing on a flute and another with a drum
led the tune, which was wearily monotonous but strangely attractive
and a fitting accompaniment to the scene. Gradually the singing became
faster and louder, the white-robed Arabs swayed to and fro urging
the dancers to fresh exertions; the girls revolved more rapidly
and one of them began the “Dance de ventre,” which consists of
rather sensuous quivering movements, not attractive to a European,
but much admired by natives. The singing and hand-clapping became more
violent and finally culminated in frenzied shouting when one of the
girls halted, swaying, before the loudest section of the audience,
and several men flung themselves on their knees, kissing her feet and
exclaiming at her beauty, which if it existed was quite invisible to
me, and praising her skill in dancing with high-flown speeches and
compliments. Outside the circle of brown-faced, white-clad Arabs,
and in the doors of the tents, there were a crowd of women watching
the performance, and a group of dancing girls stood whispering to
each other under their black veils, tinkling their ornaments, as they
waited to step into the circle and relieve their companions.
I stood watching the dancing for a long time, and then returned to
my tent. As I walked away I heard hoarse shouts of “Ya Ayesha—ya
Khadiga,” as two new girls began to dance, and the whistle and the
drum struck up another queer little melody. Not until almost dawn
did quiet reign again on the desert, broken only by the occasional
wail of a wandering jackal.
_26th._
Moved off at 4 a.m. and marched till 9.30. We led the camels for the
first two hours along the rocky, difficult ground below the Scarp,
and then up a steep, stony pass to the top. I reached the top just
as the “false dawn” glimmered with a streak of pale light in the
east. There was a heavy dew; all the country down below looked grey
and misty. Gradually the long, twisting line of led camels reached
the summit, and as we rode off across the level upland towards Siwa
the real sunrise began and the stars faded in the sky. The dew was
so thick that the spiders’ webs on the bushes all sparkled. By
midday it was intolerably hot. We halted at a place called Qur el
Beid, a most depressing spot consisting of three low sand-hills and a
tiny patch of vegetation which the camels sniffed at contemptuously,
probably comparing it in their minds to the much superior grazing near
Bir Hamed. I lunched lightly and lay sweating in my tent with Howa,
my Silugi dog, lying openmouthed and panting at my side till we moved
on again for the afternoon “shid”—march.
The first hour of the afternoon “shid” is the worst of the day. The
swaying motion of the camel, the glare, and the burning sun beating
down, makes one terribly inclined to sleep, and the hard, yellowish
brown desert is absolutely monotonous. A good “hagin”—riding
camel—is very comfortable to ride when it is trotting, but not at a
walk. Its action is peculiar, first the two off legs move together, and
then the two near legs; this is what causes the swinging motion. There
is an idea that when people first ride a camel they are afflicted by a
sort of sea-sickness, but although I am a bad sailor I have never felt
this, nor have I yet met anyone who did. Camels are very easy to ride;
one just sits on the saddle with legs crossed over the front pummel,
and there is very little chance of falling off as long as the camel
behaves itself. The usual way of mounting is to make the camel kneel
down and then step on to the saddle, but if one is long-legged and
active it is possible to spring up into the saddle from the ground,
which is much quicker and useful when the ground is hard and unsuitable
for the camel to kneel on. A camel’s usual pace is a slow trot,
about 4½-5 miles an hour, and they can keep up this pace for hours
on end. Of course they can go at a sort of gallop, if they like, and
when they do this they cover the ground at a terrific speed, but it
is rather difficult to ride them, and they have an unpleasant trick
of suddenly swerving which generally shoots one over the camel’s
head on to the ground. I have known, too, camels that bucked, and
others that suddenly knelt down when one did not expect it, both very
disconcerting tricks. They are not affectionate animals and they never
seem to know their own masters; there was only one among mine that
had any “parlour tricks,” and he used to inhale tobacco smoke
through his nose, apparently with the greatest appreciation.
We saw several gazelle in the afternoon, but all too far away for a
shot. Halted for the night at a place where there were about four
small tufts of vegetation. The camels are less fastidious now and
condescended to nibble at them.
The best time of the day is the evening when the sun sinks low, the
desert becomes a pinkish colour, and our shadows stretch like huge
monsters for yards across the ground. Then I begin to look out for
a camping place, anywhere where there are a few scraps of dried-up
vegetation, or, failing that, a soft-looking patch of ground where
the camels will be comfortable. When we halt the baggage is unloaded
and the camels are allowed to roam about and eat what they can
find; in five minutes my tent is pitched, chair and table unfolded,
and dinner is being prepared. Some of the men begin measuring out
the camels’ dhurra—millet—and others go and collect bits of
stick for the fires, or if there is no wood they use dry camel dung,
which is an excellent fuel. Then the camels are driven in again,
unsaddled and tied down in a long line; at a given signal the men
run along the line and place each one’s food on a sack in front of
its nose. Every man squats down by his own camel and watches it eat,
preventing the ones who eat fast from snatching at their neighbour’s
grain. Afterwards the men have their own supper—lentils, onions,
bread and tea, and soon roll themselves up in their blankets, covering
face and all, and go to sleep behind their saddles, which they use
as shelters against the night wind. The only sound is the munching
of the camels and an occasional hollow gurgle as they chew the cud,
and the footsteps of the sentry as he moves up and down the line,
“till the dawn comes in with golden sandals.”
Abdel Aziz is improving; he produced quite a decent dinner—sausages,
fried onions and potatoes, omelette and coffee, followed by
a cigar. One sleeps splendidly on the desert. Even in the hottest
weather the nights are fairly cool. Towards morning, just before the
“false dawn,” a little cool breeze blows over the sand and stirs
the flaps of one’s tent, like a sort of warning that soon it will
be time to get on the move again.
_27th._
We marched for six hours in the morning and about four hours in the
afternoon, and camped for the night at the half-way point between
Sollum and Siwa, which is a mound ornamented by a few empty tins. The
temperature in my tent at midday must have been about 120 degrees,
and not a scrap of breeze or fresh air. This is real desert; there is
not a vestige of any living thing, animal or vegetable. The ground is
hard limestone covered with dark, shining pebbles, and in some places
there are stretches of dried mud, left from the standing water after
the rains. These mud pans are impassable in wet weather, and one has
to make a wide detour to avoid them. Now they are cracked by the sun
into a number of little fissures of a uniform size, about 6 inches
square. The effect is very curious.
I once motored down to Siwa in a car driven by an English
A.S.C. private who had never been out in the desert before. When we
were running over one of these mud pans he remarked to me, “It
seems wonderful how they have laid bits of this road with paving
blocks—don’t it, sir!” I thought he was trying to be funny,
but when I looked at him I saw that he was perfectly serious, so I
agreed that it was indeed wonderful. Nobody believed the story when
I told it afterwards, but it really did happen.
The mirage is very vivid. Almost all the time one sees what appears
to be a sheet of shining water ahead in the distance, and one can
distinguish bays and islands on it; gradually, as one gets nearer, it
recedes and then fades away. It is like the shimmering heat that one
sometimes sees at home on a hot day, but greatly intensified. Distances
look out of proportion on the desert; little mounds, too small to be
called hills, appear like huge mountains. About every thirty miles
there seem to be slight rises of a terrace-like formation.
Every evening the men make bread, which they call “khuz.” It is
very simply done and quite good when freshly baked. They take flour
and a little salt and mix it together with water, in a basin or on
a clean sack, kneading it into dough with their hands. When it is
solid and firm they smooth it out into a flat, round loaf about 1½
inches thick. Then they go to the fire, scrape aside all the embers,
and lay the loaf on the hot sand. Then they put the embers back on
the top of the loaf. After a few minutes’ cooking they rake aside
the fire again and turn the loaf, replacing the fire on the top as
before. The time taken in cooking depends on the heat, but is generally
about ten minutes. The bread lasts until the following evening.
All the way we are following what is known as a “mashrab,” a desert
road, which consists of a narrow rut about a foot wide, worn by the
passage of camels through many centuries. Without specially looking for
them one would hardly notice these mashrabs, which are almost identical
to the “gazelle paths” that wind aimlessly about the desert, but
one is helped by the cairns of stones which are raised by the Arabs
on every bit of high ground, sometimes to show the way and sometimes
to mark the lonely grave of a less fortunate traveller. Each of these
twisting desert tracks is known to the Arabs by a different name. There
is the “Mashrab el Khamisa,” from Bagbag to Siwa, called thus
because there are five wells on the way; there is the “Mashrab el
Akhwan”—the Brothers’ Road, from Jerabub to the coast, which
was used by the Senussi Brethren when they travelled from their Zowia
at Jerabub into Egypt; and the “Mashrab el Abd”—the Slave’s
Road, as according to legend, once upon a time, in the dim ages, a
slave who was captured and brought by this route into Egypt from his
home in the west, returned to the west and led an army against Egypt
by the very road that he had come by as a captive. Often the mashrab
seems to fade away, and then the trackers have to ride on ahead and
pick it up again. A number of Bisharin from the North-East Sudan were
specially enlisted in the Camel Corps as trackers and guides. They
are thought to be more skilful at this work than any other tribe,
though personally I think a bedouin is cleverer. But when working
in a bedouin country it is best not to employ local natives. Some
of the Bisharin are almost unnaturally clever, they can follow a
footstep over hard, broken ground where anyone else would see no sign
of anything. These men have a natural instinct for finding the way,
a sort of abnormal bump of locality. When they first arrived on the
coast some of them were wearing the usual clothes of their country
and the fuzzy-wuzzy coiffure that is so remarkable a characteristic
of their race. The Arabs had never seen this type of Sudanese and
were intensely interested in them. Small bedouin boys used to stand
and stare at these tall brown men with the great mops of woolly hair
ornamented with a few skewer-like objects, but the Bisharin were
absolutely indifferent.
_28th._
Left “Keimat en Nus”—the half-way tent—at a very early hour
and rode for a long time by moonlight; one can cover more ground
when it is cold, but there is a danger of going off the track. The
mashrab is faint enough in the daytime, but almost invisible at
night. When we start off in the morning all the men shout together
three times, “Ya Sidi Abdel Gader,” invoking a certain sheikh who
is the patron sheikh of travellers. One of my men told me that he was
born in Berber “min zaman”—a long time ago—and used to travel
about the Sudan deserts without water or food. His descendants still
live at Berber where he is buried.
For the first hour or two the men are very lively and rouse the
desert with their singing. Usually one man sings the refrain in a
rather drawling falsetto voice, and then the whole lot take up the
chorus with a real swing, and some of them have very good voices,
too. Sometimes the song is the history of a certain Abu Zeyed,
a legendary character and an exceedingly lewd fellow, from all I
could hear of his doings. Sometimes they would sing stories from the
Thousand and One Nights, or sometimes the songs would be chants that
reminded one of the Gregorian music in a very “High” church at
home. Often I used to ride on ahead, almost out of sight, and then
wait while the chanting voices gradually grew louder, and the long
line of camels came into sight across the white moonlit sands. There
was something very fascinating in the sound of the singing as we rode
through the African desert at night.
But later on, when the sun began to warm up, nobody felt like
singing. Occasionally somebody started, and a few voices joined in,
but they very soon subsided again. At the midday halt the men rigged
up rough bivouacs with blankets, and rifles as tent poles, then for
several hours one lay in the scanty shade, feeling like a pat of
butter that had been left out in the sun by mistake.
Howa is getting very tired. I picked her up and carried her on the
saddle across my knees for several hours to-day. She is quite fit,
but 200 miles in the hot weather does take it out of a dog. The
camels are in good condition but much looking forward to water,
their flanks are beginning to look “tucked in,” and at night
some of them groan and gurgle horribly. To-morrow we should be in
the oasis at the first well. This evening I functioned with the
medicine chest; I gave several of the men pills and Eno’s, which
they enjoyed, and dressed a foot with a bad cut on it. My own knees
are like raw beef from the sun, though I’ve been wearing shorts
all the summer. We have to be “canny” with the water as several
of the “fanatis”—water-cans—are leaking. Fortunately I have
trained myself only to drink a little in the morning and evening,
and I can wash quite thoroughly in two cups of water.
Sometimes in the evening I walk right away from the camp into the
utter quiet of the desert, out of sight of camels and men. It is
a wonderful sensation to be in such absolute silence, with nothing
to see but the horizon and “the rolling heaven itself.” Then I
retrace my footsteps to the camp and enjoy the pleasant feeling of
seeing the twinkling fires in the distance, and arriving at a neatly
laid dinner-table right in the middle of nowhere.
“Daylight dies,
The camp fires redden like angry eyes,
The tents show white
In the glimmering light,
Spirals of tremulous smoke arise, to the purple skies,
And the hum of the camp sounds like the sea
Drifting over the desert to me.”
_29th._
In the early morning, before dawn, we passed a caravan going
north. I rode over to see who they were and found that it was a
party of Mogabara Arabs on their way up to the coast, and thence
into Egypt. One of them, Ibrahaim el Bishari, is quite a well-known
merchant who travels about Egypt, Tripoli and the Sudan. He had come
lately up from Darfur, via Kufra, Jalow and Jerabub, and was going
down to the Sudan again after spending some time in Egypt. He talked
about people I knew in Darfur and carried “chits” from a number
of Englishmen. His fellows looked a fine lot of men, very different
to the few Siwans who were travelling with them. I should have liked
to have seen the stuff in his loads; he said he had some good carpets
that he hoped to sell in Egypt. We wished each other a prosperous
journey, and so parted “like ships that pass in the night.”
We camped at midday within sight of the high country above the
oasis. This morning one of my men was talking about the Sudan and
touched on the “Bilad el Kelab”—the Country of Dogs. All Sudanese
believe that this place exists somewhere down in the south of the
Sudan towards Uganda. I have seen them draw maps on the sand to show
its position. In this mysterious country all the men become dogs at
sunset time and roam about the gloomy forests like the werewolves
of mediæval fiction. I have heard the men yarning over the camp
fires and saying how their cousin’s wife’s brother—or some
such distant relation—actually reached this country and returned
alive. Of course it is always somebody else who saw it, but the story
is firmly believed by all Sudanese, and so it is a very favourite
topic of conversation. Sometimes they enlarge on it and tell how
So-and-So married a wife from that country and one night a number of
dogs arrived at his hut and carried the woman away with them.
This afternoon we ascended from the desert to the high limestone range
that forms a rampart to the oasis on the north, and then we started
crawling down into the Siwa valley. The desert plateau is about 600
feet above sea-level, and the oasis is 72 feet below it, and as the
height of the hills is considerable there is a big drop down into
the oasis. The track winds in and out through strange rocky passes,
among weirdly shaped cliffs whose tortured shapes remind one of Gustave
Doré’s illustration of the Inferno. These wild ravines are utterly
desolate, even in the spring no vegetation grows among them. This is
a land of broken stone where huge boulders seem to have been hurled
about by giant hands. The sun sank low before we had escaped from the
mountains, and the fantastically shaped crags were silhouetted with
monstrous shadows against the yellow sky. Sometimes the narrow road
seemed to cling to the side of a towering cliff, and at other times
it twined in and out through deep, echoing valleys in the shadow of
the overhanging, jagged rocks. In places the camels had to be led in
single file. Once the men began to sing, but the dismal echoes among
the caves sounded almost inhumanly depressing, so they gave it up,
and we marched along in silence. Finally a line of far distant green
appeared down below between two great cliffs, and one could see, very
faintly, the masses of graceful palms nodding their crests over the
murmuring oasis. To weary men after a six days’ camel ride across
the desert the first glimpse of Siwa is like the sight of the sea to
those ancient Greeks on the far-away shores of the Euxine.
[Illustration: CAMEL CORPS TREKKING TO SIWA, NEAR MEGAHIZ PASS]
When all the camels had come out from the last valley among the
rocks we “got mounted” and rode for about half a mile, past
groups of palm trees, already heavy with clusters of yellow dates,
to Ein Magahiz, which is the first spring in the oasis. Here we camped
for the night, watered the camels, who simply revelled in the water,
and I enjoyed a luxurious bathe in the deep cool spring which rises
among a cluster of palm trees. All night we could hear the thudding
of tom-toms in Siwa town, which is only a mile or so away.
“The cadenced throbbing of a drum,
Now softly distant, now more near,
And in an almost human fashion
It, plaintive, wistful, seems to come
Laden with sighs of fitful passion.”
_30th._
The mosquitoes last night were a reminder that we are no longer up on
the high desert; they were maddening, in spite of a net. This morning
everybody bathed and shaved and generally polished up. We rode across
to the town in great style; past the palm-shaded gardens with fences
of yellow “gerida”—palm branches; past the white rest house, on
the terraced side of a curious conical hill called “The Hill of the
Dead,” honeycombed with rock tombs; past the long low “Markaz,”
where the mamur and the police guard turned out to see us; across the
wide market square, and through the narrow streets between tall houses
of sunbaked clay below the enormous high walls of the old town. The
heat was already great, and the streets were almost deserted, except
for a few recumbent figures in a shady corner of the market-place,
who scrambled up as we rode by and then hurried off to tell their
friends that the “Hagana”—Camel Corps—had arrived.
The Camel Corps barracks and the District Officer’s house are out
on the sand about half a mile south of the town. They occupy two
isolated rocks about a quarter of a mile apart, which were formerly
the strongholds of two Siwan sheikhs. The District Officer’s house
stands on a limestone rock about 50 feet high. It is a high house
built of mud and palm log beams. To reach it one goes up a steep path
in the rock with roughly cut steps on to a little terrace with a sort
of loggia that opens through the building into the large courtyard
behind, which is surrounded by a high loopholed wall. There are two
rooms on the ground floor, both high and long, about 30 by 15 feet,
and two more rooms above with a roofed loggia and an open roof. The
rooms have three windows in each, with glass in them, the only glass
in Siwa, facing north and looking across the grove of palm trees
below the house to the strange-looking town on its two rocks. The
house was built by the former District Officer, who added to the old
Siwan fortress which existed there; it has a wonderful position and
is high enough to be free from mosquitoes.
I spent a busy day settling down and fixing up things with S——,
who starts with his section for the coast in two days. S——is
heartily sick of Siwa and longing to see the last of it. We dined
on the terrace outside—to the accompaniment of throbbing tom-toms
over in the town—on soup, chicken, caramel pudding and a dish of
every sort of fruit, which was a pleasant change after months on the
coast without any. Caramel pudding is the “pièce de résistance”
of every cook in Egypt; unless one orders the meal it always appears
on the menu. S——’s cook is an indifferent one. Out here I have
noticed a universal habit of considering, or pretending to consider,
one’s own servants absolute paragons of virtue, honesty, cleanliness
and skill, and invariably running down everybody else’s. I have heard
men hold forth for hours on the excellent qualities of their Mohammed,
or Abdel, knowing myself that Mohammed—or Abdel—or whatever his
name may be, was a double-dyed villain and swindling his master right
and left—but now I am doing it myself!
I think what impressed me most on arriving at Siwa was the intense
heat, the excellent bathing, the enormous height and strange
appearance of the town, and the incessant sound of tom-toms from
sunset onwards. One misses “the slow shrill creak of the water
wheels, a mournful cry, half groan, half wail,” which is such a
feature of Egypt and the Sudan. The average temperature in the summer
was about 108 degrees in the shade, or on warmer days 110 degrees or
112 degrees, but the nights were cool, and every evening regularly
at about eight o’clock a little breeze blew across from the east
and freshened things up. The only way to keep the house cool was by
leaving the doors and windows open all night, and keeping them closed
and tightly shuttered during the day. It resulted in dark rooms,
but at least they were fairly cool and free from flies. I soon made
the house very comfortable with some rough home-made furniture and
a few carpets and mats.
When a new Section of Camel Corps arrived at Siwa one of the first
events that occurred was the “taking over” of wives. In most cases
the men who were leaving handed on their wives to the new men, in the
same way as the stores, barracks, camels, etc., were officially handed
over by the officer who was going away to his relief. On the day before
the new Section rode in all the ladies retired from the camp _en masse_
to the houses of their relations in the town; the new men then entered
into negotiations with the retiring Section for the taking over of
the wives. A few of the men sought fresh pastures, but most of them
took on the wife of a man they knew well in the other Section. On the
day that the departing Section left Siwa all the ladies assembled on
the road that they would pass, carrying their boxes and belongings,
and when the camels came by they shrieked and wept, throwing dust on
their heads, beating their breasts, pretending to tear their clothes,
and showing signs of the most frantic sorrow at the departure of the
men. As soon as the camels were round the corner out of sight they
brushed off the dust, put on their bracelets, tidied themselves up
and hurried merrily across to the “harimat” outside the barracks,
followed by boys carrying their boxes, to their new husbands who were
waiting for them. This performance happened regularly whenever there
was an exchange of Sections. I used to watch the little tragi-comedy
from my terrace. The harimat of Siwa consisted of a number of rush huts
below the rock on which the fort was built. If any of the wives caused
trouble, and they often did, they were ejected and never allowed to
marry a soldier again. Polygamy was forbidden, and each lady, before
she married, was required to produce a certificate stating that she
was a respectable person, signed by several sheikhs and notables of
the town. The Siwans had no objection to these alliances between
Sudanese soldiers and Siwan women, as women in Siwa outnumber the
men at the rate of three to one.
The daily routine at Siwa did not vary very much. In the summer I was
generally called at 5.30, in time to run down from the house and have
one plunge in the cool deep bathing pool in the palm grove below the
rock before dressing. Clothes were a very minor matter; one wore simply
shirt, shorts, shoes and stockings, all of the thinnest material. Then
I used to walk over to the C.C. barracks and take the parade, sometimes
mounted drill, sometimes dismounted. We did mounted drill on a stretch
of firm white sand among the dunes south of the barracks. Breakfast
was at about eight—eggs, coffee, bread and jam, the eggs being even
smaller than Egyptian ones, about the size of bantam’s eggs, so one
needed a lot for a meal. After breakfast I went across to the barracks
again, and then rode down through the town on my pony to the Markaz.
The path to the town passed over a disused cemetery where the pony was
very liable to stick its foot through the thin layer of soil above the
graves, under an archway and into the street that divides the Eastern
and Western quarters. The street itself was hard rock and very steep
in parts, but owing to the height of the tall houses on each side
it was generally cool and shady and a favourite resting-place of the
inhabitants, many of whom lay stretched full length across the street
taking their siesta. But the clattering hoofs of my pony generally
roused them, and they scrambled out of the way when I came. The Siwans
are well mannered, a virtue that one never sees in Egypt nowadays,
and even in the Sudan it is on the wane. When I rode or walked in the
town everybody would stand up as I passed, and if I met people riding
they would dismount until I had gone on. I have heard people at home
say what a scandal it is that in some places the poor downtrodden
natives have to stand up and move off the path for an Englishman,
but after all they would do exactly the same for their own Pashas,
and apart from being an Englishman one was entitled to respect as
being the representative of the Egyptian Government in Siwa. Once I
was badly “had” over this. I was riding through the market with
some policemen following me on my way to make an inspection. There was
a group of Siwans sitting talking on the ground, and as I passed they
all stood up—except one man who remained comfortably seated in the
shade right in the middle of the path. I ordered one of the policemen
to see who he was and to bring him along to the Markaz to answer for
his bad manners. A few minutes later the man from the market was led
into the office. He was stone blind!
The Markaz is a large building outside the town with square courtyard
surrounded by prisons, stores and offices. It has a permanent guard
of locally enlisted police; they are quite smart men, but of little
use when there is trouble in the town, and always at enmity with the
Sudanese Camel Corps. At the Markaz I would usually find a number of
petitions to be read and examined, some cases to be tried, and probably
people applying for permits to cross the frontier who would have to be
questioned and seen. Then the sheikhs would arrive and there would be
discussions about various things—taxes, labour, work on the drains
or Government buildings, new regulations and orders, and then perhaps
the merchants would be summoned, and a heated controversy would follow
about the price of sugar, or the butchers would come to complain of
the cost of meat. It was like a daily meeting of a town council, and
complicated by innumerable interests, rivalries and intrigues. All
these matters, though they sound very small, were of considerable
importance to the Siwans.
There were six sheikhs recognized by the Administration, three of
them eastern, and three western. Sheikh Saleh Said was the most
influential and the most unbiassed by personal considerations. He
was a big handsome man with a dark moustache and features that
might have been copied from the bust of a Roman consul. He always
wore a long blue robe, and was the most dignified and impressive of
the sheikhs. I never saw him in a hurry or at all excited. Sheikh
Thomi was a little dark fellow, and reputed to be the richest man in
Siwa. He had a queer, quick way of speaking, was intensely obstinate,
a staunch Westerner, but honest—as far as I ever knew. I once
offended him very grievously. One day he sent me a basket of grapes,
the first that had ripened in his vineyards. I gave the servant
boy a piastre for bringing them. The boy returned and presented the
piastre to Sheikh Thomi, who was very hurt at being sent 2½d. when
he had made me a gift of fruit. Sheikh Thomi was a man of means and
worth several thousand pounds. I heard about the piastre incident and
explained it to him. To offer to pay for what is meant as a present
is a real breach of good manners, much worse than refusing it.
Sheikh Mohammed Abdel Rahman was a venerable white-bearded individual
who had been to Mecca and apparently lived on his reputation of
excessive sanctity; he always agreed with everything I said, and
then if I veered round and deliberately contradicted myself he did
the same—it was not helpful!
Abdulla Hemeid was a sly, fat, greedy man with a pale face and blue
eyes. He was very stingy and always complaining against taxation or
anything that affected his pocket. He never gave an entertainment, but
I always noticed him eating heartily in other people’s houses. His
family were much esteemed and he had succeeded his father, who had
been a very famous man in Siwa.
Mohammed Ragah was a thin, dark, hawk-like man, more like an Arab than
a Siwan. He was very badly off for a sheikh, but keen and clever,
and not above doing a bit of hard work with his own hands. He was
the only man in Siwa at whose house one was given good coffee. He had
shown great courage during the Senussi occupation in protecting some
Egyptian officials who were in Siwa.
Mahdi Abdel Nebi, Sheikh of Aghourmi, was the youngest of the sheikhs,
and the most reasonable and intelligent, though he had never been out
of Siwa. He was a cheerful, pleasant fellow, but cordially disliked
by the rest of the sheikhs. These six were the men who to a certain
extent controlled the destinies of Siwa.
About once every week when I arrived at the Markaz I would find the
doctor, or the mamur, or the clerk waiting for me in a state of tearful
hysterics, begging me to forward his resignation to the Governor, as
he could exist no longer in the company of his colleagues—the two
other officials. Then would follow a long infantile complaint. If
I could not smooth him down I had to bring in the other two, who
would also dissolve into tears, and try and get to the bottom of the
affair, which was always absolutely childish and ridiculous. On one
occasion the mamur had refused to allow the doctor to have a watchman
to escort him home past a certain graveyard which alarmed him, or
the clerk accused the mamur of inveigling his cook into his service,
or something equally small. Unfortunately the clerk was a Copt, the
doctor a Syrian, and the mamur was a Cairene. It went on unceasingly,
the most preposterous things served to bring one of them weeping to
my office. And when they were relieved their successors were just
the same. Yet they were good men at their work; the clerk had a
heavy amount of office work and did it well; the doctor was quite
clever and had been trained in America; and the mamur was good at
his job. Exactly the same thing occurred among the native officials
on the coast, so it was not only the effect of Siwan solitude.
From the Markaz I rode home, and after a light lunch either painted,
read, or went to sleep till about four, when I had another bathe,
followed by tea. After tea I went over to the Camel Corps for
“stables,” and then generally out for a walk. Sometimes I went
to Gebel Muta, the Hill of the Dead, a rocky hill on the north of
the town full of tombs hewn out of the living rock, some of them
being large and lofty with as many as eight coffin spaces round
the sides. In one of them there were the remains of a coloured wall
painting with figures of men and animals. Other times I climbed up
to the top of the town. The view from the flat roofs of the highest
houses on the rock is very wonderful, especially at sunset. On the
south of the town there is a long ridge of rolling yellow sand-hills
which change their contours when the desert winds sweep across them,
and become pink and salmon-coloured in the evenings; towards the north
one looks across a sea of palm groves and brilliant green cultivation
to the jagged range of mountains that separate Siwa from the desert;
on the west there is a great square mountain with a gleaming silver
salt lake at its foot, and in the east one sees the little village
of Aghourmi crowning another high rock which rises above the tree-tops.
At sunset the scene is exquisite, the hills turn from pink to mauve,
and from mauve to purple, and their peaks are sharply outlined
against the gold and crimson sky; long violet shadows spread across
the rosy-tinted sand-hills, and the palm groves seem to take on a
more vivid shade of green. The smoke ascends in thin spirals from the
evening fires, and a low murmur rises from the streets and squares
below; then suddenly the prayer of the muezzin sounds from the many
mosques, and one can see the white-robed figures swaying to and fro on
the narrow pinnacles of the round towers that in Siwa take the place
of minarets. When the call to prayer is over and the last mournful
chant has echoed across the oasis, and the glow in the sky is fading
away, one hears far down beneath the soft thudding of a tom-tom and
perhaps the faint whine of a reed pipe. When the deep blue Libyan
night covers the city the music becomes louder and seems to throb
like a feverish pulse from the heart of the town.
Often in the evening I rode out and called on the Sheikh of Aghourmi,
which is the little village on another rock two miles from Siwa. Mahdi
Abdel Nebi had recently succeeded to his father as Sheikh of Aghourmi
and was having some difficulty in sustaining his authority, even with
the support of the Administration, against the plots and intrigues
of an old cousin of his, one Haj Mohammed Hammam, a sly old man who
was rich, influential, and a thorough scoundrel, and wished to oust
his cousin and become sheikh himself. After the war Haj Hammam had
carefully cultivated the acquaintance of any British officers who came
to Siwa, and he was inordinately proud of knowing their names and
of certain small gifts that they had given him—a broken compass,
a highly coloured biscuit tin and some photographs. These he showed
on every occasion, and also remarked that they used always to call
him “_The_ Sheikh of Aghourmi”—this apparently being his only
claim to the title.
Hammam used to employ people to let him know immediately when I was
riding out to Aghourmi, so that he, and not the sheikh, should be
waiting to receive me at the gates; then he would try to persuade me
to accept his hospitality instead of the sheikh’s. Sheikh Mahdi
always invited his old cousin to the tea drinking, though I could
well have dispensed with him, but one could not object to the presence
of another guest. Sheikh Mahdi’s house was the only one in which a
woman ever appeared when I was there. She was an old Sudanese slave
woman who had been brought many years ago from the Sudan. Once I got
her to tell me her story, but she spoke such a queer mixture of Arabic
and Siwan that it was difficult to follow.
It appeared that when she was about eight years old she and her small
brother were playing outside their village somewhere in the North-West
Sudan, and a band of Arabs—slave raiders—swooped down and carried
them off. They were taken up into Tripoli and there she was sold
to another Arab who brought her to Siwa on his way to Egypt. She
fell ill and almost died, so the Arab, who did not want to delay,
sold her cheap to the Sheikh of Aghourmi, father of the present one;
he handed her over to his wife who cured the child. She remained
at Aghourmi for the rest of her life. She was a lively old body
and told the story in a very cheerful way, giggling and laughing,
not apparently feeling any wish to return to her own land.
[Illustration: SHEIKH MAHDI ABDEL NEBI, OF AGHOURMI WITH HIS DAUGHTER
AND COUSIN]
Aghourmi is almost more picturesque than Siwa. The road to the gate
passes below the overhanging rock on which the houses stand, which
is thickly surrounded by a luxuriant wilderness of apricot, fig and
palm trees. The steep path to the village goes under three archways,
each with an enormous wooden gateway, and this path is the only
possible means of entering the place. Above one of the gates there
is a high tower, and the houses alongside the path are loopholed
so that an enemy making an attack could be safely fired at from all
sides by the defenders. Inside the town there is the same dark maze
of narrow streets as in Siwa, with wells and olive presses, but all
on a smaller scale than those in Siwa town. There are a few houses
below the walls. The sheikh lives in the middle of the town in a big,
high house with a roof that has as fine a view as any that I have seen.
I got home after sunset and often had another bathe—by
moonlight—before changing into flannels for dinner, which I had
on the terrace in front of the house. I slept upstairs, on the roof,
but I always kept a spare bed ready in the room as quite often a wild
“haboob”—sand-storm—would blow up in the middle of the night,
and even indoors one would be smothered and choked with sand. Such
was the average day at Siwa, and by nine or ten o’clock one was
glad to turn in.
Occasionally after dinner one of the natives who were employed as
secret service agents would arrive very mysteriously at the house
on some excuse and report that there were fire-arms in the house of
So-and-So. Sometimes the information was no more than an exaggerated
rumour, but if it sounded true I would make a night raid on the
person who was supposed to have rifles. These night raids were very
dramatic, but did not always yield the harvest that was expected. The
informer would lead the way, disguised by a turban pulled low over
his head and a scarf muffling his eyes. I followed with a dozen armed
Sudanese. The difficulty was to prevent the owner of the house getting
wind of us before we surrounded the building, and to surround a Siwan
house which has dozens of doors and passages and exits over roofs
is no easy matter. It was not a matter of entering a hostile town,
but of surprising a household. We would pad silently into the town,
and anybody who we met roaming the streets would be attached to the
party to prevent his giving warning. On reaching the house the guide
slipped away in the darkness, and I surrounded the house with men;
then at a whistle each man lit a torch and I beat on the door and
demanded admittance.
Immediately the wildest hullabaloo began inside—men shouting, women
yelling, donkeys braying and hens cackling. Sometimes this was done
in order to distract our attention from somebody who tried to slip out
and remove the rifles to a safe hiding-place. When the door was opened
all the male occupants were marched outside and the harem sent into
one room, where they sat on the floor with shawls over their heads and
reviled us—but in Siwan, so nobody was any the wiser. The house was
searched from top to bottom, the ceilings probed, the mats raised,
and every room examined. Sometimes the rifles were buried in the
floor, or hidden in bales of hay. Occasionally a modern rifle and some
ammunition was found, but usually some old Arab guns and a bag or two
of shot and gunpowder. If we had a successful haul the master of the
house would be marched off in custody to the jail in the Markaz, and
next day he would be tried, and probably heavily fined or imprisoned.
CHAPTER III
THE HISTORY OF SIWA
“Cities have been, and vanished; fanes have sunk,
Heaped into shapeless ruin; sands o’erspread.
Fields that were Edens; millions too have shrunk
To a few starving hundreds, or have fled
From off the page of being.”
SIWA lies thickly covered with “the Dust of History,” and
its story is difficult to trace. For certain periods one is able
to collect information on the subject, but during many centuries
nothing is known. Some of the leading sheikhs have in their possession
ancient documents and treaties which have been handed down through
many generations from father to son. There is also an old Arabic
history of Siwa, which appears to have been written some time during
the fifteenth century, kept by the family whose members have always
held a position corresponding to that of a town clerk, but this old
history is so interwoven with curious legends and fables that it is
difficult to separate fact from fiction. I used to sit in the garden
of the old sheikh who owned the book and listen while he read. He was
a venerable but rascally old fellow in flowing white robes, the green
turban of a “Haj,” and huge horn spectacles. The book itself was a
muddled collection of loose sheets of manuscript kept in a leather bag.
Roughly the history of Siwa can be divided into four periods. The
first, which is also the greatest period, dates from the foundation
of the Temple of Jupiter Ammon. The second period begins at the
Mohammedan invasion in the seventh century A.D. The third period
commences with the subjugation of Siwa by Mohammed Ali, early in the
nineteenth century; and the fourth and last period is the history of
Siwa during the Great War.
(1)
FIRST PERIOD
THE TEMPLE OF JUPITER AMMON
According to the late Professor Maspero, the great authority on
Egyptian antiquities, the oasis of Siwa was not connected with Egypt
until about the sixteenth century B.C. In about 1175 B.C. the Egyptian
oases, of which Siwa is one, were colonized by Rameses III, but very
little authentic information is available on the history of Siwa
until it came definitely under the influence of Egypt in the sixth
century B.C. Mr. Oric Bates, in his exhaustive work, _The Eastern
Libyans_, states that the original deity of the oasis was a sun god,
a protector of flocks, probably with the form of a bull. The African
poet Coreippus, mentions a ram-headed Libyan divinity called Gurzil
who was represented as being the offspring of the original prophetic
God of Siwa. His priests fought in battles, and the emblem of the
god was carried by the Libyans in the fray. A sacred stone at Siwa is
referred to by Pliny, which when touched by an irreverent hand stirred
at once a strong and harmful sand-wind. The theory of sun worship,
and the idea of an evil wind directed by some spirit in a stone is
substantiated by the local customs and legends which are prevalent
in Siwa at the present time.
It is certain that when the Egyptians occupied Siwa, in about 550 B.C.,
according to Mr. Bates, they discovered a local Libyan god firmly
established and supported by a powerful but barbarous cult. So great
was its reputation that King Crœsus of Lydia travelled to Siwa and
consulted the oracle a little before, or at the time of, the Egyptian
occupation. The Egyptians identified the local god of the oasis with
their own Ammon. In the fourth century B.C. the god Ammon, of the
Ammonians, for this was the name by which the people of Siwa were
now known, had become one of the most famous oracles of the ancient
world. At the time when the Egyptians recognized and worshipped the
god of the oasis, a number of stories became prevalent, tending to
prove that the deity at Siwa originated from the Ammon of Thebes, and
one legend even went so far as to assert that the Ammon of Thebes was
himself originally a Libyan herdsman who was deified by Dionysius. The
following are some of the many legends which relate the origin of
the Siwan god, and which suggest its connection with the Theban Ammon.
Herodotus, in whose works there are frequent allusions to the
Ammonians, describes the inhabitants of the oasis of Ammon as being
colonists from Egypt and Ethiopia, speaking a mixed language, and
calling themselves Ammonians, owing to the Egyptians worshipping
Jupiter under the name of Ammon. He relates that the colonists
instituted an oracle in imitation of the famous one on the Isle
of Meroë, and mentions the following account of its origin. Two
black girls who served in the Temple of Jupiter Ammon at Thebes were
carried away by Phœnician merchants. One of them was taken to Greece,
where she afterwards founded the Temple of Dodona, which became
a well-known oracle; the other was sold into Libya and eventually
arrived at the kingdom of the Ammonians. Owing to her strange language,
which resembled “the twittering of a bird,” she was supposed by
the inhabitants to possess supernatural qualities; her reputation
increased, and her utterances came to be regarded as the words of
an oracle. There is a different version of the same fable in which
the girls are represented as two black doves, one flying to Greece,
the other to Libya.
According to Diodorus Siculus the Temple of Jupiter Ammon was built as
far back as 1385 B.C., by Danaus the Egyptian. Rollins, in his _History
of the Ancient World_, names Ham, the son of Noah, as the deity in
whose honour the temple was built by the Ammonians. Another legend
tells that Dionysius was lost in the desert on one of his fantastic
expeditions and nearly died from thirst when suddenly a ram appeared,
which led the party to a bubbling spring. They built a temple on
the spot, in gratitude, and ornamented it with representations of a
ram’s head. It is interesting to compare this story with one of the
legends written in the Arabic history of Siwa. A Siwan, journeying
in the desert, was led by a ram to a mysterious city where he found
an avenue of black stone lions. He returned home, and set out again
at a later date, meaning to rediscover the place, but he never found
it again. In both cases it is a ram that led the way, and the god of
Siwa is represented as having a ram’s head.
The temple, whose ruins are to be seen at the village of Aghourmi,
near Siwa, was built probably during the sixth century B.C. The date
is decided by the style of its architecture. This temple was known to
the Egyptians as “Sakhit Amouou,” the “Field of Palms,” owing
to its situation among groves of palm trees. It is evident that at this
time Siwa was the principal island in a desert archipelago consisting
of several oases, most of which are now uninhabited, obeying a common
king and owing their prosperity to the great temple of the oracle. Such
a cluster of islands would invest the dynasty to which King Clearchus
and King Lybis belonged with considerable importance. Herodotus tells
how certain Cyrenians held a conversation with Clearchus, King of
the Ammonians, who told them that a party of young men had set off
on an expedition from his country to the west, through a wild region
full of savage animals, eventually arriving at a great river where
they found a race of small black men. They supposed this river to
be a branch or tributary of the Nile, but it was actually the river
Niger. Thus it is shown that at this period Siwa was an independent
monarchy. The Ammonians lived under the rule of their own kings and
priests, and chieftainship was associated with priesthood. Silius
Italicus describes the warrior priest Nabis, an Ammonian chief,
“fearless and splendidly armed,” riding in the army of Hannibal.
Another early visitor to the oasis was Lysander the Spartan. Being
disappointed by the oracle of Dodona he travelled to Siwa, under colour
of making a vow at the temple, but hoping to bribe the priests to his
interests. Notwithstanding “the fullness of his purse” and the
great friendship between his father and Lybis, King of the Ammonians,
he was totally unsuccessful, and the priests sent ambassadors to Sparta
accusing Lysander of attempting to bribe the holy oracle. But “he so
subtly managed his defence that he got off clear.” The Greeks held
the oracle of Ammon in great veneration. The Athenians kept a special
galley in which they conveyed questions across the sea to Libya. Mersa
Matruh, sometimes called Ammonia, was the port for Siwa, and it was
here that the ambassadors and visitors disembarked and started on
their desert journey to the oasis. The poet Pindar dedicated an ode
to Jupiter Ammon, which was preserved under the altar of the temple
for some six hundred years; and the sculptor Calamis set up a statue
to the god of the Ammonians in the Temple of Thebes at Karnak.
In 525 B.C., Cambyses, wishing to consolidate his newly acquired
dominions in Northern Africa, dispatched two expeditions, one
against Carthage, the other into Ethiopia. He made Memphis his base
of operations and sent 50,000 men as an advance party to occupy the
oasis of Ammon. His generals had orders to rob and burn the temple,
make captives of the people and to prepare halting-places for the
bulk of the army. They passed the oasis of Khargeh and proceeded
north-west. But the whole army was lost in the sea of desert that
lies between Siwa and Khargeh. The Ammonians, on inquiries being
made, reported that the army was overwhelmed by a violent sand-storm
during a midday halt. But it is more probable that they lost their
way during one of the periodical sand-storms which are so prevalent
in this desert region, and were overcome by thirst in the waterless,
trackless desert. There was no further news; they never reached the
temple, and not one of the soldiers returned to Egypt. This huge army
still lies buried somewhere in that torrid waste, and perhaps some
fortunate traveller may at a future date stumble unawares on the
remains of the once mighty host. In the old Arabic history there
are two other stories of armies that were lost in the desert. In
one case it was a Siwan army which opposed the Mohammedan invaders,
and in the other case an army of raiders from Tebu were lost on their
way to attack the oasis.
In 500 B.C., Siwa and the other oases were subjected to Persia,
and in the following year Cimon, the celebrated Athenian general,
sent a secret embassy to the oracle while he was besieging Citium
in Cyprus. The deputation was greeted by the oracle with the words,
“Cimon is already with me,” and on their return it was found that
Cimon had himself perished in battle. The foretelling of Cimon’s
death augmented considerably the reputation of the oracle.
Oracles were most frequently situated in the vicinity of some natural
phenomena; this at Siwa consisted of a sacred spring known as “Fons
Solis,” the “Fountain of the Sun,” which by its strangeness
contributed to the divine qualities of the temple. Very probably it was
the “Ein el Hammam” which lies about a quarter of a mile south of
the temple ruins and is to-day one of the largest and most beautiful
springs in the oasis. Ancient writers describe its waters as being
warm in the morning, cold at noon and boiling hot at midnight. Blind,
black fish lived in the pool, according to the Arabic history, which
was connected with the rites of the temple. The water to-day is a
trifle warmer than most of the springs, and for that reason it is
the favourite bathing-place of the inhabitants of Aghourmi. I have
stood by the spring at midnight and tested its warmth, but it seemed
in no way to differ from the other springs, except that it was a very
little warmer.
There are many contemporary descriptions of the actual temple, and
antiquarians have from time to time disputed as to its original
size and form. It appears to have consisted of a main building,
or sanctuary, surrounded by triple walls which enclosed the
dwelling-places of the king, priests and the guards, standing on a
rocky eminence among the palm groves. A smaller temple stood a few
hundred yards south of the acropolis. The rock on which the village of
Aghourmi now stands was evidently the site of the original temple and
fortress, and the ruins below the village, known as “Omm Beyda,”
are those of the minor temple. The two temples were connected by an
underground passage.
The old history of Siwa gives a detailed description of the court of
the king. The following is a rough translation. “At one period Siwa
ranked among the important towns of the Egyptian sovereigns. It was
ruled by a king called Meneclush who built a town and cultivated the
land. He made the men drill and inaugurated a seven days’ feast
in commemoration of his succession. The people of King Meneclush
dressed richly and wore golden ornaments. The king lived in a stone
and granite palace, and assembled his people in a great square which
had four different courts, and in each court there was a statue which
caught the sun at different times of the day, and when the sun shone
upon the statues they spoke. When the people assembled they stood on
seven steps. On the highest step sat the king, below, in succession,
the king’s family, priests, astrologers and magicians, generals
and courtiers, architects, soldiers, and, below, the people. Each
step was inscribed with these words, ‘Look down, not towards
the step above, lest ye become proud’—thus inculcating the
principle of modesty. The king lived in a palace called Kreibein,
inside the walls. In those days there were many buildings in Siwa,
spreading from Omm Beyda to Gebel Dakrour. King Meneclush was
stabbed by a girl and is buried, with his horse, in the Khazeena,
underneath Aghourmi. . . . At a later period Siwa was divided into
two parts ruled by two princes called Ferik and Ibrik. Afterwards a
queen called Khamissa ruled in Siwa and gave her name to the square
hill at the end of the Western lake.”
Much of the history is missing, and at times it plunges into
descriptions of neighbouring countries, but it is interesting to find
mention of “statues that speak” when touched by the sun.
As recently as 1837 there was a considerable portion of the smaller
temple standing. Travellers described the roof, made of massive
blocks of stone, the coloured ceilings, and the walls covered
with hieroglyphics and sculptured figures. But the depredations
of Arab treasure hunters, and a Turkish Governor who committed an
unpardonable vandalism by blowing up the temple with gunpowder in
order to obtain stone for building an office, have reduced the once
imposing building to a single ruined pylon, or gateway, which towers
above the surrounding gardens, a pathetic reminder of its former
grandeur. This solitary ruin, and two massive stone gateways almost
hidden by mud buildings in the middle of the village of Aghourmi,
is all that remains of the temple that was once famous throughout
the world. In a way the ruins are symbolic of Siwa which was once
a powerful dominion, but is now nothing more than a wretched desert
station with three or four thousand degenerate inhabitants.
In 331 B.C. the fame of the oracle reached its zenith, owing to
Alexander the Great visiting it after having settled his affairs
in Egypt. The visit to the famous oracle was undertaken in order
to inquire into the mysterious origin of his birth. Probably at
the same time Alexander wished to emulate the deeds of Hercules,
from whom he claimed descent, and who was supposed during his
wanderings to have visited the oasis. He marched along the coast to
Parætonium—Matruh—where he was met by ambassadors from Cyrene,
a wealthy city on the coast some 400 miles further west, who presented
him gifts of chariots and war horses. He then turned south across
the desert into a region “where there was nothing but heaps of
sand.” After journeying four days the water supply, carried in skins,
gave out, and the army was in danger of perishing from thirst when,
by a fortunate chance, or by the direct interposition of the gods,
the sky became black with clouds, rain fell, and by this miraculous
means the army was preserved from destruction.
A little later the expedition lost its way, and after wandering for
miles was saved by the appearance of a number of ravens who, flying
before the army, guided them eventually to the temple. They found the
oasis “full of pleasant fountains, watered with running streams,
richly planted with all sorts of trees bearing fruit, surrounded by a
vast dry and sandy desert, waste and untilled . . . the temperature
of the air was like spring, yet all the place around it was dry and
scorching . . . a most healthful climate.” Alexander was received
by the oracle with divine honours, and returned to Egypt satisfied
that he was indeed the authentic son of Zeus. As the son of the god
he became a legitimate Pharoah, and adopted the pschent crown and
its accompanying rites.
About this time various nations applied to the oracle for permission
to deify their rulers, and on the death of his friend Hephistion,
Alexander dispatched another embassy asking that Hephistion might be
ranked as a hero. When Alexander died, in 323 B.C., it was suggested
that he should be buried at Siwa. However, the suggestion was not
carried out and he was buried at Alexandria, the city to which he
gave his name. One of the hills in the desert near Siwa is still
called “Gebel Sekunder,” and tradition has it that from this hill
Alexander saw the ravens which led him to the temple.
The ritual of the temple was somewhat similar to several other
oracular temples. The actual oracle was made in human figure, with
a ram’s head, richly ornamented with emeralds and other precious
stones. The figure of the god appears to have been shown as though
wrapped for burial, and this dead god, who was a god of prophecy,
may possibly have set the fashion of menes-worship which one still
sees in Siwa when natives resort to the graves of their ancestors in
order to learn the future. When a distinguished pilgrim arrived for
a consultation the symbol of the god was brought up from the inmost
sanctuary of the temple and carried on a golden barque, hung with
votive cups of silver, followed by a procession of eighty priests and
many singing girls, “who chanted uncouth songs after the manner
of their country,” in order to propitiate the deity and induce
him to return a satisfactory answer. The god directed the priests
who carried the barque which way they should proceed, and spoke by
tremulous shocks, communicated to the bearers, and by movements of
the head and body, which were interpreted by the priests.
[Illustration: RUINS OF “OMM BEYDA” THE TEMPLE OF JUPITER AMMON]
Those spaces among the palm groves at Aghourmi must have witnessed in
ancient days many a splendid spectacle. One can imagine the magnificent
ceremonies and the awe-inspiring rites which were solemnized among the
shady vistas of tall palm trees, in the shadow of the great temple on
the rock, the processions of chanting priests, the savage music of
conches and cymbals, and the gorgeous caravans of Eastern monarchs,
carrying offerings of fabulous treasure to lay before the mystic
oracle of the oasis, whose infallible answers were regarded by the
whole world with profound respect. In those days caravans from the
West, and from the savage countries of the Sudan, brought slaves and
merchandize to Siwa, and the barbarian followers of African chieftains
mingled with the courtiers of Eastern potentates, and gazed with awe on
the white-robed priests and the troops of pale singing girls. To-day
the people of Aghourmi build their fires against the great crumbling
archways that gave access to the holiest altar of Ammonium, and
shepherds graze their flocks among the ruins of the smaller temple.
“The Oracles are dumb
No voice or hideous hum
Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving.”
Towards the end of the third century B.C. the fame of the oracle
declined, although, according to Juvenal, the answers of Ammon were
esteemed in the solution of difficult problems until long after
the cessation of the oracle at Delphi. But in the second century
B.C. the oracle was almost extinct. Strabo, writing when its fame was
on the wane, advances a theory in his _Geography_ that the Temple of
Ammon was originally close to the sea. He bases his argument on the
existence of large salt lakes at Siwa and the quantities of shells
which are to be found near the temple. He considers that Siwa would
never have become so illustrious, or possessed with such credit as it
once enjoyed, if it had always been such a distance from the coast,
therefore the land between Siwa and the sea must have been created
comparatively recently by deposits from the ocean. Undoubtedly at
some remote period the whole of the northern part of the Libyan
Desert was under the sea, but there is nothing to prove that even
then Siwa was a coast town, because one finds shells and fossils,
such as Strabo mentions, over a hundred miles south of Siwa.
The Romans neglected Oriental oracles, especially those of Ammon. They
preferred the auguries of birds, the inspection of victims and the
warnings of heaven to the longer process of oracular consultation. In
the reign of Augustus, Siwa had become a place of banishment for
political criminals. Timasius, an eminent general, was sent there in
A.D. 396 and Athanasius addresses several letters to his disciples
who were banished to the oases, “a place unfrequented and inspiring
horror.” The French poet Fénelon, in his play, _The Adventures of
Telemachus_, makes the mistake of describing Siwa as a place where
one sees “snow that never melts, making an endless winter on the
mountain tops.”
Somewhere about the fourth century Christianity penetrated to Siwa,
and the ruins of a church, or monastery, built probably at this time,
where one can still distinguish the Coptic cross carved in stone,
are visible at Biled el Roumi, near Khamissa. The ruin is described
in the Arabic history as the place where “bad people” lived. But
apparently Christianity was never embraced with much zeal. During the
Berber uprisings in the sixth century Siwa relapsed into barbarism,
and the Siwans probably took part with the Berbers in their struggles
against the Byzantine rule which flourished on the coast. Early in
the seventh century, when the Arab army invaded Egypt, the inland
country west of Egypt was practically independent, the Berber tribes
having won back their freedom.
(2)
SECOND PERIOD
MEDIÆVAL SIWA
The second period of Siwa’s history is the most difficult to trace,
especially with regard to the fixing of definite dates. One has to
depend on the Arabic history at Siwa, and occasional highly coloured
references to the oasis by the Arab historians and geographers. Siwa
was known to the Arab writers as “Schantaria,” or “Santrieh,”
spelt in various ways, which at a later date became “Siouah,”
and finally “Siwa.”
In 640 Egypt was invaded by a Mohammedan army commanded by Amrou,
who seized the country from the feeble grasp of the representatives
of Heraclius. The tide of conquest swept west along the northern coast
of Africa. The disunion of the Berber tribes made the conquest of the
country more easy for the host of Islam. Fugitives from the Arabs fled
inland to the remote places such as the oases, and it was not until
several centuries later that the Arabs established their religion
in Siwa. According to the Arabic history when Egypt was invaded by
the Mohammedans the Siwans sent an army to help repel the enemy,
but this army, like many others, was lost in the desert.
Mohammed Ben Ayas, an Arab historian who wrote in 1637, gives an
account of the mysterious country of “Santarieh,” and describes
how Moussa Ibn Nosseir was repulsed from its gates. In 708 Moussa
attempted to reduce Siwa. He crossed the desert from Egypt in seven
days. On arrival he found that all the Siwans had retired into their
fortified town, which was surrounded by enormously high walls, with
four iron gates. Finding it impossible to force an entrance he ordered
his men to scale the walls and see what lay on the other side. With
the aid of ladders they managed to reach the battlements, but each
man who scaled the wall immediately disappeared over the other side
and was never seen again. Moussa was so discouraged by this that
he renounced his project and returned to Egypt, having lost a large
number of soldiers. In 710 Tharic Ben Sayed, another Arab general,
was also repulsed.
The mediæval Arab writers have many stories to tell of the strange
things at Siwa. Among the wonders of the country was a magic lake over
which no bird could fly without falling in, and it could only escape
from the water if drawn out by a human hand. The four gates of the
town were surmounted by four brass statues. When a stranger entered
the gates a deep sleep fell upon him, and he remained in this state
until one of the inhabitants came and blew upon his face. Without this
attention he lay unconscious at the foot of the statue until death
claimed him. There was a sacred stone in the town which was called
“The Lover,” because of its strange power of attracting men. It
drew them towards itself, and then when they touched it their limbs
stuck to the stone. Struggles were of no avail, their only release was
death. The neighbouring country was full of wild beasts, and serpents
of prodigious length, with bodies as thick as palm trunks, dwelt
among the hills and devoured sheep, cattle and human beings. Another
species was particularly fond of eating camels. In one of the gardens
there flourished a marvellous orange tree which bore 14,000 oranges,
not including those that fell to the ground, every year. The author
who mentions this tree asserts that he saw it himself!
All the Arab writers mention the mines at Siwa. Among the mountains
that enclose the oasis people found iron, lapis lazulis and emeralds,
which they sold in Egypt. They also exported the salt which they picked
up on the ground, and obtained barley from Egypt in exchange. The
only manufactures were leather carpets of great beauty, which were
much prized by Egyptians.
The inhabitants of Siwa were Berbers; they worked naked in their
gardens; the country was independent, thinly populated and showed signs
of a former civilization. A strange breed of savage donkey, striped
black and white—zebras—lived in the oasis. These animals allowed
no one to mount them, and when taken to Egypt they died at once.
People used to find enchanted cities in the desert near Siwa, but
latterly they have disappeared and their positions are now only marked
by mounds of sand. Abdel Melik, Ibn Merouan, made an excursion from
Egypt into the desert near Siwa, where he discovered a ruined city
and a tree that bore every known fruit. He gathered some fruit and
returned to Fostat—Cairo. A Copt told him that this city contained
much treasure, so he sent out the Copt with a number of men provisioned
for thirty days to rediscover the place, but they failed to find it. On
another occasion an Arab was journeying near Siwa and suddenly saw a
loaded camel disappear into a deep, rocky valley in the middle of the
desert. He followed it and arrived at an oasis watered by a spring
where there were people cultivating the land. They had never seen a
stranger before. He returned to Egypt and reported the matter to the
collector of taxes, who immediately sent out men to visit this oasis,
but, as usual, they never found it.
There are innumerable stories of hidden cities in the desert near
Siwa. This idea, and that of buried treasure, appeals strongly to
an Oriental mind. Siwa itself, owing to its history, probably does
contain a great deal that could be advantageously excavated. It
is a field that would yield many treasures, as up to now no really
thorough work has been carried out, though various people who have
happened to be there have “done a little digging.” The ex-Khedive
spent some money in uncovering some old ruins near one of the lakes,
but really there is a great deal that has never been touched. Labour,
and the difficulty of reaching Siwa, are the most formidable obstacles
to any excavating projects.
It is interesting to note that nearly all the mediæval Arab historians
mention the emerald mines at Siwa, and in these days the natives still
hold a belief in their existence. In the time of the Temple of Jupiter
Ammon the figure of the god was decorated with emeralds, which were
probably found in the country. According to a Siwan tradition there
exists a cave in the hill called Gebel Dakrour, south of Aghourmi,
which contains precious stones. But its entrance is guarded by a
jinn, who makes it invisible except to a person who has drunk from
the water of a certain spring among the sand-dunes south of Siwa. The
spring is unknown in these days, but I have seen it marked on an old
map of the desert. Possibly some of the peculiar shafts that pierce
the hills round Siwa are the remains of old mines; it is difficult
to imagine what else they could be.
In 1048 the tribes of Hilal and Ben Soleim, who had been transported
from Arabia as a punishment, and were living in the country between
the Nile and the Red Sea, were given permission to cross the Nile
and advance into Tripoli. Some 200,000 of them hastened like hungry
wolves with their wives and families from Egypt to the west. They
overran Tripoli and pushed on towards the shores of the Atlantic. It
was some of these colonists who eventually forced Siwa to accept the
Mohammedan rule, and by 1100, according to the Arab historians, the
Koran flourished within the precincts of the Temple of Ammon. From
that date onwards Siwa has been fanatically Mohammedan. The Siwans
were not swept into oblivion by this great Arab invasion; apparently
only a very few Arabs remained in the oasis, and very shortly they
themselves became indistinguishable from the Siwans. From this time
the Berbers, as a nation, ceased to exist, but they remained Berbers,
not Arabs, and in a few out-of-the-way places, such as Siwa, they
retained much of their original language.
The history at Siwa tells how one Rashwan was King of Siwa when the
Mohammedan army arrived, commanded by the Prophet’s khalifa. Rashwan
summoned his priests and magicians and consulted them as to how the
enemy were to be repelled. Acting on their advice he removed all the
bodies from “Gebel Muta,” a hill near Siwa which is honeycombed
with rock tombs, and cast them into the springs in order to poison
the enemy. Then he retired into the town, depending on the wells
inside the walls. The Mohammedan army arrived, but the water of the
springs did them no harm. They stormed the town and captured it after
a strenuous fight; Rashwan was killed, and the inhabitants embraced
the faith of Islam at the sword’s point.
During the period that followed the Arab invasion very little is known
of Siwa. The oasis was inhabited by a mixture of Berbers and Arabs,
the Berbers predominating. Occasional caravans of slave-traders passed
northwards along the main desert routes, and some of the slaves, having
been bought by the Siwans, remained in the oasis and intermarried with
the inhabitants. The Siwans, diminished in numbers and in power, began
to suffer from raids by the Arabs from the west and from the coast.
According to the old history, which is preserved at Siwa, there was
another small incursion from the east at a later date. About the middle
of the fifteenth century there was a great plague which carried off
a number of Siwans. A certain devout man in Egypt dreamed that the
ground at Siwa was very rich. He came to the oasis and settled there,
planting a special kind of date palm which he brought from Upper Egypt;
he also grew dates for the “Wakf”—religious foundation—of the
Prophet, which custom still continues. Later he made the pilgrimage
and described the country of Siwa to the people of Mecca, who had never
heard of it. They did him great honour. He returned to Siwa accompanied
by thirty men, Berbers and Arabs, who settled in Siwa. They built an
olive press in the centre of the high town and inscribed their names
thereon. From these men, and their Siwan wives, certain of the present
inhabitants are descended, and some Siwans boast to-day that their
forebears came with “The Thirty” whose names were inscribed on
the old olive press. “The Thirty” occupied the western part of
the town, and the original Siwans remained in the eastern quarter
and in the village of Aghourmi. Later the Siwans elected a council
and chose a “Kadi”—judge—who drew up a code of laws.
Under this government the population increased and the people
flourished again; they treated travellers well, especially pilgrims
from the west on their way to Mecca. The people of Tripoli came
to hear of them, and they made an alliance together. Siwa became a
“Zawia”—religious dependency—of Tripoli, and the Siwans fought
in the army of Tripoli. Siwa once more became a market for slaves and
a halting-place for the caravans from the south and the west. Slaves
came in great numbers from Wadai and the Sudan, via Kufra, Jalo and
Jerabub. Egyptian merchants came to Siwa bringing merchandise, and
returned to Egypt with slaves and dates. From the Sudan came ivory,
gold, leather and ostrich feathers.
During the time of Sidi Suliman, a very devout Kadi, the savage people
of Tebu, in the south, made constant raids upon Siwa, and troubled
the people greatly. On one occasion it was known that a large army
of the enemy were advancing on the oasis. The venerable judge offered
up prayers for help against the enemy, and every man in Siwa went to
the mosques. As a consequence the whole army was buried in the sand
and the road they came by was blotted out. Sidi Suliman encouraged
his people to show hospitality to strangers, but some years after
his death the people, forgetting his injunctions, drove away from
the gates some poor Arab pilgrims who sought their hospitality. It
is said that the door of Sidi Suliman’s tomb miraculously closed,
marking the strong displeasure of the saint, nor did it open until the
Arabs had been brought in and hospitably entertained. According to
another legend Sidi Suliman, whilst walking near the town, suddenly
became thirsty. There was no water at hand so he struck the ground
seven times with his staff, and fresh water gushed forth, which
flows in that place to-day. Before Sidi Suliman was born his mother
felt a frantic desire to eat some fish. There was none in the town,
and the sea lay 200 miles distant. The woman seemed on the point of
death. Suddenly a pigeon flew through the open window of her room and
deposited a large fish on the floor. She ate the fish, recovered, and
Sidi Suliman was born. For this reason all Siwan women eat fish when
they are pregnant, hoping that their offspring may be such another as
Sidi Suliman. These, and many other legends, are told of Sidi Suliman,
who has become the most venerated patron sheikh of the Siwans.
The system of living in Siwa in those days was very curious. The
high town existed, with a thin fringe of buildings huddled at the
foot of the walls. None of the suburbs, such as Sebukh or Manshia,
were built. At night all flocks and cattle were driven within the
walls. Married men only, with their wives and families, lived in the
high town. Unmarried men, youths over fifteen years of age and widowers
shaved their heads, as a distinction, and occupied the houses outside
the walls. The town was one vast harem. After sunset no bachelors
were allowed inside the gates, and any man who divorced his wife was
cast out—until he bought a new one. The bachelors, who were known
as “Zigale,” formed a kind of town guard. On the approach of
strangers they sallied out to meet them and detained them until the
council of sheikhs had decided whether they were to be permitted to
enter the town. Strangers were almost always accommodated outside the
walls. There was one family of Siwans who were always interpreters,
for in those days, unlike to-day, hardly any of the natives spoke
any language but their own. The council of sheikhs met in a room
close to the main gate of the town, and near it there was a deep,
dark pit which served as a prison.
After Sidi Suliman a number of other kadis ruled in the oasis. One of
them was called Hassan Mitnana, and during his lifetime a great quarrel
arose between the eastern and western factions of the town. This began
in about the year 1700. The dispute originated about a road which
divides the town into two parts. A family on the eastern side wished
to enlarge their house by building out into the street. Their opposite
neighbours objected to the public thoroughfare being narrowed merely
in order to enlarge a private dwelling-place. There was a dispute,
a quarrel, and a fight in which the two sides of the street took
part. One side called themselves “Sherkyn”—the Easterners—and
the other side called themselves “Gharbyn”—the Westerners. The
whole population took up the quarrel, which developed into a permanent
civil war. At times it died down and seemed on the point of extinction,
then, quite suddenly, it flamed up, ending in pitched battles in the
space before the town, where the casualties were often very severe
considering the smallness of the population.
[Illustration: THE CITADEL AND THE MOSQUE OF EL ATIK]
Before the days of gunpowder these battles were fought in an open space
below the walls of the town. On an appointed day the two opposing
armies faced one another. The men stood in front, armed with swords
and spears, the women collected behind the men, carrying bags full
of stones which they hurled at the enemy, or at anyone on their own
side who showed signs of cowardice. Platoons, each of a few dozen
men, advanced in turn and fought in the space midway between the two
armies, then gradually the whole of both forces became engaged. The
women displayed great fierceness; they often joined in the fray,
beating out the life from any of their enemies who they found lying
wounded, with sharp stones. It seems amazing that, notwithstanding
these frequent battles, the Siwans managed to live in such a confined
space, so close together.
It is only during the last few years of peaceful government, since
the war, that the violent animosity between the two parties has
died down. A few families of opposing parties have intermarried, but
even now one rarely meets a western sheikh in the eastern quarter,
or vice versa. Both quarters are entirely self-supporting. They have
their own wells, olive presses, mosques and date markets.
At the time of writing I hear from Siwa that a few months after I left
there was another outbreak between east and west. Some eastern men
were riding home from their gardens, excited by “lubki”—palm
wine. They rode through the streets of the western quarter, shouting
and singing. The western people took this as an insult and attacked
them. In ten minutes 800 men had collected in the square, the east
and the west facing each other. A fierce fight began, but fortunately,
as the men were only armed with sticks and tools, there were no fatal
injuries. The local police and the mamur were unable to do anything,
and the Egyptian officials retired to the Markaz—Government Office. A
few minutes later the Camel Corps arrived with fixed bayonets and
dispersed the crowd. There were about fifty cases needing hospital
treatment, some of them being quite severe.
Such were the lively conditions of internecine warfare when Browne, the
first Englishman to visit Siwa, arrived at the oasis in 1792. He came
in disguise with a caravan from Egypt. But against an infidel, a common
foe, the Siwans stood united. Browne’s identity was discovered;
he was received with stones and abuse, roughly treated, and sent back
to Egypt without having seen much of the oasis. But during his brief
stay he formed no favourable opinion of the people. They were notorious
for their monstrous arrogance, intense bigotry and gross immorality.
Six years later Hornemann, of the African Association, arrived at
Siwa, travelling in the guise of a young mameluke, with a pilgrim
caravan on its way from Mecca to the kingdom of Fezzan. He described
Siwa as a small independent state, acknowledging the Sultan, but
paying no tribute. He estimated the population at 8000 persons. The
Siwans were governed by a council of sheikhs, who held their meetings
and trials in public, and flew to arms on the slightest provocation
when they disagreed. When Hornemann left Siwa he was followed by the
inhabitants who apparently suspected his identity. “The braying
of several hundred asses heralded the approach of the Siwan Army.”
With great difficulty he persuaded the sheikhs that his passport from
Napoleon Buonaparte was really a firman from the Sultan. They finally
allowed him to proceed on his way. He sent his papers to Europe from
Tripoli, but he himself perished while exploring North Africa. It is
very curious that most of the few Europeans who visited Siwa in the
eighteenth and nineteenth centuries were Germans.
The difficulties that meet a European travelling in the guise of
a Mohammedan are not so formidable as they would appear. Knowledge
of the language would seem to be the greatest stumbling-block. But
in North Africa there are so many dialects, and so many different
pronunciations, that an Arab from one part of the desert would find
it difficult to understand an Arab from another district, and the
difference in the accent or pronunciation of an Egyptian from Cairo
and a European speaking Arabic, would not be recognized in many of
the more remote districts.
(3)
THIRD PERIOD
THE TURKISH RULE
“A house divided against itself cannot stand.”
In the year 1816 there was a great fight between the two factions,
in which the easterners gained the day. Ali Balli, a western sheikh,
went to Egypt and described to the Government the independent state of
Siwa and the condition of anarchy prevalent there. In 1820 Mohammed
Ali invaded the Sudan. In order to protect his western flank he sent
a force of 1300 men, with some cannon, commanded by Hassein Bey
Shemishera, one of his generals, against the fanatical population
of Siwa. They crossed the desert via Wadi Natrun and the oasis of
Gara. A few of the western faction welcomed the army, but most of the
population prepared to fight. After a desperate battle, lasting for
several hours, the Siwans were severely beaten, and from that date
Siwa was permanently secured to Egypt. The Turks entered the town,
seized the principal men, and in course of time some sixty of the
notables were executed by Hassein Bey, who punished by death on the
least suspicion of rebellion or revolt. A tribute was imposed on Siwa,
and Sheikh Ali Balli was made omda, supported by the Turks. After some
time Hassein Bey and the army returned to Egypt. The Siwans promptly
refused to pay tribute, so in 1827 Hassein Bey returned with a force
of 800 men, occupied the town after a brief contest, executed eighteen
of the notables, confiscated their property, but paid the widows of
the unfortunate men ten pounds each as full compensation for the life
of a Siwan notable. He also banished twenty of the sheikhs, increased
the tribute, and appointed a Turkish officer as Governor of Siwa, with
a small force. Under Hassein Bey the Siwans suffered considerably. He
seized their money, slaves, dates and silver ornaments, which he sent
to his home in Egypt. He built the first “Markaz”—Government
Office—whose ruins stand behind the Kasr Hassuna, the present
District Officer’s house, where I lived.
During the nineteenth century several Europeans visited Siwa, but they
met with no encouragement and were in most cases badly treated. One of
them, Butin, a French colonel, carried on his camels a collapsible boat
in which he hoped to reach the island on the salt lake of Arashieh,
which according to legends contained fabulous treasure and the sword
and seal of Mohammed. He managed to bring the boat to Siwa, but the
natives refused to let him embark. These early travellers all mention
the subterranean passages connecting Aghourmi and Omm Beyda, also
between Siwa town and the Hill of the Dead. The natives described these
passages as having “biute”—houses—or possibly burying spaces,
opening out on either side. The entrances have now in all cases been
blocked up by stones and rubbish, but with a little labour they could
easily be excavated. Several old men in Siwa know the exact position
of the entrances to these passages, which I have seen myself.
The successor of Hassein Bey was Farag Kashif, who built a causeway
across one of the salt lakes, making each family work on it in turn. It
is a useful piece of work, a narrow path, wide enough for two camels
to pass abreast, supported by rough stakes and palm logs, crossing the
salt bog which would otherwise be impassable. Several more mamurs were
appointed, but they were mere figureheads, as all the power lay in the
hands of the omda, Ali Balli. Each year that the taxes were unpaid,
and this was frequent, a punitive expedition arrived from Egypt.
The omda was hated by most of the Siwans, who held him responsible
for the Turkish occupation, and the years of oppression. Knowing
his unpopularity he never left his house after sunset. Certain of
the eastern sheikhs bribed two young western men to lure him from his
house at night. They persuaded him to come to Mesamia, a narrow tunnel
in the western quarter, and there they stabbed him to death. Yousif
Ali, the omda’s son, demanded blood money, or the surrender of his
father’s murderers, but the eastern sheikhs refused and secretly
sent the men to Derna. Then followed a few years with neither omda
nor mamur, and a government, of sorts, by a council of sheikhs.
Yousif Ali was a clever, ambitious man. Bayle St. John, who visited
Siwa in 1849, described him as “a broad, pale-faced man, with a
sly, good-humoured expression, of ambitious character, with speech
full of elegant compliments.” He wore a tarbouch, a white burnous
and carried a blunderbuss. Except for the blunderbuss the description
would suit several of the present-day Siwan notables. For seven years
he went every winter to Cairo, trying to persuade the Government
to make him omda in place of his father. He earned the nickname of
“The Schemer.” He spent a great deal of money on bribes in Egypt,
but was always unsuccessful.
In the year 1852 Hamilton, an English traveller, came to Siwa on his
way back to Egypt, after journeying in Tripoli and North Africa. In
his _Wanderings in North Africa_ he devotes several pages to his
experiences in Siwa. The following version of what happened to him is
told there now by the Siwans. He pitched his camp near the Markaz, half
a mile south of the town. The Siwans bitterly resented any European
visitors, so Yousif Ali, knowing this, collected the fighting men
and deliberately inflamed their anger against the stranger who had
come to spy out their land; he urged them that it was their duty to
kill the “Unbeliever,” so they determined to make a night attack
on Hamilton’s camp. Then Yousif Ali secretly warned Hamilton
of the intended attack, and persuaded him to take shelter in his
house. Hamilton left his tents standing empty, and during the night the
“Zigale”—fighting men—opened fire on them, but the Englishman
was safely lodged in Yousif Ali’s house. Thus Yousif Ali gained
credit for having saved Hamilton from the attack which he himself
had instigated. This is a characteristic example of Siwan diplomacy.
After the attack the Siwans refused to let Hamilton leave the town, and
for six weeks he was practically a prisoner in a little house adjoining
that of Yousif Ali. During this time the people amused themselves by
shooting and throwing stones at his windows, and collecting in crowds
to stare and jeer at the “Nosrani”—Christian. Matters became
worse and the most fanatical sheikhs on the town council advocated
his execution. With great difficulty he managed to send two letters,
by slaves, to the Viceroy of Egypt; but he spent an anxious time as
the days passed and no answer came. The Siwans found out about the
letters, and as time passed and it became more and more probable
that the messengers were lost, so the people became more and more
insolent. Some of the sheikhs offered to lend him camels to escape
from the town, on the condition that he first wrote to the Viceroy
saying that he had been well treated. They intended to murder him as
soon as he left the town, and to secure his baggage for themselves,
but he discovered the plot and refused to leave.
One day an abnormally hot wind rose from the south and blew with
great violence for three days. This was taken as a serious omen of
coming disaster. The idea that a sudden violent wind, stirred by an
evil “jinn,” foreshadows a catastrophe, is implicitly believed by
the Siwans and by all Berbers. A number of Siwans who had been most
aggressive hurriedly left the town, and the remainder endeavoured, to
the best of their ability, to conciliate Hamilton. The sheikhs who had
been most vindictive now fawned upon their “guest,” who became a
person to be conciliated instead of a despised Christian. Evidently
they had secret news of the approach of a party of cavalry from
Egypt. On the 14th March, 1852, two sheikhs arrived and announced
the approach of 150 irregular cavalry, who with 14 officers had
been dispatched by the Viceroy to effect his release, in response
to Hamilton’s letter. A week later, with much “fantasia” and
display, the army left Siwa accompanied by Hamilton and Yousif Ali. The
Turkish Commandant, with typically stupid obstinacy, refused to take
any prisoners, but bound over a number of the sheikhs to appear in
Egypt in two months’ time. Needless to say they failed to appear.
Shortly after Hamilton arrived in Cairo the Viceroy sent another
expedition of 200 men to bring back a number of Siwan notables to
answer for their conduct. The army reached the oasis and camped at
Ain Megahiz. The Siwans retired into their fortress town. A certain
Arab sheikh, who knew Siwa and was with the Turkish expedition, went
down to the town and persuaded forty of the leading men to come out
to the camp and see the Commandant. He successfully tricked them
with a promise of a favourable treaty, and they believed him. On
arrival at the camp they were arrested and thrown into chains; the
army entered the town without opposition, as the people, having lost
their leaders, had no heart to fight. As before, the Turks spoiled
the people, the soldiers robbed the inhabitants, seized the women,
and shot down anyone who opposed them. Then at last Sheikh Yousif
Ali was appointed Omda of Siwa by the Government of Egypt.
Some years later, in 1854, Abbas, son of Mohammed Ali, died, and was
succeeded by his son, Said Pasha. The latter, on his accession, granted
an amnesty under which the Siwan notables, who had been condemned
to hard labour and were working as prisoners, were released. They
hurried back to their oasis, eager to be revenged on Yousif Ali. On
arrival they were joined by their slaves and retainers, but met with
considerable opposition from the westerners. For three days there was
sporadic fighting, then they surrounded the omda’s house. But Yousif
Ali had fled to the house of one of his supporters in the suburb,
called Manshiah, and garrisoned it with his few remaining slaves. His
friends among the western sheikhs deserted him, seeing that popular
opinion was entirely against him. From the house in Manshiah, which
is a miniature fortress, he sent his two young daughters to bribe
the mamur to help him. The mamur was the same Arab who had betrayed
the forty sheikhs, and was busy enough looking after himself. The two
girls were caught by the eastern sheikhs. One of them was persuaded to
go back to her father’s house, and at a given signal to let in the
enemy. They surrounded Manshiah and forced an entry to the house. The
slaves stopped fighting and surrendered. Yousif Ali was caught on
the roof, trying to escape; he was dragged down through the house,
out into the street and strangled.
The news of this outrage reached Egypt, and in 1857 a new mamur
arrived with a detachment of soldiers. The system of two omdas ruling
at once, one eastern and one western, was tried, but found to be a
failure. The force under the mamur was quite inadequate to collect
the taxes or to keep order. The post was an unpopular one, and was
considered, as it is now, a form of exile by the Egyptian mamurs who
detest a place that has not the liveliness and amusements of Cairo,
or a provincial town. All the mamurs at Siwa used constantly to say
to me, “Saire—Siwa ees what you call exile!”
There followed in quick succession a series of somewhat incompetent
Turkish mamurs who were in most cases quite powerless to keep under
this turbulent town and population. To add to their difficulties
the power of the Senussi sect was beginning to make itself firmly
felt, and this complicated still more the political situation in the
oasis. The Senussi brethren at Jerabub were regarded by the Siwans
as the ultimate arbitrators in any disputes which arose among the
people, thus ignoring the jurisdiction of the Turkish Government
officials. One mamur married, on the day of his arrival, a girl of
the eastern quarter, and oppressed the westerners to such a degree
that they obtained his recall from Egypt. He was sent back to Egypt,
and as he entered the Governor’s house in Alexandria one of his
men stepped forward and shot him. Another mamur infuriated the people
by wishing to demolish the tomb of Sidi Suliman, in order to build a
house on the site. He made all preparations for the work, but on the
night before the building began he died mysteriously, possibly from
poison. Another mamur imitated the Siwans in every way—eating,
dressing and speaking as one. He kept his position for fourteen
years, becoming very popular on account of the interest he took
in the well-being of the people. But few of the mamurs were liked;
they generally sided definitely with one faction or the other, which
resulted in intrigue against them by the opposite faction, who tried
to procure their dismissal.
In 1896 Mustapha Mahr, Governor of the Behera Province, was dispatched
to Siwa, with fifty soldiers, to inquire into certain disorders. He
arrived to find Siwa in an uproar, the administration of justice at
a standstill, and three years’ taxes unpaid. A powerful western
sheikh, Hassuna Mansur, had retired to his stronghold, Kasr Hassuna, a
fortress on an isolated rock south of the town, with a large number of
slaves and adherents. He refused to pay taxes and defied the Egyptian
Government. This individual became the nucleus of opposition. He was
besieged; but friends among the besiegers supplied him with water,
and even helped him when he sallied out from his fortress and carried
away corn, sheep and cattle from the neighbourhood. The Turkish
official was helpless. Mustapha Mahr and his fifty men were unable
to cope with the rebel. On the advice of the sheikhs he appealed
to the Senussi brethren at Jerabub, and very soon Sheikh Ahmed Ibn
Idris, a relation by marriage to Sheikh El Senussi, appeared on the
scene. The Turkish Commandant asked his assistance. Sheikh Ahmed
ordered Hassuna to surrender, which he did at once, and after much
discussion an agreement was made, signed by the Senussi sheikh, by
which the Siwans promised to pay taxes, but on the condition that
they should not be retrospective. The Senussi sheikh then returned
triumphantly to Jerabub. This illustrates conclusively the power of
the Senussi at this period. A few months later another dispute arose,
about some goats, which ended in a battle between east and west,
in which Hassuna Mansur was slain, and with him over 100 Siwans.
In 1898, five years after the death of this firebrand of the desert,
another affair began which is known as the “Widow’s War.” The
Omda of Siwa died leaving a son, Mohammed Said, and a wealthy young
widow of great personal attractions. An eastern Siwan, named Ahmed
Hamza, wished to marry her. It was considered a suitable match,
and all her relations approved, except her stepson, Mohammed Said,
who was supported by the Medinia sect of Siwans, who had another
prospective husband. One night she disappeared. It was found that she
had fled to the house of Osman Habun, a very powerful western sheikh,
the most influential man in Siwa, who was the representative of the
Senussi. The son demanded his mother from the Habun family, who refused
to surrender her. The war drums were beaten, and a fight between east
and west was imminent. But at the last moment Habun surrendered the
woman, who returned to her own house. On the next day she ran away
again; this time she went to the house of a western Siwan, called
Abdulla Mansur, whom she wished to marry, although she herself should
have held no views on the subject. The whole town was disturbed by
the widow’s unseemly behaviour. Finally her stepson forced her to
marry the man whom he had chosen, and the widow retired from the scene.
But Ahmed Hamza resented losing her, and in revenge, some of his
friends attacked some relations of Mohammed Said’s, on the road
to Aghourmi, and killed two of them. Then Mohammed Said, with the
easterners, raided the western gardens, and the westerners retaliated
by carrying off sheep and cattle. The war drums were beaten, which
signal meant that every man must be ready and armed within twenty-four
hours; flags were displayed on the western hill and on the highest
fort of the eastern quarter, and the doors leading into the street
that divides the town were barred with palm logs. At the end of the
twenty-four hours the eastern force assembled on Shali—the high
town—and the western forces stationed themselves on their rock. The
easterners opened fire and shot, by mistake, a small Arab boy. A truce
was called while both parties discussed the compensation. But during
the truce an eastern man, going out to his garden, was killed by a
party of westerners, so the fight began again, both sides firing across
the street with long, Arab guns and old-fashioned blunderbusses. The
Turkish mamur and his little force retired to the Markaz, well out
of harm’s way.
[Illustration: GATE INTO THE WESTERN QUARTER]
The westerners had only one good spring within convenient reach
of the town. They posted a guard round it, and the easterners,
not expecting to meet with resistance, made a sortie, intending to
capture the spring. The attacking party was beaten off and driven away
from the town towards the gardens. The rest of the easterners, seeing
their comrades in flight, came down from the town and followed after
them. Then the entire western force, led by their chief, Osman Habun,
on his great white war-horse, the only one in Siwa, surged out of the
town, through the narrow gates, firing and shrieking, waving swords
and spears, followed by their women throwing stones. Every able-bodied
man and woman joined in the battle beneath the walls, and only a few
old men and children remained on the battlements watching the fight.
After a fierce combat, lasting for nearly a day, resulting in many
casualties, the western force was beaten back towards the town, and
“The Habun” found himself in danger of being captured. The western
women had followed their men out from the town and were watching the
battle from the gardens. Habun’s mother, seeing her son in danger,
collected a dozen women of his house and managed to get near him. He
left his horse and slipped into the gardens where he joined the
women. They dressed him as a girl, and with them he escaped to the
tomb of Sidi Suliman, where he hid. While in hiding Habun communicated
with the Senussi brethren at Jerabub, who intervened and patched up
a peace. Nowadays, if one wants to insult one of the Habun family,
there is no surer method than by inquiring who it was who escaped
from a battle disguised as a woman.
After this the Egyptian Government realized that a stronger force was
needed to keep order in Siwa, so they sent some more men and a few
cavalry. The Senussi Government also tried to make a lasting peace
between east and west. Sheikh Osman Habun, agent of the Senussi
in Siwa, was at this time the most wealthy and powerful man in
the oasis. He was a large landowner and employed a small army of
slaves. He was related by marriage to most of the western sheikhs,
and many of the Siwan notables were beholden to him for financial
assistance. From his large fortified house in the town he dominated
the western faction, and his armoury included some modern weapons
which he had stolen from a certain English traveller. In appearance
he was a fine, handsome man, with a masterful manner and a commanding
presence. When he went abroad a numerous retinue followed him, and
he received visitors to his house with almost regal state. He married
several times, and had nine sons and daughters.
Several years before the Great War a certain Arab called Abdel Arti,
a notorious smuggler of hashish between Egypt and Tripoli, made a
raid on some bedouins who camped at Lubbok, a little oasis where there
is water and good grazing about eight miles south of Siwa, among the
sand-dunes. He called at Lubbok to get water on his way to Egypt via
the oasis of Bahrein. One of the bedouins came to Siwa and warned
the mamur, who summoned the sheikhs and the people. Osman Habun was
at this time an ally of Abdel Arti and knew his plans. The eastern
people assembled, but the westerners delayed. Eventually, after many
absurd excuses, Osman Habun arrived and accompanied the mamur and an
armed party to Lubbok; but they found that the smugglers had escaped,
carrying off several women and leaving two of the bedouins dead on
the field. The delay caused by Osman Habun had saved Abdel Arti from
capture. When they returned the mamur held a court on Osman Habun and
threatened to depose him and make another man omda in his place. Habun
retired to his house and sulked, refusing to appear again when summoned
by the mamur. One of Habun’s sons was ordered to bring his father
to the Markaz, but he returned with a message that being the month
of Ramadan his father was fasting and could not go out.
Then the mamur, with his few soldiers and some Sudanese camel corps,
followed by a shouting mob of Siwans, went up the steep, dark streets
that lead to the house of “The Habun.” By the time that they had
arrived night had fallen. They found the great wooden door locked
and barred, and the house full of armed men, but they managed to
break in the door and enter the ground floor. But the stairs were
strongly barricaded, so they went outside and lit lanterns while
they discussed what to do. Then the soldiers started firing up at
the windows, and the defenders fired back, people in the adjoining
houses joining in. The soldiers retreated under some buildings across
the lane, but as they did this the mamur was shot and left lying in
the narrow alley. A Camel Corps man dashed out and dragged him into
shelter. Meanwhile Osman Habun had escaped by a private door through
the mosque behind the house. Eventually the soldiers entered the
building and captured the defenders. Osman Habun attempted to escape
through the town to Jerabub, but he was caught by Sheikh Mohammed Said,
his rival of the eastern faction, and brought a prisoner to the Markaz
where the mamur lay dying. He was tried for the murder of the mamur,
found guilty, and hanged, and his eldest son, Hammado, was awarded
penal servitude. He is still alive, in prison at Tura.
Osman Habun was one of the biggest men that Siwa ever produced,
though he had many bad qualities. The Siwans say that he sacrificed
himself for his son, Hammado, being an old man and not willing to see
his son hanged, though Hammado is said to have killed the mamur. Abdel
Arti, the cause of the trouble, had a fight with some of the Egyptian
Coastguard Camel Corps, and killed one of them. They met him again
among the desolate sand-dunes south of Siwa, and killed him, together
with several of his followers. Their graves are distinguishable—rough
stone cairns—on the unmapped desert where a route from Egypt to
Tripoli is still called “Abdel Arti’s Road.”
(4)
FOURTH PERIOD
SIWA AND THE WAR
The history of the British operations on the Western Desert of
Egypt against the Senussi in 1915-1917 has been well described
in several books, and by people who were actually present at the
various engagements. I was not there at the time, so I am unable
to give a first-hand account of it, but no history of Siwa would be
complete without a sketch of the principal events of that campaign,
which was one of the most brilliant and successful “side-shows”
of the Great War, and has left a lasting impression on the Arabs of
the Western Desert, which will be remembered for many years to come.
After the war in Tripoli between the Italians and the Turks, in 1911,
the suzerainty of Italy over Tripoli was formally acknowledged at
the Treaty of Lausanne, but although the whole of the country became
an Italian possession only the coastal towns were held firmly. The
Arabs in the south, and the Berber inhabitants of the various oases,
strongly resented the Italian rule, and for this reason the seeds
of propaganda sown by Turkish and German agents found fertile soil
among the natives of Tripoli.
Germany had for a long time cast envious eyes on North Africa,
and early in the war the Germans seem to have hoped that by their
influence in the country they could stir the Arabs to sweep their
much-hated Italian masters off the coast, and to advance against
Egypt from the west. At the outbreak of war the Arabs in the south
listened readily to the Turkish agents, who encouraged them with
arms and money to revolt against the Italians and to take part in
the Holy War, which was declared by the Sultan of Turkey against the
English and the Allies. But the most important military and political
factor on the Libyan Desert was the Senussi confraternity, and they,
up to this time, had been decidedly pro-British.
The Senussi confraternity was founded by Sidi Mohammed Ben Ali es
Senussi, who was born of Berber stock, but claimed descent from the
Prophet, in Algeria, in 1787. In 1821 he went to Fez and became known
as an ascetic religious who held severely to the simple teachings of
the Koran. Just before the French occupation of Algeria he left his
country and began travelling in North Africa, teaching his doctrine
of a pure form of Islam. The occupation of his native country by
Unbelievers probably contributed to the dislike of Christians which
characterized his later life. After spending some years in North
Africa he went to Cairo and settled at El Azhar, the great Mohammedan
university of Egypt, but his strict ideals found no favour and his
teaching was condemned by the Ulema. From Cairo he went to Mecca,
where he studied with Sidi Ahmed Ibn Idris el Fasi, the leader of
the Khadria confraternity, which had some influence in Morocco. On
the death of Sidi Ahmed, Mohammed es Senussi became head of the sect
and travelled for some years among the bedouins of the Hedjaz. But
his doctrines were too peaceable for these fierce Arabs, and in 1838
he returned to the west and settled at Siwa.
In Siwa he inhabited the caves in the limestone rock below the Kasr
Hassuna, living in one of them and using the other as an oratory. With
his own hands he carved out the nitch—or “mihrab”—which faces
Mecca. During his sojourn at Siwa he became very ill and at one time he
almost died. The people of Siwa accepted his teachings with enthusiasm,
and since then the greater proportion of the population have been
ardent Senussiya. For this reason it has always been considered very
dangerous for anybody who is not exceedingly religious and virtuous
to inhabit these caves in the Kasr Hassuna.
When I was in the Kasr one of my servants asked for permission to
live in the cave. I reminded him of the superstition, but allowed him
to do so. It was most disastrous; after about a month he moved out
and complained to me of the persistent misfortune that had dogged
him. His wife ran away, he became ill, he had some money stolen
from him, and was badly bitten by a tarantula. Another man, who had
a reputation in the Section for being particularly religious, moved
in, but he only remained a week, and after that the caves were left
severely alone. None of the Siwans would live in this place under
any consideration, and the Siwan wife of my Sudanese orderly lived
in a little hut outside the entrance.
[Illustration: “KASR HASSUNA,” THE DISTRICT OFFICER’S HOUSE]
After eight months in Siwa Mohammed es Senussi went on to Jalo and
came into contact with the Zouias, a fierce and warlike race of Arabs
who held various oases in southern Tripoli. They adopted his teachings,
and in 1844 he founded his first zawia—religious centre—at El Beda,
where his eldest son was born. From this centre the Senussi brethren
carried their teachings all over Africa, travelling with the great
caravans of the merchants who traded in slaves, ivory, arms, etc.,
between the Sudan, Tripoli, Wadai and Egypt. Gradually they grew
to be regarded as arbitrators in disputes, and important cases were
brought to Mohammed es Senussi for his judgment. They successfully
combined the duties of merchants and magistrates, acquiring great
wealth and great influence. The Senussi were at all times opposed to
luxury and intolerant of Unbelievers; they claimed that their form
of Mohammedanism was more pure than any other, and as far as possible
they kept aloof from politics.
In 1852 Mohammed es Senussi returned to Mecca, and shortly afterwards
he formally excommunicated the Sultan of Turkey. In 1856 he came,
for the last time, to Jerabub, ninety miles west of Siwa. He died
here three years later and was buried in the tomb in the mosque. At
the time of his death his prestige was enormous; pilgrims travelled
many thousands of miles to visit Jerabub, and Senussism had spread
all over Central and North Africa. The Senussi zawias became rich
from the profits of trading and owned large numbers of slaves, also
arms and ammunition were imported from Turkey, landed on the Tripoli
coast and taken down to the south. One of the greatest authorities
on the Senussi estimated their numbers at between one and a half and
three millions at the time of the death of Mohammed es Senussi. But
their importance as a military factor was not great; being spread
over such a vast area they lacked cohesion, and any combined action
would be almost an impossibility.
Mohammed es Senussi left two sons, Mohammed el Mahdi and Mohammed
el Sherif. The former succeeded his father as the leader of the
Senussi. He spent a considerable part of his life at Jerabub,
acquiring great wealth and strengthening his influence by peaceable
penetration. In 1884 he refused to help the Sudanese Mahdi, who
appealed to the Senussi for assistance in driving the English out of
Egypt. If the Senussi had risen then and joined with the Sudanese
the position of Egypt would have been very dangerous. Mohammed el
Mahdi died in 1902 and was succeeded by his nephew, Sayed Ahmed,
as the son of Mohammed el Mahdi was still a boy.
When Sayed Ahmed succeeded, the French were pushing their conquests
inland from the coast, and the Turks were also advancing southwards
in Tripoli. Sayed Ahmed did all he could to oppose them, but gradually
he was forced to retire. One by one the various zawias were occupied,
till finally the Senussi chief was driven back to Kufra and Jerabub. In
1911 Sayed Ahmed allied himself to the Turks, although the Senussi
had always been at enmity with them, and when the Italians landed on
the Tripoli coast the Senussi supported the Turks in the war against
the Italians, and when the Turks were finally beaten the Senussi in
the interior became once more practically independent.
In the summer of 1915 the Senussi were still ostensibly at peace with
Egypt and Britain, but the pro-German agents had successfully fomented
an anti-British feeling, and the Arabs were being armed and organized
by German and Turkish officers who landed in submarines—from
Constantinople—evaded the Italians on the coast, and went down
south into the Senussi country. The British and Italian alliance
was an incentive to the Arabs in Tripoli, who bitterly resented the
Italian occupation of their country.
Sollum, the frontier post, was garrisoned by a small detachment of
the Egyptian army and the Coastguards, native troops with two or
three English officers. In August, 1915, the crews of two English
submarines, wrecked on the coast west of Sollum, were fired upon by
the Senussi, but Sayed Ahmed apologized and declared that he did not
know what nationality the men were. In the autumn it was known that
the British attempt at Gallipoli was doomed; there was a danger of
disturbances in Egypt, and the Turks attacked the Suez Canal.
On November 5th the _Tara_, an armed patrol boat, was torpedoed
off Sollum. Three of her boats came ashore a few miles west of the
frontier, and ninety-two men of the crew were captured by some Senussi
Arabs and carried inland to a place called Bir Hakim, a well which
lies about seventy miles south of the coast; here they were kept
prisoners for several months, and during this time they suffered the
most excessive privations at the hands of their captors. They were so
badly fed that they were forced to eat snails, which are very plentiful
in some parts of the desert; several men died, and their attempts to
escape were in all cases unsuccessful. The history of their sufferings
and adventures forms the subject of two books written by one of the
survivors on his return home. Even after this incident Sidi Ahmed
continued to protest his friendship for the British, and disclaimed
any knowledge of the whereabouts of the _Tara_’s crew.
About this time large numbers of Arabs began to collect on the high
desert above Sollum. The garrison was slightly reinforced and some
armoured cars came up the coast from Egypt. On November 23rd Sollum
was attacked by a numerous force of Senussi, armed with a miscellaneous
collection of fire-arms and some old guns. The garrison was evacuated
on to the _Rasheed_, an Egyptian gunboat, during a heavy sand-storm,
and on the same day the garrison of Barrani was taken down the coast
on another boat. They landed at Matruh, which was put into a state
of defence, and the garrison was very soon considerably augmented by
British troops who were hurried up from Alexandria in trawlers and
in cars from the railhead. A few days after they arrived at Matruh
some of the men of the Egyptian Coastguards went over to the enemy,
and Colonel Snow Bey, of the Coastguards, was shot while speaking to
some so-called friendly Arabs on a reconnaissance.
Colonel Snow and Major Royle, another officer of the Coastguards who
lost his life later in the war, after joining the Flying Corps, were
both very well known on the Western Desert. As a rule, the bedouins
do not talk much of the Englishmen who lived and served among them,
but even now, several years later, one constantly hears these two
names mentioned round the camp fires of the Arabs.
While the British force was building up the defences of Matruh,
the Senussi collected a few miles west of the town. On December 13th
the garrison advanced against the enemy, and a force of about 1300
Senussi was cleared out from a long wadi and driven off with heavy
casualties. On this occasion a squadron of Yeomanry, who were fired
on from a gully, charged at the enemy and came suddenly on a deep
and unexpected drop.
Towards the end of the month another large force of Arabs, under the
command of Gaffar Pasha, a Germanized Turk and a very capable officer,
occupied a valley called Wadi Majid, near Matruh. It appeared that they
intended attacking Matruh on Christmas Day, when they supposed that the
garrison would be eating and drinking—though, as it happened, there
was not even any beer in the town. On Christmas Eve the British force,
consisting of part of a New Zealand brigade, some Sikhs, Australian
Light Horse and British Yeomanry, supported by aeroplanes and naval
ships, which shelled the enemy from the coast, went out of Matruh
and fought a successful action on Christmas Day. The Arab camp was
destroyed, and the enemy were beaten off with heavy casualties. After
the engagement the British force returned to Matruh. By this time
the usual winter weather had begun; floods of rain fell on the coast,
filling the wadis, swamping the roads and turning the country into a
morass. Once again the enemy concentrated, at a place about 26 miles
west of Matruh. They were located by aeroplanes, attacked and again
driven westward. On February 26th another engagement took place at
Agagia, near Barrani. The enemy lost heavily and Gaffar Pasha, the
Commander of the Senussi army, was captured during a brilliant charge
which was made by the Dorset Yeomanry. After this defeat Sayed Ahmed,
the Senussi chief, with a number of his supporters and a huge quantity
of baggage, retired from the coast, which was getting too hot for
him, and trekked across the desert down to Siwa, travelling in great
comfort with gramophones, clocks, brass bedsteads and a large harem!
On arrival at Siwa he settled himself in the Kasr Hassuna, but he
lived in a very different style to his ancestor, the original Mohammed
es Senussi. A renegade Coastguard officer, Mohammed Effendi Saleh,
was appointed as his second in command. At first the Siwans welcomed
Sayed Ahmed with great enthusiasm, but their feelings rapidly changed
when the ill-disciplined mob that made up his army took to spoiling
the gardens and robbing the people. Mohammed Saleh had been in Siwa
before and he knew exactly how much money the various inhabitants
had. This acquaintance with everybody’s financial position was
of great use when he began to extort money from the natives. Those
who could not or would not pay were beaten in the market-place and
forcibly enlisted into the army; those who paid a little were made
corporals and officers, and only the people who gave much money were
exempt from service. The richest sheikhs and merchants were presented
with Turkish and German medals and orders and promoted to Pashas
and Beys. The officers of the Senussi force attired themselves in
bright green putties, which they manufactured from the green baize
tablecloths in the offices of the Markaz; all the files and the
Government furniture, etc., was seized by Sayed Ahmed, who carried
it about with him during the rest of the campaign, eventually leaving
it at Jerabub when he finally left the country.
Meanwhile the campaign on the coast was going badly for the
Senussi. Barrani was occupied after the battle of Agagia, and from
there the British force, reinforced by the Duke of Westminster and his
armoured cars, pushed on towards Sollum, which was occupied on the 14th
of March. Sollum was captured by a rear attack from above the Scarp,
armoured cars and troops having managed to find a way up the cliffs
by a steep, precipitous pass known as “Negb Halfia,” or “Hell
Fire Pass,” as it was afterwards called. The Senussi blew up their
large ammunition dump at Bir Wær, on the frontier, and the remains
of their army were driven over the desert for many miles, pursued
by the British cars, which scattered them far and wide and inspired
all the Arabs with a holy dread of “Trombiles”—motors—which
will never be forgotten. The capture of Sollum virtually ended the
fighting on the coast; after that only Siwa remained to be cleared
out. The country was full of fugitives and their starving families,
who were fed and provided for by the British. Arab women flocked round
the garrisons at Sollum and Matruh offering their silver ornaments
and jewellery in exchange for food.
On April 16th, much to the relief of the inhabitants, Sayed Ahmed
left Siwa _en route_ for the Dakhla oasis. He took with him most
of the able-bodied men in the place, as well as a number of Senussi
soldiers and many camel loads of luggage. The Siwans were expected
to bring their own food, but by this time they were reduced to such
a state of poverty that they had not even enough dates to support
themselves. A number of men died on the road, and still more deserted
and made their way back to the oasis. Sayed Ahmed stayed for several
months at Dakhla and then returned to Siwa, hurrying back like a
hunted hare. On each of these little desert trips the Grand Sheikh
shed a little of his baggage.
During his absence from Siwa the sheikhs of the Medinia sect organized
a very successful little rebellion. The people revolted against the
Senussi sheikhs who had been left in charge, drove them into the
Markaz, and besieged them for two days. Eventually peace was made,
but not before the Senussi sheikhs had sent frantic messages to Sayed
Ahmed complaining of the scandalous behaviour of the Siwans and
imploring him to return. The Siwans at the same time sent letters
to Sayed Ahmed with complaints against his sheikhs who had stayed
in Siwa to keep order. The messengers met on the road and journeyed
together till they came upon Sayed Ahmed and his party between Dakhla
and Siwa. They handed their letters to the sheikh and he read them
together. The news of the “goings-on” at Siwa hastened his return.
Once again he established himself in the Kasr Hassuna. Here he
indulged in severe religious observances and urged the people to
pray for divine help against the Unbelievers who had destroyed the
Senussi army on the coast. In January Sayed Ahmed and Mohammed Saleh,
his second in command, were considering retiring to Jerabub, so as
to be still further away from the British. On the 2nd of February a
force of armoured cars, lorries and light cars arrived a few miles
north of Girba, a little oasis in a deep rocky valley north-west of
Siwa. On the following day the cars successfully descended the pass
and attacked the enemy camp at Girba. The Senussi were absolutely
astounded. They had already learnt to fear the British cars, but
they never for one moment thought it possible that a large force of
motors could dash across the desert from the coast, almost 200 miles,
and attack them in their stronghold. Owing to the rocky ground the
cars were unable to get at close quarters with the enemy. The action
lasted a whole day. The Senussi, who numbered about 800, were under
the command of Mohammed Saleh, and another force of about 500 men were
at Siwa with Sayed Ahmed. At the first alarm the Grand Sheikh bundled
himself and his belongings on to camels and fled frantically over the
sand-dunes towards Jerabub, followed by a straggling mob of Arabs. On
the evening of the 4th the enemy began to retire from their position at
Girba, burning arms and ammunition before evacuating, and on the 5th
of February the cars entered Siwa and the British force was received
by the sheikhs and notables at the Markaz with expressions of relief
and goodwill. The column left the town on the same day and reached
“Concentration Point,” north of Girba, on the following day.
Another detachment had been sent to a pass above the western end of
the oasis in order to intercept the fugitives, but only a few cars
were able to get down from the high country above, but the one Light
Car Patrol which did descend managed to cut off a number of the enemy
who were retreating to the west. On the 8th February the whole column
went back to Sollum. The enemy’s losses were 40 killed, including 2
Senussi officers, and 200 wounded, including 5 Turkish officers. Sayed
Ahmed and Mohammed Saleh both escaped, but after this crushing defeat,
and the capture of the Siwa oasis, all danger from the Senussi forces
was at an end.
Some time previously, after the occupation of Sollum by the British,
information was found as to the whereabouts of the prisoners from
the _Tara_, who had been joined by the survivors of the _Moorina_,
who had also landed on the coast and had been captured by the Arabs. A
force of armoured cars and other cars, under the command of the Duke of
Westminster, set off on the 17th from Sollum with a native guide. They
dashed across the desert to Bir Hakim, rescued the prisoners and
brought them back to Sollum, having travelled across some 120 miles
of unknown desert and attacked an enemy whose numbers they did not
know. This gallant enterprise was perhaps the most brilliant affair
which occurred during the operations on the Western Desert. The Duke
of Westminster received the D.S.O. for his exploit, and was recommended
for the Victoria Cross.
After the capture of Siwa there was no more fighting on the Western
Desert. Sollum, Matruh and the various stations on the coast were
garrisoned with British infantry, gunners and Camel Corps, and a
standing camp of Light Cars was made at Siwa, where they remained for
some time. The F.D.A. took over the Administration of the Western
Desert, and gradually the garrisons were withdrawn and replaced by
F.D.A. Camel Corps. To-day there only remains one small detachment
of Light Car Patrols in the fort at Sollum.
Sayed Ahmed and Mohammed Saleh were never captured. The Grand
Sheikh’s progress terminated on the Tripoli coast, where he was
met by a Turkish submarine and carried over to Constantinople. He
was received by the Sultan and has remained there ever since, an
exile from his native land, probably regretting that he ever allowed
himself to be persuaded to throw in his lot with the Turks.
Sayed Ahmed did not distinguish himself in this campaign. Whenever he
thought that the fighting was too near he hurriedly retired to some
more distant place. His cowardly conduct was to a certain extent
responsible for the failure of his troops; he never took part in
the fighting and never led them in person. His behaviour was very
different to that of Ali Dinar, Sultan of Darfur, in the Sudan,
who was also persuaded by the Turks to rebel against the English
at the same time. The latter showed considerable personal courage,
and was killed on the field at the end of the war. Sayed Ahmed was
succeeded by his cousin, Sidi Mohammed Idris, the son of Mohammed el
Madhi, who had always shown himself to be strongly pro-British, and had
carefully refrained from taking any part in the Senussi rising and the
subsequent campaign. An agreement was drawn up by the British and the
Italians which arranged that Idris should be responsible for keeping
order inland, and that he should receive money and assistance. This
arrangement has been in force up to now, and is in every way a success.
[Illustration: SHEIKH MOHAMMED IDRIS, THE CHIEF OF THE SENUSSI]
CHAPTER IV
SIWA TOWN
“Through sun-proof alleys,
In a lone, sand hemm’d
City of Africa.”
SIWA town is like no other place that I have seen either in Egypt,
Palestine or the Sudan. It is built on a great rock in the centre of
the oasis, and from a distance it resembles an ancient castle whose
rugged battlements tower above the forests of waving palm trees, and
the rich green cultivation. It is somewhat similar to St. Michael’s
Mount, but the inside of the town reminds one more of those enormous
ant hills which are found in Central Africa. The houses are built of
mud, mixed with salt, with occasional large blocks of stone from the
temples let into the walls. The builder works without a line, gradually
adding to the wall, sitting astride the part which he has completed,
so few of the walls are straight. Another architectural peculiarity is
that owing to the necessity of constructing walls thicker at the base
than at the top most of the houses, especially the minarets of the
mosques, become narrower towards the summit. The houses are built one
above the other against the face of the rock, and the outer walls form
one great line of battlements, pierced by little groups of windows,
encircling the town, and rising sheer above the ground, in some places
to a height of almost 200 feet. The original site of the town was the
summit and sides of two limestone rocks which rise abruptly from the
level of the plain; but as the population increased more houses were
built on the top of the old ones, and the town, instead of spreading,
began to ascend into the air, house upon house, street upon street,
and quarter upon quarter, till it became more like a bee-hive than a
town. Fathers built houses for their sons above the parental abode,
till their great-grandsons reached a dizzy height on the topmost
battlements. The mud of which the walls were built gradually hardened
and became almost of the consistency of the original rock.
In course of time the inside of the town has become a vast warren
of houses connected by steep, twisting tunnels, very similar to the
workings in a coal mine, where one needs to carry a light even in
daytime, and two persons can scarcely walk abreast. This labyrinthine
maze of dark, narrow passages, with little low doors of split palm
logs opening into them from the tenements above, forms the old town of
Siwa. In some places the walls are partly ruined and one gets little
views of the green oasis, or the lower part of the town with its flat
roofs and square enclosures, framed by the jagged ruined masonry. It
took me nearly two years to know my way about this part of the town,
at the expense of hitting my head many times against the palm log
beams supporting the low roofs which are in most cases only about 5
feet high.
This human warren is surprisingly clean and free from the smells
that one would expect in a place where there is such an absence
of light and ventilation. One of the most curious things that one
notices is the subdued hum of human voices, from invisible people,
and the perpetual sound of stone-grinding mills, above, below and
all around. When one meets people, groping along these tortuous
passages, they loom into sight, silently, white robed, like ghosts,
and pass with a murmured greeting to their gloomy homes. It is a
great relief after stooping and slipping and barking one’s shins
to reach the open roof on the highest tower of the town where, for
a moment, the brilliant sunlight dazzles one’s eyes, accustomed
to the murky gloom of the lower regions. When, on rare occasions,
I had visitors, I used always to take them up to see the view from
the highest battlements, with a few stout Sudanese Camel Corps men
to help pull, push and propel the sightseers. But most of them,
especially the elderly colonel type, were too hot and exhausted to
appreciate the view when they finally arrived, so I eventually kept
this “sight” for only the most active visitors.
High up in the heart of the town, in a little open space surrounded
by tall grim houses, there is an ancient well cut out of the solid
rock. It contains excellent water. Apparently there is a spring
in the centre of the rock which supplies the well, and two smaller
ones close by. Half-way down the well, about 30 feet from the top,
just above the level of the water, there is a small entrance, wide
enough to admit a boy, which leads into a narrow tunnel bored through
the rock, terminating in the precincts of a mosque on the level
ground. Nobody has traversed this passage for many years, owing to
fear of snakes—which certainly exist, also jinns and afreets. The
tunnel is about 150 yards long, and must have taken years to complete,
but it is difficult to guess its original object. This old well
is specially popular with women, as by drawing water here they can
avoid going out to the springs where they would necessarily meet with
men. Often when I passed out from the narrow entrance of a passage I
would see a dozen women busy with their pitchers, veils cast aside,
laughing and chattering—in a moment, like magic, every one would
have silently vanished, and only the eyes peering from the adjoining
windows would show any signs of life.
Below the old high town, huddled at the base of the mighty walls,
there are more houses, and these, too, are surrounded by an outer
wall. Beyond this more modern houses have been built when there
was less fear of raids from hostile Arabs. Most of the sheikhs and
the rich merchants have deserted the high town and built large,
comfortable houses down below, or among the gardens in the adjoining
suburbs of Sebukh and Manshia. Many of them have also country
houses, where they retire in the summer when the heat in the town
becomes intolerable, on their estates in different parts of the
oasis. Residences of sheikhs and notables are distinguished by a
strip of whitewash across the front, but woe betide a poor man if
he decorates his house in a like manner. Tombs of sheikhs and holy
men are whitewashed all over every year, at public expense. One of
the most wealthy, and most unpopular, merchants covered the whole of
his house with whitewash. This innovation caused grave disapproval
among the conservative sheikhs of Siwa. They complained to me,
saying that from time immemorial the notables had distinguished their
houses by the strip of whitewash, but nobody had ever whitened the
whole house—therefore nobody should! When a few days later some
thieves broke into the “whitewashed sepulchre” and stole twelve
pounds, the whole population agreed that it was a just retribution
on unseemly pride.
The three date markets are large walled-in squares where every merchant
and family have a space to spread their dates for sale; one of them
is common, the other two belong to east and west respectively. There
is a little house by the entrance of each market where an old Sudanese
watchman lives, paid in kind by contributions from everybody who uses
the market. In the autumn thousands of Arabs come from Egypt and the
west to buy dates, which are considered among the best in Egypt. Round
the markets there are enclosures for camels and lodgings for the Arabs,
who are only tolerated in the town because they come to trade. At the
height of the season there is a busy scene. Hundreds of white-robed
Arabs wander among the heaps of red, brown and yellow dates, arguing
and bargaining loudly, while their camels gurgle and snarl outside,
and over everything there rises a swarm of flies. Half-naked negroes
toil and sweat as they load the camels with white palm-leaf baskets
pressed down and full with sticky dates. Lively diversions occur when
a shrill-voiced she-camel shakes off her load and runs wildly through
the crowd, scattering the people, with her long neck stretched out
like an agitated goose. Arab ponies squeal and shriek, donkeys bray and
the pariah dogs snarl and yelp. There is a custom in Siwa that anybody
may eat freely from the dates in the markets, but nobody is allowed to
take any away; so the beggars, who are very numerous, crawl in among
the buyers, clutching greedily with filthy hands at the best dates,
and adding their whining complaints to the general din. Also all
the dogs, children, chickens, goats and pigeons feed from the dates
before the owners sell them. The most popular form of date food is a
sort of “mush,” which consists of a solid mass of compressed dates
with most, but not all, of the stones removed. I used to like dates,
but after an hour in the markets one never wishes to eat another.
The square white tomb of Sidi Suliman dominates the date
markets. Although not actually a mosque it is the most venerated
building in Siwa. Around it there are a few white tombstones, and on
most nights the building is illuminated with candles burnt by votaries
at the shrine of the saint. Close by there is a large unfinished mosque
which was built by the ex-Khedive, who left off the work owing to lack
of funds. Mosques in Siwa are conspicuous by their curious minarets,
which remind one of small factory chimneys, or brick kilns; otherwise
they are very similar to houses, except that they generally include
a large court with a roof supported by mud pillars. In several of
the mosques there are schools, and one sees a number of small boys
sitting on the ground, with bored expressions, droning long verses
of the Koran in imitation of the old sheikh who teaches them.
Lately the “Powers that Be” decided that a regular school would
be beneficial to the youth of Siwa. With some difficulty I secured
a building and a teacher. The school began in great style. Almost
every boy in the town attended. They learnt reading and writing, and
after sunset they did “physical jerks” and drill, marching round
the market square, much to the admiration of their parents. But the
novelty palled. Attendance diminished. Attendance at school was to
be quite voluntary, so I could do nothing. In about a month it had
ceased to exist, and the little boys sat again at the feet of the
old sheikhs in the mosque schools. Such is the conservatism of Siwa.
Shopping in Siwa is very simple. Each shop is a general shop and
contains exactly the same as the others. Prices do not vary, so
one deals exclusively with one merchant; the shops are sprinkled
about the town and the customers of each are the people who live
nearest. The shops themselves are hardly noticeable. There is no
display of goods, nothing in fact to distinguish a shop. One enters
a little door and the room inside looks rather more like a storeroom
than a living room; sometimes there is a rough counter, some shelves
and a weighing machine, but measures consist mostly of little baskets
which are recognized as containing certain quantities. The sacks
and cases round the room contain flour, beans, tea, rice and sugar;
in one corner there are some rolls of calico and a bundle of coloured
handkerchiefs hung on a nail from the ceiling.
In the storeroom which opens out of the shop there are more sacks,
tins of oil, and perhaps a bundle of bedouin blankets. Yet some of
the Siwan merchants clear over a thousand pounds a year by their shops
and a little trade in dates. Egyptian money is used, the silver being
much preferred to the paper currency, and credit is allowed, which
enables the merchants to obtain mortgages and eventually possession
of some of their customers’ gardens.
The merchants’ wives attend to the lady customers. There is a
side door in every shop which leads to an upper room, and here the
Siwan ladies buy their clothes, served by the wife or mother of the
merchant. Their purchases are mainly “kohl” for darkening the
eyes, henna for ornamenting fingers and hands, silver ornaments, soft
scarlet leather shoes and boots, blue cotton material manufactured
at Kerdassa, near Gizeh, grey shawls, silks for embroidery, dyes for
colouring baskets and very expensive flashy silk handkerchiefs made in
Manchester, which they wear round their heads when indoors. Some of
the merchants’ wives sell charms and amulets besides clothes. The
women are very conservative in their fashions, only certain
colours being worn. I once wanted a piece of green material to
use in making a flag. I sent to every single shop in the town, but
without success. However, it caused great excitement, and I heard,
on the following day, that the gossips of the town had come to the
conclusion that I was going to marry, and the green stuff was to be
part of the lady’s trousseau. They were disappointed.
There is nothing in Siwa that compares with the gorgeous bazaars
of Cairo, or the gaily decked shops in the markets of provincial
towns. These dark little shops have no colour, only a queer, rather
pleasant smell, a potpourri of incense, spices, herbs, onions,
olive oil and coffee. Meat is bought direct from the butchers,
who combine and kill a sheep or a camel. Sugar and tea are the most
popular necessities on the market. During the war, and for some time
after, there was a sugar shortage. The supply for Siwa arrived at the
coast, but rarely reached the oasis. When a small quantity did reach
Siwa it was bought up immediately, and the merchants who obtained it
took to gross profiteering. The price of an oke (2½ lbs.) reached
as much as 40 piastres (8s.), which in Egypt is an excessively high
price. Eventually the sale of sugar was supervised by the Government
and sugar tickets were issued. Even then there were cases of sugar
being smuggled across the frontier to Tripoli, where the shortage was
even more severe. Arabs or Siwans are simply miserable if they have to
go without sugar in their tea. It makes them cross and tiresome, and
they say themselves that it injures their health. For the rest people
depend on their garden produce, on dates, onions, fruit and coarse
native bread. The women make their own clothes, and generally their
husbands’ too, sometimes weaving the wool for the long “jibbas,”
worn by the working men, on rough handlooms. There is a carpenter in
the town and several masons, but as a shopping “centre” Siwa is
not much of a catch.
Although Siwan houses are unprepossessing from the outside their
interiors are comparatively comfortable. What I personally objected
to was the exceeding lowness of the doors, and yet the Siwans on the
whole are tall. They told me that doors were made small for the sake
of warmth. Roughly the houses are built on the usual Arab pattern;
on the ground floor there are storerooms, stables, and servants’
quarters, upstairs there are guest-rooms, harem, and living rooms. The
entrance hall has seats of mud similar to the walls, and is usually
screened from sight by a corner inside the door. Stairs are steep
and narrow with sudden sharp turnings; they are always pitch dark,
as only the rooms in the outer walls receive any light. Each house
consists of two or three storeys and above them there is an open roof,
sometimes with several rooms built on to it. The old houses of the
high town are different, only those on the topmost level have open
roofs. The immense thickness of the walls makes the houses cool in
summer when the temperature often reaches 112 degrees in the shade,
and warm in winter when icy winds sweep down from the high desert
plateau. The rooms in the houses of the better classes are large and
high, lit by little square windows, which are made in groups of three,
one above and two below in order not to put unnecessary strain on
the masonry. Each window has four divisions with a shutter to each
division; these shutters are kept open in summer-time. The windows
are very low, a few feet above the level of the floor, which allows
people sitting on the ground to see out of them. The ceilings are
made of palm trunks covered with rushes and a layer of mud; the ends
of the trunks, if they are too long, project outside the walls and
serve as pegs on which to hang bundles of bones to avert the “Evil
Eye.” Mud, which becomes as hard as cement, is used not only for the
walls, but for the stairs, the divans, ovens, and most of the kitchen
utensils. Old stone coffins, discovered near the temple or in some
of the rock tombs, are utilized as water-troughs in most houses. The
floors are covered with palm matting, and an occasional old Turkish
or Persian carpet; the divans are furnished with a few cushions,
white bolster-like objects, or beautifully stamped leather from the
Sudan. The walls are whitewashed and sometimes ornamented with crude
coloured frescoes, and in almost every room there are several heavy
wooden chests, handsomely carved, sometimes of great age, which are
used for keeping valuables. Occasionally one sees a couple of chairs
and a round tin table, like those which are used outside cafes,
but personally I have always felt much more comfortable sitting
cross-legged on a heap of cushions near the window than perched up
on a rickety chair above my hosts. A brass tray, a low round table,
a few baskets and an earthenware lamp hanging on the wall, completes
the furniture of a guest-room. I have spent many pleasant hours
sitting in one of these high rooms looking out over the feathery
palm trees and watching the colours change as the sun sank behind
the mountains, gossiping to some old sheikh, puffing a cigarette,
and drinking little cups of sweet, green tea.
[Illustration: THE WESTERN QUARTER FROM AN EASTERN ROOF]
In summer-time the people sleep on the flat roofs of their houses,
which for that reason are surrounded by low mud walls to ensure
privacy from the neighbours. They lie on the roofs, men, women and
children, always with their faces covered from the moon, because they
say moonlight on sleeping faces causes madness. In the daytime the
women gossip on the housetops and carry on intrigues, for there is
nothing easier than hopping over the walls from one roof to the other,
and it is not considered _comme il faut_ for husbands to frequent
the roofs in daytime. Often when I climbed up to the citadel and
looked down over the town I saw a group of girls sitting on the roofs,
generally singing and dressing each other’s hair. When they caught
sight of an intruder watching them from above they bolted down the
steep stairs like rabbits to their burrows. One sees real rabbits,
too. Almost all the natives breed them, and for safety’s sake they
are kept on the housetops.
One of the features of Siwa town are the “Dululas,” or sun
shelters. They consist of spaces shaded from the sun by a roof of
rushes and mud, supported by mud pillars. Often in the centre there
is a stone basin containing water, which is kept always full at the
expense of one of the sheikhs in memory of a deceased relation. Here
the greybeards of the town assemble in the evenings, strangers sit
and gossip when they visit the town, and the Camel Corps men wander
through to hear the latest news. It is a sort of public club, and
one hears even more gossip than at a club at home. The largest of
these sun shelters has become a little market, and a few decrepit
old men spread out their wares in its shade—a few baskets, a dozen
onions, an old silk, tattered waistcoat and some red pepper would
be the stock-in-trade of one of these hawkers. What they say in the
“suk” corresponds to the “bazaar talk” in India, and it is
incredible how soon the most secret facts are known there.
The Siwans are a distinct race quite apart from the Arabs of the
Western Desert, but in appearance they differ very slightly from their
bedouin neighbours. Owing to their isolated dwelling-place they have
retained their original language, which appears to be an aboriginal
Berber dialect. They are unquestionably the remnants of an aboriginal
people of Berber stock, but constant intermarriage with outsiders has
obliterated any universal feature in their appearance, and through
intermarriage with Sudanese they have acquired a darker complexion
and in some few cases negroid features. On the whole one does not
see the Arab type, or the Fellah, or the Coptic type among the Siwans.
The men are tall and powerfully built, with slightly fairer complexions
than the Arabs. In some cases they have light straight hair and blue
eyes, and one whole family has red hair and pink cheeks, though they
themselves do not know where this originated. Most of the younger
men are singularly ugly and have a fierce and bestial expression,
but with age they improve, and the elders of the town are pleasant,
dignified-looking men, though effeminate in their manners. The
children are pallid and unhealthy in appearance. The Siwans have
high cheek-bones, straight noses, and short, weak chins. They are
very conceited and think much of their looks; on feast days even the
oldest men darken their eyes with “kohl” and soak themselves with
evil-smelling scent.
The wealthy Siwans wear the usual Arab dress—white robes, a long
silk shawl twisted round the body and flung over one shoulder, a soft
red, blue-tasselled cap and yellow leather shoes. On gala days they
appear in brilliant silks from Cairo, and coloured robes from Tripoli
and Morocco, but on ordinary occasions the predominating colour is
white. The servants and labourers, who form the bulk of the population,
and include many Sudanese who were brought from the south as slaves,
wear a long white shirt, white drawers, a skull cap and sometimes a
curious sack-like garment made of locally spun wool ornamented by
brightly coloured patterns in silk or dye. Siwa is the only place
in Egypt where one does not see the natives apeing European dress or
slouching about in khaki trousers or tunics—remnants of the Egyptian
Expeditionary Force.
The women are small and slender, and very pale owing to the inactivity
of strict seclusion. The palest women are the most admired. Their large
black eyes are ornamented with “kohl,” and their small hands are
tinted with henna. In public they wear a universal dress which is quite
distinctive. It consists of a dark blue striped robe, reaching below
the knees, with full sleeves, cut square and embroidered round the
neck, white drawers with a strip of embroidery round the ankles, and
a large square grey shawl with a dark blue border, which covers them
when they go abroad. Their ornaments consist of innumerable silver
ear-rings, with bunches of silver chains and little bells, silver
bangles, anklets, and necklaces. An unmarried girl is distinguished
by a “virginity disc,” which is an engraved silver disc about
the size of a saucer, suspended round the neck by a heavy silver
ring. These rings are generally very old and beautifully engraved with
arabesques. When a Siwan woman is wearing all her silver ornaments she
tinkles like a tinsmith’s cart, but her husband poetically compares
her to a caparisoned pony. Their general appearance is quite pleasing,
but they are very unlike the handsome, healthy-looking Arab women of
the coast.
At home the wealthier women wear coloured silks and richer
clothes. They wear their straight black hair thickly oiled and dressed
in a complicated coiffure. A fringe of short curls hangs above the
eyes, and a number of plaited braids are worn on each side of the face,
like the fringe of a mop. Strips of scarlet leather are twisted into
the tresses, which must always be of an uneven number, and on the
ends of the leather are hung silver bells, rings and amulets. One of
the first travellers to Siwa remarked on the strength of an ear that
could bear such heavy silver ear-rings, but instead of hanging from
the actual ear the rings are fastened to a leather band across the
top of the head. All the material for women’s clothes is made by
one family of Egyptian merchants at Kerdassa, near the Pyramids. One
brother has a shop in Siwa, and the others live in Egypt. Owing
to this the price of clothing is very great, yet none of the Siwan
merchants have ever considered setting up an opposition trade.
Women of the upper classes rarely appear in public during the day,
except at funerals, when hundreds of them squat round the house, like
a crowd of grey crows, howling and shrieking. When one rides past they
hop up from the ground and run a few steps, with long grey shawls
trailing behind them on the ground, and then they squat down again,
like vultures scared off a carcase. They never work in the fields or
drive the flocks to pasturage like the Arab women, or the fellahin,
but occupy themselves in making baskets, or pottery, and in household
duties. When one woman calls on another she wears all the clothes she
possesses, and gradually discards them in order to impress the people
she is visiting with her wealth. When I met a woman in the streets
she would scuttle into the nearest doorway, or if there was not one
handy she would pull a shawl over her face and flatten herself against
a wall; even hideous old harridans affected an ecstasy of shyness
on seeing an Englishman. Hardly any of the women can speak Arabic,
and it is owing to their strange secretive lives that the Siwans
have retained their language and are so unprogressive to-day. They
resolutely oppose all innovations, refusing even the help and advice
of the Egyptian Government doctor. It is to their influence as mothers
that the women owe what power they have, because Siwan men care very
little for their wives. Most men keep one wife only at a time, but
they often marry as many as twenty or thirty, if they can afford to,
divorcing each one when she ceases to please.
The Siwans are typically Oriental. They are hospitable, dishonest,
lazy, picturesque, ignorant, superstitious, cheerful, cunning, easily
moved to joy or anger, fond of intrigue and ultra conservative. They
are not immoral, they simply have no morals. The men are notoriously
degenerate and resemble in their habits the Pathans of India. They seem
to consider that every vice and indulgence is lawful. It is strange
that these people who are among the most fanatical Mohammedans of
Africa should have become the most vicious. Yet most of the Siwans are
Senussi, members of that Mohammedan sect which corresponds in a way to
the Puritanism of Christianity. It advocates a simple and abstemious
life, and condemns severely smoking, drinking and luxury. Yet the
most religious sheikhs are generally the most flagrantly outrageous.
In spite of their unenviable reputation the Siwans are quite satisfied
with themselves, and speak with tolerant pity of the Arabs and the
Sudanese. The Siwan Sudanese have become like their original masters,
and do not seem to object to being called “slaves,” but there
are constantly furious rows between the natives and the Camel Corps
originating with the word “slave” being used with reference to
the latter. The Arabs, and to a greater extent the Siwans, consider
themselves very superior to the Sudanese who, until quite recently,
they could buy and sell.
The population is divided into two classes, the one consisting of
the sheikhs, merchants and landowners, the other of the servants
and labourers. The former class is an all-powerful minority. There
is no middle class. There is also a religious division; the Senussi
predominate in numbers, but the Medinia sect is the richest. The
latter sect is said to be the successor of the Wahhabi confraternity;
it is connected with the Dirkawi, which was founded by Sheikh Arabi
el Dirkawi. It was established about one hundred years ago by Sheikh
Zafer el Medani, who was born at Medina in Arabia. His doctrines found
favour in Tripoli and were adopted by the Siwans some time before
the arrival of the Senussi, and Sheikh Zafer himself visited Siwa on
several occasions. The two sects are very similar. The Medinia have
still several religious centres in Egypt and Tripoli, but they lost
ground considerably on the advent of Senussiism. In spite of their
similarities the two sects are by no means well disposed to each
other. Membership is hereditary, and no one has been known to change
from one party to the other. They have their own mosques, sheikhs and
funds, and on religious festivals they hold their meetings in different
parts of the town. I used always to make a point of visiting the
gatherings of each sect. There are two other less important religious
bodies known as the “Arusia” and the “Sudania,” but they only
consist of a few dozen old men who perform strange dances on festivals
in honour of their particular saints. The Siwans are very religious,
more so than the average Arab, but this is probably owing to the fact
that their mosques are conveniently near, and if one is absent from
mosque the neighbours notice, and talk about it! One has heard of
such things at home.
The prosperity of the people depends almost entirely on the date
harvest. The date groves, which form the wealth of the oasis, are
watered by some two hundred fresh-water springs. The water rises
through natural fissures, or artificial bore-holes, from a sandstone
bed about 400 feet below the surface. The largest springs, such as the
“Fountain of the Sun,” measure as much as 50 yards in diameter,
with a depth of about 40 feet. Each basin is fed by a group of little
water-holes, and the water comes up from the ground sometimes in
continuous streams of bubbles, and sometimes with sudden bursts,
so the surface seems constantly moving. There is a theory that an
underground river flows east towards the Nile and its water comes to
the surface in the various oases between Egypt and Tripoli. The fact
that Siwa lies considerably below the level of the desert plateau,
and even below sea-level, supports this theory. Or possibly the water
comes from the high desert plateau north of Siwa, where there is a
heavy rainfall; but the water supply never varies, and has never been
known to run dry. The water in the springs differs considerably. In
some it is very brackish, in others it is quite sweet, and some springs
are flavoured with sulphur; again, some springs are warm, and others
are several degrees colder, so one can chose a bathing-place, hot or
cold, according to inclination. Many springs, often the sweetest ones,
rise a few feet away from the salt marshes, and one spring, which used
to be salt, has now become sweet. The largest springs are edged to a
certain depth with squared stones and blocks of masonry, which looks
as if it might have been finished yesterday, though it was probably
built almost a thousand years ago. The basins are generally round,
shaded by a ring of palm trees, beyond which lie the gardens.
The sides of the basins have been gradually built higher and higher,
so that the surface of the water is now several feet above the level
ground, and little brooks run down from the spring heads into the
gardens in all directions. They are regulated by rough sluice gates,
made generally of a large flat stone, which is removed to allow the
water to flow, and replaced, with a plaster of mud, when the water
is no longer needed. Each spring forms the nucleus of a garden which
belongs to a number of different people. The gardens are divided
into little beds of a uniform size, about 8 feet square, lying an
inch or two lower than the level of the ground. These beds are known
as “hods.” When the water is flowing the labourer goes in turn
to each “hod” and scoops a passage with his hands connecting
the “hod” with the water channel, which is on a higher level,
then he makes a rough dam across the channel so that the water flows
into the “hod” and fills it; afterwards he closes the entrance
of the “hod” with a handful of mud, pushes aside the mud dam,
and the stream flows on to the next “hod,” where the same thing
occurs. I have seen little boys at the seaside doing just the same
sort of thing. In some cases two water channels cross, and then one
of them flows through a hollowed palm trunk.
The cultivation round every spring is made up of a number of gardens
owned by different men, some of them consisting of no more than half
a dozen palm trees and a couple of “hods.” All the ground is
watered by the central spring, so a careful water system has been
evolved by which the water is divided and portioned out to each
piece of garden. For each spring there is a ponderous tome called
“Daftar el Ain”—the Book of the Spring, which records the exact
quantity of water, or rather the time of water, that each garden is
allowed. This is followed with the greatest care by the Keeper of the
Spring, who regulates the irrigation, and is paid by the owners of
the adjoining garden in proportion to the number of trees that they
own. Each day is divided into two halves, from sunrise to sunset,
and sunset to sunrise; this again is subdivided into eighths, and
each subdivision is called a “wagabah.” Thus if Osman Daud’s
garden receives an allowance of four “wagabah” every other day,
it means that he receives the full strength of the water from the
springs for twelve hours on consecutive days.
When one buys a garden the water rights are included, but men often
sell part of their water right to a neighbour, this, of course,
being recorded in the Book of the Spring, which is kept by one of
the sheikhs. The “Ghaffir el Ain,” or Guardian of the Spring,
takes his time from the call of the muezzin, or in distant gardens by
the sun and the stars. At night a special muezzin calls from one of
the mosques for the benefit of the watchmen on the springs out in the
gardens. The system has been in force for so many centuries that there
are very rarely any disputes on the subject. All questions are referred
to the books, which serve also as records of ownership of the gardens.
Each Siwan, however poor, keeps a book of his own in which he enters,
or rather pays a scribe to record, an account of his property. It
states the boundaries, number of trees and water rights of his
garden. When a man buys a garden he writes down the particulars
in his “daftar,” and this is signed by the person who sold
the garden, and witnessed by several responsible sheikhs or “nas
tayebin”—respectable people. This entry serves as a title-deed
for the purchase. When I was at Siwa there was a lengthy and involved
law case about the ownership of some property, in which one party,
in order to prove inheritance, forged an entry in his “daftar.”
But cases of forgery were not frequent—fortunately, as they added
considerable complications to an already difficult case.
There is more water in Siwa than is required for irrigating the
gardens, and in many cases sweet water flows to waste among the salt
marshes. The Siwans are unenterprising. They only cultivate just
sufficient for their own needs, and not always that: they only work in
the gardens where the soil, after centuries of watering and manuring,
has become very rich. They grow a very little wheat and barley, but
not enough to supply the population, who depend on imported barley
from the coast, yet there are many fertile plots of land which would
raise corn, and which could easily be irrigated. Lack of labour and
implements is their excuse when one questions them, but in the spring
numbers of Siwans go up to the coast and hire themselves out to the
bedouins as labourers, preferring to work on the coast instead of
increasing the cultivation in their oasis.
The palm groves of Siwa are very beautiful. It seems a veritable Garden
of Hesperides when one arrives there after a long trek on the waterless
desert which surrounds the oasis. One appreciates the slumberous shade
of the luxuriant gardens, long, lazy bathes in the deep cool springs,
and feasts of fruit on the banks of little rushing streams. Perhaps
it is not surprising that the Siwans are lazy and indolent, for their
country is in many ways a land of Lotus Eaters. The natives have a
happy-go-lucky Omar Khayyámish outlook on life which is accentuated
by the place they inhabit.
The gardens consist mainly of date groves with some olive orchards. But
among the date palms there are many other trees—figs, pomegranates,
pears, peaches, plums, apricots, apples, prickly pears, limes and sweet
lemons. The numerous vineyards produce quantities of exceptionally
fine grapes, which last for several months and are so plentiful that
large quantities rot on the branches. The natives are not very fond
of them and no wine is made in Siwa, except “araki,” which is
distilled from ripe dates. Dates and a little olive oil are the only
exports, and it is on the produce of the date palms that the life of
the people depends. The poorer Siwans live almost entirely on dates;
the beams and the doors of the houses are made from palm trunks;
mats, baskets and fences are made from palm fronds; saddle crossbars
are made from the wood; saddle packing consists of the thick fibre,
the branches are used for fuel; the young white heart of the budding
leaves is eaten as a special delicacy, and the sap of the palm makes
“lubki,” a drink which is much liked by natives. The wealth of
the whole community is derived from the sale of dates, so it is not
surprising that they watch anxiously in springtime to see if the
crop will be a good one. Generally, on alternate years, there is a
good crop, then a fair crop, and when dates are plentiful olives are
few. Nature seems to have made this careful arrangement.
The cultivation of dates is by no means as simple as it would
appear. The trees need careful watering, manuring and trimming, and one
notices very clearly the difference in crops from well or badly cared
for gardens. In the early spring the work of artificial pollination is
carried out by special men who are skilled in the process. A branch
is cut from the male date tree, which bears no fruit, sharpened, and
thrust into the trunk of the female tree. Unless this is done to every
tree the fruit becomes small and worthless. There are about 170,000
trees, each of which bears, after the fifth year, an average of three
hundred pounds of fruit. Little attention is paid to the other fruits
which deteriorate from lack of pruning, but with a little trouble and
proper methods they would improve. Formerly the oasis produced rice,
oranges, bananas and sugar canes, but these no longer grow as they
needed more trouble to cultivate. Only dates and olives are sold,
and it is considered very shameful for a man to sell other fruit;
the same idea applies to milk. Siwans either eat fruit themselves,
give it to their friends, or let it rot; only the very poor natives
sell any. I had considerable difficulty in getting a regular supply,
but eventually I accepted “gifts” daily from certain men, and
repaid them with sugar, which they liked, though if I had offered
them money they would have considered themselves grievously insulted.
While at Siwa I dried large quantities of figs and
apricots—mish-mish—which were very successful, and especially
useful for taking out on trek when fresh fruit is unobtainable. None
of the natives had attempted drying fruit, though the excessive
heat and the flat roofs offer excellent opportunities, and quite an
industry could be developed in this way. A variety of vegetables are
grown, but only by a very few people. The most common are onions,
watercress, radishes, pepper, cucumbers, gherkins, egg fruit, mint,
parsley and garlic.
The gardens are manured with dry leaves and dried bundles of a thorny
plant called “argoul,” which grows about the oasis and is much
liked by camels. Bundles of it are cut and left for some months to
dry, and finally dug into the soil round the fruit trees. The streets,
markets and stables are all swept carefully, and the manure is sold
to owners of gardens. The contents of public and private latrines
are all collected and used as manure in the gardens. It is a good
system, as it ensures sanitary arrangements being promptly carried
out. The soil of Siwa is strongly impregnated with salt. In many
places there are stretches of “sebukh” which consists of earth
hardened by a strong proportion of salt which feels, and looks,
like a ploughed field after a black frost. It is almost impassable,
and the occasional deep water-holes, hidden by a layer of thin soil,
make walking as dangerous as it is difficult. Two large salt lakes
lie one on the east and one on the west of the town. The water in
these lakes rises irregularly during the winter months, and subsides
in the summer, leaving a glistening white surface of pure salt which
looks exactly like ice, especially in places where the dark water
shows between cracks in the salt. One can lift up white slabs of
salt in the same way as ice, and send a piece skimming across the
surface, like stones on a frozen pond at home. Sometimes there are
deep pools in the midst of the marshes where the white salt and the
vivid blue sky combine to colour the water with the most brilliant
greens and blues. Causeways built by the natives traverse the marshes,
and by these alone it is possible to cross them. In ancient days the
Ammonians sent a tribute of salt to the kings of Persia, and such
was the quality of the salt that it was used for certain special
religious rites. The glitter of the salt lakes in the middle of the
day is intensely trying to the eyes, but at sunset they reflect and
seem to exaggerate every colour of the brilliant sky.
The salt lakes, the numerous springs, and the stagnant water lying
about the gardens bred mosquitoes and fevers. Formerly this low-lying
oasis was a hotbed of typhoid and malaria. Its evil reputation was
known to the bedouins who never stayed there a day longer than was
necessary, and even now they speak of almost every fever as “Siwan
fever.” The natives themselves attributed the fever to fruit,
and still call it “mish-mish fever,” owing to its prevalence
during the season when apricots are ripe. But nowadays conditions
are enormously improved. Typhoid is practically unknown, the malarial
mosquito has been banished from Siwa, though it still swarms in the
neighbouring oases; several thousand pounds has been spent by the
Egyptian Government in draining and filling up stagnant pools, and
fish have been imported by the Ministry of Health which breed in the
springs and feed upon the mosquitoes’ eggs. The town is kept clean
and there are very strict regulations about sanitation, and thousands
of sugar-coated quinine tablets are distributed to the people each
week. They have discovered now just how much of the sugar can be licked
off before the quinine begins to taste. The result is that since the
war there have been very few new cases of malaria, though many of
the people are so sodden with fever that it is impossible to cure them.
[Illustration: CLEANING TAMOUSY SPRING]
It is supposed that the fever is a form of malaria, but when I got it
myself, very badly, and had several blood tests taken in Cairo, no germ
of any known fever was found. The same thing happened to three other
Englishmen who caught the fever in Siwa. So far no careful analysis
has been made of the disease, which is spoken of as “malaria”
because it is certain that malaria exists in the oasis.
Each spring in Siwa is cleaned out once in every two years in the
summer-time. On these occasions the owners of the gardens give a free
meal to the labourers, and a luncheon party to their friends. It is
a popular and pleasant entertainment. Almost all the men in the town
turn out and work in relays of fifty or a hundred, baling out the
water from the springs with old kerosene tins, leather buckets and
earthenware pitchers. It is a slow proceeding; some of the largest
springs take several days to finish, and the work must be continuous,
as the basins are continually filling. The men and boys, covered with
mud, shout and sing as they work, every now and then diving into the
water and swimming round. Every man, woman and child in Siwa can swim,
and most of them are expert divers. The women swim like dogs, with
much splashing, but the men are very good. A pump would drain a well
in a single day and save much labour and wasted time. As the water
sinks masons and carpenters repair the sides of the basin, fitting
in new stones and patching up old ones. A curious custom terminates
these occasions. Each guest and labourer is presented by the owners of
the spring with a handful of berseem—clover—as a partial payment
for his labour. When the men ride home in the evening they twist the
clover in wreaths round their heads and round the donkeys’ ears,
then, when they arrive at the town, the donkeys are allowed to eat it.
One of the “characters” of Siwa, always very much in evidence
on these occasions, was an old, half-witted man known as “Sultan
Musa.” He suffered from a delusion that he was the Sultan of Siwa,
but I fancy that he was trifle less foolish than he pretended to
be. He played the part of court jester at all entertainments. The
Siwans found him intensely comic; they asked him questions—how old
was he, how many wives, and what he had done; when he mumbled that
he was 100 years old and had 20 wives, and various other domestic
details, they simply shrieked with laughter. I got heartily sick
of the old imbecile and announced that I did not wish to see him
when I went anywhere. Sometimes when I arrived at a party I would
catch sight of him being hurriedly bundled out of sight, and later
I heard the servants in the background laughing hilariously at his
dreary witticisms.
A few days after my arrival at Siwa I received an invitation
to a luncheon in the garden of one of the leading sheikhs. The
messenger announced that Sheikh Thomi would call for me at eight
o’clock on the following morning; I wondered at the hour—but
accepted the invitation. The next morning, while shaving before
breakfast, I was disturbed by a terrific hullabaloo. My dogs, who
strongly object to unknown natives, a trait which I encouraged,
were circling furiously round a party of Siwans who sat on their
donkeys below the house. My servants went out and rescued them,
explaining that I would be down soon; a few minutes later I joined
them. After many salutations and polite inquiries I was introduced to
the other guests, a crafty-looking, one-eyed merchant, two venerable,
white-bearded sheikhs and several notables of the town. They were
all dressed very distinctly in their best, wearing coloured silks or
spotless white robes. Sheikh Thomi, a cheerful, rotund little man,
with the reputation of being the richest sheikh in Siwa, wore a
long white burnous and a gorgeously embroidered scarlet silk scarf,
and rode a big black donkey with a satanic expression. I was offered
the choice of a number of donkeys. I picked out the largest one, and
off we went. The donkeys have no bridles or reins; one steers them by
beating their necks with a stick, and very occasionally they go the
way one wants them to. Mine was the fastest, so I led the cavalcade,
hoping that my mount was sure-footed. We dashed through the town
with a tremendous clatter and a cloud of dust, scattering children,
hens and old women, out on to the roads, and then for a mile or so
at a hard gallop towards some gardens. My donkey knew the way. We
arrived at the garden as it was beginning to grow hot, and were met
at the entrance by a troop of servants who took the donkeys.
Sheikh Thomi led me, slightly dishevelled, through a thick palm
grove, followed by the rest of the party, to a large summer-house
built of logs and thatch, set on the edge of a round spring from
whose green-blue depths constant streams of silver bubbles rose to
the surface. Little green frogs swam in the water and numbers of
scarlet dragon-flies hovered over it. The walls of the summer-house
were hung with gaily striped Tripoli blankets—vermilion, white and
green—the floor was covered with beautiful old Persian carpets,
and cushions were ranged round the sides. Through the open ends of
the building I saw long vistas of palm trunks, and the sun caught the
scarlet blossoms of the pomegranates and the shining, purple grapes
on their trellis frames. The air was heavy with the scent of orange
blossom and “tamar-el-hindi,” and the deep shade inside the hut was
a welcome relief. Outside the white-robed servants hurried to and fro,
carrying baskets and dishes, while two boys, in the distance, sang
curious Siwan songs, answering each other back as they swung to and
fro high up on two palm trees. Sheikh Thomi, with much whispering and
smiling, went outside. I leant back on my cushions lulled by “the
liquid lapse of murmuring streams,” thinking how absolutely Eastern
the whole scene was.
Suddenly—to my horror—I heard a hideous grinding sound and a
shrill, raucous voice with a pronounced American accent began singing,
“Waiting for the Robert E. Lee,” a tune which I always object
to. It was a gramophone, very old and decrepit, the most prized
possession of Sheikh Thomi. I tried to look as if I enjoyed the
tune, which was played over and over again for about half an hour,
and followed by some slightly less repulsive records of native music.
After listening to this musical interlude a servant brought in a bunch
of pink and white sweetly scented China roses which were distributed
among the guests, and then the meal began. A dozen boys served as
waiters, carrying the dishes from an open-air fire round the corner
where several cooks presided over the food. At first it was suggested
that I should eat alone, in solitary state, but I protested, so Sheikh
Thomi and three others ate with me, while the rest of the guests
retired outside to eat later, probably with more ease in my absence. We
sat cross-legged on the ground, a position that without considerable
practice causes the most agonising “pins and needles.” The meal
was eaten almost in silence, broken only by the noisy sounds of eating.
A round wooden table was placed in the centre, and each guest was
provided with several flat round wheaten loaves, which served as
plates, and some strips of thin native bread, which looks rather
like pancake, only darker and more solid. The meal consisted
mostly of mutton, cooked in various ways—boiled, fried and
stewed—with different kinds of vegetables, salads, spices,
curries and flavourings. One of the dishes, a very excellent one,
was stewed doves, eaten with fresh grapes. The pudding was the least
appetising dish on the menu, it was made of crumbled bread, mixed
into a sticky mass with “semna” oil and sugar. There were about
a dozen courses. Each one was brought in in a big dish of polished
ebony and placed on the table. The guests ate from the central dish,
using the thin bread to pick up the meat. One takes a piece of thin
bread between finger and thumb, dips into the dish, sandwiching the
meat in the bread. It sounds a messy proceeding, but after a little
practice I found it quite simple. Servants brought round a brass ewer,
and each guest washed his hands after every course; the Siwans also
rinsed their mouths—noisily. Every now and then some one would
fish out an extra succulent morsel and hand it to me, or if one man
had secured a tasty bone he would tear off the meat and heap it on
to my loaf. Towards the end of the meal a few loud hiccoughs are
not considered amiss, and to loosen one’s belt, very obviously,
is thought most complimentary. One needs it too!
The food was very good, excellently cooked, and so tender that there
was no difficulty in separating the meat from the bones. When I
thought, and felt, that we had finished, there followed an enormous
dish heaped high with perfectly plain boiled rice. This is called
“Shawish”—The Sergeant—because it clears away the other
dishes! Afterwards an enormous copper tray was carried in by two
boys loaded with every kind of fruit—plums, peaches, pears, grapes,
apricots and figs. Last of all came tea, and bowls of palm wine for
those who liked it. It is made from the sap of the date palm, and
when freshly drawn it tastes like sweet ginger-beer, but a little
goes a very long way.
Tea-drinking in Siwa is as solemn a ceremony as after-dinner port
at home. The host either dispenses it himself, or as a compliment
invites one of the guests to pour out. Towards the end of my time
at Siwa I was thought to have acquired sufficient experience, and
occasionally I poured out myself. The guest invariably pretends to
refuse, protests that he is not worthy, but eventually accepts the
honour. The pourer-out is called the “Sultan” of the party, and
every “Sultan” tries to make the best tea in the town. People
are very critical, and opinions vary as to who is the super Sultan
in Siwa. As soon as the “Sultan” takes over the job he becomes,
for the time, master of the house. He calls loudly for more sugar,
boiling water, and scolds the servants as if they were his own. If
he doesn’t like the quality of the tea, he says so and the host
apologises. A servant brings a low table with a number of little
glasses about 4 inches high, a locked chest containing three divisions
for red and green tea, and sugar, and a bowl of hot water to rinse
the cups. One is asked which kind of tea is preferred, red or green,
and the safest and most popular reply is “A mixture of both.” The
“Sultan” then very deliberately rinses the glasses from a kettle of
boiling water which stands on a little brazier at his side, measures
out the tea into the pot, adds a little water, pours it away, then
carefully makes the tea, pours out a little, tastes it, and finally,
if he approves of the flavour, hands one glassful to each guest. The
tea is drunk with no milk; the first brew is rather bitter, with a very
little sugar, the second is very sweet, and the third, and best, is
flavoured with rose petals, orange blossom, or fresh mint. Each guest
drinks one glass only of each brew, and what is over is poured out and
sent to the servants, or into the harem. It should be sipped noisily,
and satisfaction expressed in the sound of drinking. One drinks
either three glasses, six, or nine. I have known twelve, but that is
considered rather an excess in polite society. Personally I consider
it one of the best drinks I know, but at first people dislike it.
The Siwans are greedy, when they get the chance, and on these
occasions their appetites are enormous. They have the greatest
admiration for anyone who eats copiously. A certain Government
official, whose fondness for large meals was famous, came down to
Siwa. He attended a luncheon party, which was given in his honour by
some of the sheikhs. The meal was a matter of some dozen or fifteen
courses. I myself, by using the greatest discretion, and only eating
a few mouthfuls of each dish, managed to last out. But the guest of
the day took, and ate, a liberal helping of each course. The Siwans
themselves became a trifle languid towards the end of the meal, but
he persevered. Even the plain boiled rice did not daunt him, or the
sticky oily pudding. It earned him an everlasting admiration in Siwa,
and his name is always mentioned at Siwan parties as a really fine
fellow, “The Englishman who ate of everything.”
Meat is difficult to get in the oasis. When a bedouin convoy arrives
the Arabs often slaughter and sell a camel. There are a few sheep
and goats imported from the coast, but the price of meat makes it
impossible for the poorer folk to buy it. I had with me a number
of dogs. One of them, an attractive mongrel, produced a litter of
pups. Several people asked me to give them one, and I did so. I
was pleased to see how well their new owners looked after them; they
appeared even fatter and fitter than when I had them. Then I went into
Cairo on local leave. When I returned, about a month or so later,
I inquired after the puppies. One of the men who had taken one told
me, “They were fine, so fat and so large——” But “Where are
they now?” I asked. He looked surprised, pointed to his stomach,
which was a very obvious one, and explained that they had all been
eaten last month on the “Eid el Kebir,” one of the Mohammedan
festivals. He said that nobody could ever imagine that I had given
them away for any other reason than for eating. There was nothing
to be done, but I never gave away another puppy. I drowned the next
litter, and it was considered extremely wasteful.
The Siwans eat cats too, and mice and rats. At one time there were many
cats in Siwa and no rats. Now there are rats but no cats. Cats were
easier to catch than rats, so they went first. One man, a merchant,
complained that his house and shop was overrun with mice and rats. He
had gone to great trouble and brought a cat from Egypt, but as soon as
it was full grown it disappeared! Dogs are considered “unclean”
by the Mohammedan religion, and they are never eaten in any other
places in Egypt.
Dogs are useful at Siwa both as watch-dogs and companions. My dogs
used to sleep on the high terrace of the house, and they always
gave one warning of anybody coming over the half mile of sand
from the town. Besides, dogs are the most human and affectionate
of all animals, and one gets to feel the need of companionship
at Siwa. It is a solitary life. One either likes it or hates it;
there is no compromise, and most men hate it. Sometimes one does
not see a single white man for several months, and then, when a car
patrol arrives, they stay a few hours in the town and dash back on
the same day. One needs a certain temperament to stand living at
Siwa. In the summer the heat is so great that one does not go out
much in the middle of the day, unless there is urgent necessity,
consequently for many hours every day there is nothing to do. If one
sleeps much in the daytime one is unable to sleep at night. A man at
Siwa must have some form of hobby in which he can interest himself
without needing the assistance of other people. Painting, writing,
photography and reading all serve the purpose. I mention them as they
formed my own spare-time occupations. But without something of this
kind life becomes unbearable. It is an ideal place for painting and
photography. The strangely varied scenery, the brilliant sunshine,
the picturesque natives, and the wonderful colouring, especially the
sunsets, provide a variety of subjects on every side. Siwan men quite
enjoy being photographed, but the women strongly dislike it. Eventually
by teaching my Sudanese servant to use a camera I managed to secure
a few indifferent photos of women. When one “snaps” people they
immediately demand a copy of the photo, imagining that the camera is
also a simultaneous printer and developer.
According to the proverb “Two is company, three is none,” but I
think most men who have experienced it would agree that in an isolated
district three is generally company and two is purgatory. The odds
are one in a thousand that “the other man” will be congenial,
and if he is not life is insufferable. If there is a third man things
feel better, but to live for months on end with one other man, who
one does not really like, results in mutual detestation. This may
sound morbid and unnatural, but one sees so many examples. I knew
two quite ordinary normal men posted in a lonely district where
they rarely saw another Englishman. For the first month they lived
together quite happily, in the second month they quarrelled, in the
third month they took to living in separate houses, and at the end
of four months they were not on speaking terms! Then there are other
men who cannot stand living alone. They have no personal occupation,
they become depressed, take to whiskey in large quantities—or worse,
and therein lies the way to madness.
Then there is the question of marriage. In most cases the authorities
do not encourage, or rather do not allow, men to marry. They very
reasonably consider that married men are unsuitable for desert work;
they either leave their wives in Egypt, and worry about them, which is
not surprising, or they manage to “wangle” a permission out of the
powers that be and take their wives out to the desert. Then, of course,
a married man is stationed in a pleasanter place than one who has
no wife. It is a difficult problem, and in most cases results in men
wasting the prime of their life in a bachelor condition on the desert.
But one was kept fairly busily employed at Siwa. A considerable part
of the work consisted in judging cases, similar to the duties of a
magistrate at home (this, to my mind, was the most interesting part
of the routine); also there was a section of Camel Corps to keep
in training, and the local police. I went out on patrol for a few
days every month, but after once exploring the whole neighbourhood
these “treks” were not exciting. Most of the law cases were not
of great interest; they consisted mainly of petty thefts, assaults
and infringement of Government regulations. Divorce and questions of
inheritance were not supposed to be dealt with by me, as they came
before a special Mohammedan court, whose representative, an old kadi,
went on circuit every year, though he always avoided Siwa, owing to
the tedious journey and the huge file of cases that were waiting for
his decision. The Siwans knew almost to the penny how much they would
have to give him for a favourable decision on any case.
Sometimes, however, I did get curious cases, and the following one
illustrates the social conditions in the town.
A young Siwan woman called Booba, about fifteen years old, after a
series of very varied matrimonial experiences, married an Arab who was
settled in the town. Although she had been married many times she was
considered a very respectable person and related to one of the leading
sheikhs. Divorce is considered no disgrace, and a divorced woman does
not lose caste as in other parts of the country. Very soon the Arab
husband died. This occurred in January, by the end of March she had
married again; this time her husband was a Siwan merchant. He quickly
grew tired of her and divorced her after a month of married life,
but he treated her well and paid the residue of her marriage money
to her brother who was her nearest male relation. She returned to her
brother’s family, who were by no means pleased to see her. Being an
exceptionally good-looking girl she was courted again by another man,
the young son of a sheikh, who was considered rather a “catch.”
He married her in June, and very soon after she gave birth to a
child. As the child was a girl, the husband divorced her two days
after its birth. The wretched woman was turned out of the house in
the night by her late mother-in-law. She managed to get to her own
home, but her brother’s wife refused to let her in. The brother
himself was away. Eventually she found a lodging with an old woman,
a relative of one of the earlier husbands, who had, it seemed, some
liking for the girl. While staying here the child died—possibly
from exposure, possibly from other reasons.
Immediately the families of the last three husbands hurried to give
information against her, and charged her with murdering the child. The
doctor examined it and found signs of possible suffocation. I listened
for several days to the evidence of a number of witnesses, mostly
repulsive old women who enlarged with horrid keenness on the most
disagreeable details. But eventually nothing was proved, and the girl
was acquitted. It was a disagreeable case, but one could almost find
parallels to it in the English police-court news.
Female witnesses at Siwa were very difficult to manage. They never
spoke or understood any Arabic, so the six sheikhs, who acted as a
jury, interpreted for them. I used to sit on a platform at one end of
the room, and the six sheikhs occupied a bench along one side. Women
pretended to hate coming into the court-house, but I think they really
rather enjoyed it. The orderly, one of the police, would firmly propel
the lady into the middle of the room, she being completely covered from
head to foot with clothes. As soon as the orderly retired she sidled
over to the wall and propped herself against it, generally with her
back turned on me. The sheikhs would remonstrate, “For shame, turn
round Ayesha, daughter of Osman, and speak to the noble officer.”
The lady would wriggle round a little and allow one eye to appear
through the drapery. When questioned she mumbled inaudible replies,
growing slightly more coherent if she was personally concerned in
the case, but if there was another woman giving evidence she would
gradually lower her veils, speak louder, and finally show her whole
face as she shrieked abuse at her opponent—quite regardless of the
eyes of the court. The sheikhs were invaluable on these occasions;
it would have been very difficult to work without them.
One woman, who sued her neighbour for throwing stones at her hens,
disturbed the court considerably. When she was led in by the policeman
she appeared particularly cumbered with clothes. Suddenly a terrific
disturbance began among her shawls and draperies; she gave a shrill
squeal and two hens disentangled themselves from her clothes and dashed
madly round the court-house. Two of my dogs, who were lying at my feet,
sprang after the birds and chased them round the room, which plunged
the proceedings into the wildest confusion. The woman had carried in
the hens intending to confront her opponent, at the critical moment,
with the injured victims. Judging from their activity they had not
been much injured.
One man, Bashu Habun, son of the old sheikh who was hanged, caused more
legal work than the whole of the rest of the population together. He
spent his time appropriating the property of one of his brothers who
was in prison. The brother had an agent in Siwa, a foolish old sheikh
called Soud, who was too honest, or stupid, to withstand the sly
cleverness of Bashu Habun. At one time there were seven cases between
them, involving many hundreds of pounds. I settled the first three,
but found that the latter dealt with inheritance, and so were beyond
my jurisdiction, but I got heartily sick of the sharp, foxy face of
Bashu Habun and the noisy, foolish obstinacy of old Sheikh Soud. Both
of them tried to secure my support by sending donkey-loads of fruit to
my house before the cases were tried, and on one occasion the servants
met both bringing presents, and returned together with their offerings
to the town. The idea of “baksheesh” is so firmly planted in
the native mind that it takes a long while to die out. Still, one
finds that the natives really appreciate and prefer an impartial
administration of justice, in place of justice—of sorts—which
depends on which of the two parties can offer the highest bribe to
the judge. The Senussi were by no means above this method, but they
let political considerations weigh equally with “baksheesh” on
their scale of justice. In the days when a Turkish governor ruled in
Siwa he made his money by accepting and extorting bribes, and if,
when British Administration retires from Egypt, the oasis is ruled
again by a native mamur, the same system will possibly flourish.
[Illustration: IN THE WESTERN QUARTER]
CHAPTER V
SUBURBAN OASES
“. . . tufted isles
That verdant rise amid the Libyan wild.”
SIWA itself is the largest, richest and most important oasis in a
little group of oases which are mostly uninhabited. Similar oases,
such as the Kufra group and the Augila group, are scattered at
intervals, few and very far between, over the vast arid surface of the
great Sahara desert. In most of them there are fresh-water springs
surrounded by small patches of green, which have an appearance of
almost magical beauty to those who arrive at them, weary after days
of travel over the hot and barren solitudes of the desert. Ancient
poets compared the yellow desert to a leopard’s tawny skin, spotted
with occasional oases. Doubtless when Siwa was more thickly populated
than it is to-day each of the outlying ones was inhabited, but now
the ever-shrinking population is insufficient even to cultivate all
the gardens in the immediate vicinity of Siwa itself.
About 20 miles east of Siwa town, at one end of a long salt lake,
there is a village called Zeitoun, and close by it a cluster of rich
gardens which are the finest and best cared-for in the oasis, famous
for the olives which give the place its name. In the whole of Siwa
there are about 40,000 fruit-bearing olive trees, and a large quantity
of olive oil is manufactured locally. Rough wooden olive presses are
used by the natives, which are so primitive that a large proportion
of the oil is wasted. The oil is of an excellent quality and is very
profitable when exported, but owing to the difficulty of obtaining
suitable tins and vessels to store it in only a small amount is sent
up to the coast. It is bought by the Greeks at Matruh and Sollum,
who dilute it and sell it at an enormous profit to the Arabs.
Along the shores of the lake there are several other groups of gardens,
and at one of them the ex-Khedive proposed to start a model farm,
but as usual he got no further in his scheme than erecting some
huts for the labourers to live in. He also did a certain amount of
excavating in this neighbourhood, and according to hearsay he carried
away camel-loads of “antikas” which he dug up among some ruins
at a place called Kareished. Some of the gardens slope right down
to the shores of the lake, and there are several fine springs among
them. I often thought that Kareished would be quite a pleasant place
to live in if one built a good house and had a boat to cross the lake
to Siwa. The people in these outlying villages ride into Siwa town
every few days to do their shopping, across a long causeway which
divides the lake and the mud swamp.
North-east of Zeitoun, across 90 miles of high desert tableland,
one comes to the oasis of Gara, or “Um es Sogheir”—the Little
Mother. The word “Um”—mother—is used indiscriminately by the
Arabs in names of places, hills, valleys and rocks. According to one
theory this practice originates from very ancient times when places
were named after certain female deities or goddesses. Gara is a lonely
valley about 10 miles long and 5 miles wide, surrounded by precipitous
cliffs that one can only descend in a few places, sprinkled with vast
isolated masses of rock, upon one of which the village is perched. Many
of the rocks have had their bases so worn away that they look like
gigantic mushrooms, and one can camp most comfortably in their shade
as under an umbrella. There are nine wells and springs in the oasis,
but the water has an unpleasant bitter taste, which is mentioned in the
accounts of Alexander’s journey to Siwa. Owing to the bad water and
lack of labour the Garites are unable to grow anything except dates
of a poor quality and a few onions and tomatoes. Grapes and fruit
trees will not flourish in the oasis. The people eke out a miserable
existence by selling dates, mats and baskets to the caravans which
pass between Siwa and Egypt. They are wretchedly poor, exceedingly
dirty and very distinctly darker in complexion than the Siwans. In
former days they were too weak-spirited to be aggressive and too
poor to be attacked, although owing to the position of Gara on the
Siwa-Egypt caravan route they might easily have made themselves very
awkward to travellers by levying a toll on convoys calling at Gara
for water on their way to Egypt.
[Illustration: THE SPRING OF ZEITOUN]
But on the one solitary occasion when the Garites did attempt to
do this they fared very badly. According to the tradition a famous
religious sheikh called Abdel Sayed was travelling from Tripoli to
join the pilgrim caravan at Cairo. He had with him a few attendants and
some devout men who were also on their way to do the Pilgrimage. When
they halted at Gara the inhabitants, instead of feeling honoured
and entertaining the travellers, came out of the town and attacked
them. The sheikh and his followers managed to escape, and when they
were safely out of the valley the venerable Abdel Sayed stood on a rock
and solemnly cursed the people of Gara, swearing that there should
never be more than forty men alive in the village at once. Since
then, although the total number of inhabitants is over a hundred,
there have never been more than forty full-grown men. When the number
exceeds forty, one of them dies. On this account the Garites have a
great objection to strangers, and when I arrived, with a dozen fully
grown Camel Corps men, the sheikh anxiously begged me to forbid them
to enter the village, but as there were under forty men living there
at the time I myself and an orderly went up into the town. Presumably
if we had all walked up several of the Garites must have died.
The village is a miserable imitation of Aghourmi, but dirty and
squalid. A steep winding pathway leads up the rock to the gateway,
and in the centre there is a square open market where nothing is ever
bought or sold as nobody has any money except the sheikh, and he spends
it at Siwa when he rides in every fortnight on a donkey to report at
the Markaz. The sheikh himself is an intelligent man, but scarcely able
to speak any Arabic. One of his duties is to look after the telephone
from Siwa which passes Gara on its way to Matruh. This telephone was
erected by the army after the Senussi operations, and is remarkably
clear considering the distance of desert which it crosses. My visit
caused a great sensation, as the people had not seen an Englishman
for a very long time. The inhabitants came out to my camp and sat in
silent rows gazing at us, until they were politely “moved on,” and
the women spent the whole day looking down on us from the roofs. I
believe, during the war, a car patrol visited the place, but as the
sheikh said, “They came—whirrrr—and they went—brrrrr!”
According to another legend some bedouin raiders once attacked
Gara. The people retired to the village, shut the gates, and prayed
to the patron sheikh, who is buried outside, for help. The spirit of
the dead sheikh rose to the occasion and so dazzled the eyes of the
enemy that they wandered round and round the rock and were totally
incapable of finding the gate. Eventually they became so exhausted
that the Garites were emboldened to come down from the town and kill
them. The old muezzin of the mosque of Gara related this story to me,
and an audience of Garites, who evidently knew it well, with what
I considered unjustifiable pride, and he did not seem to think at
all that his forebears had played rather a cowardly part in this
signal victory.
Between Siwa and Gara there is a pass through a rocky gorge called Negb
el Mejberry. Across the track there is a line of fifty little heaps
of stones, each a few feet high. Once, many years ago, a rich caravan
set out from Siwa to the coast, via Gara. They reached the negb (pass)
at twilight and noticed the heaps of stones, but thought nothing of
it. Suddenly, when they were quite close to them, a bedouin leaped up
from behind each heap and rushed on the caravan. With great difficulty
the merchants beat off the robbers, and the ambuscade failed, but not
without several men being killed. The merchants buried them close to
the place, which is haunted to-day by the ghosts of the brigands who
still appear lurking behind the stone heaps. The pass has an evil
reputation, and natives prefer to cross it in broad daylight, and
not when the sinking sun plays strange tricks with the shadows of the
rocks, or when the moon lends an air of mystery to the rugged ravine.
Due west of Zeitoun there is a string of “sebukha”—salt
marshes—which lie at the foot of a line of cliffs, a continuation
of the mountains that surround Siwa on the north. In this country,
which is rarely crossed, one finds little plantations of gum
trees that remind one of the Sudan, and also patches of camel thorn
bushes. I have not seen these growing in any other part of the Western
Desert. Possibly they may have grown from seeds dropped by caravans
passing up from the Sudan. There is no fresh water in this area,
but the country is very full of gazelle.
South-west of Siwa there are two other uninhabited oases, El Areg and
Bahrein—the two lakes. El Areg is a very surprising place. Riding
along the flat rocky stretch of country on the east of the Pacho
mountains, named after a European explorer who visited Siwa in the
early nineteenth century, one arrives suddenly on the brink of a
precipice which is the top of the cliffs that surround the oasis. There
are two steep, difficult paths leading down between enormously high
white rocks with bunches of straggling, overgrown palm trees at their
foot. Much of the oasis is a salt marsh, but at one end there is a mass
of bushes and tall palm trees, with two springs of drinkable water
among them. The cliffs are very high indeed, and their whiteness
makes them look strange at night. In places there are stretches
of fossilized sea-shells, and I especially noticed sea-urchins and
starfish. In a kind of bay in the cliff, between two enormous high
rocks, there is a natural terrace, and in the centre of the terrace
there are remains of a building; in the surrounding cliffs, sometimes
so high up on the face that one wonders how and why they were made,
there are the square entrances of rock tombs or dwellings. Some of
them are quite large, but in all cases very low. All the lower ones
are full of skulls and human skeletons, but many are so covered with
sand-drifts that I could not get inside. The oasis is full of gazelle,
which feed on the luscious vegetation round the marshes.
At Bahrein there are two long, brilliantly blue salt lakes, fringed
with a tangled mass of vegetation and palm trees, surrounded by yellow
sand-dunes. Bahrein always reminded me of
“A tideless, dolorous, midland sea;
In a land of summer, and sand, and gold.”
Here also are rock tombs in some of the cliffs, and in one of them I
discovered the remains of a coloured mural painting, a picture very
much obliterated, of a cow and some palm trees with large clusters of
dates on them, roughly done in brown and blue colours. Evidently at one
time the oasis was inhabited, and if one sought complete seclusion it
would be quite a pleasant place to live in. There are several thousands
of date palms at El Areg and Bahrein which would produce fruit if
they were pruned and looked after. At one time men used to come out
from Siwa and tend the trees, collecting the fruit later on, but now
there is not enough labour in Siwa to cultivate all the gardens, so
both these oases are deserted. The route from Siwa to Farafra passes
through El Areg and Bahrein, and there is another caravan track from
El Areg to the Baharia oasis, and thence to the valley of the Nile,
which it touches somewhere near Assiut. But practically no travellers
pass this way, and the Mashrabs are almost lost to knowledge.
West of Siwa town, at the end of the lake, at the foot of an enormous
flat-topped mountain, there is a little hamlet called Kamissa,
and a number of gardens. Beyond this, if one crosses the cliffs by
a rocky pass, one arrives at a valley called Maragi, where there is
another salt lake surrounded by gardens which belong to a colony of
about sixty Arabs who settled here some fifty years ago and have
remained ever since. They do not intermarry with the Siwans but
“keep themselves to themselves,” as they consider that they are
very superior to the natives. They live in tents and breed sheep
and cattle, and are to all appearances similar to the Arabs on the
coast, except that they have no camels. At one time two of these
Arabs moved into Siwa and settled in houses, but they were regarded
as renegades by the remainder. Further west there is yet another salt
lake called Shyata, a long patch of blue among the yellow sand-hills,
with good grazing around it and fresh water which can be obtained by
digging in certain places, which one needs to know from experience,
as there is no indication of its whereabouts.
North-west of Shyata there is a cluster of uninhabited oases, Gagub,
Melfa and Exabia. They are queer wild places with wonderful rock
scenery, huge towering limestone cliffs, deep morasses, and stretches
of shining water, edged with rotting palm trees, like
“. . . That dim lake
Where sinful souls their farewell take
Of this sad world.”
These oases have a strangely evil appearance, one could well imagine
the witches of Macbeth celebrating their midnight orgies in such
places. At night a feverish miasma rises from the dark rotting
vegetation, and with it myriads of venomous mosquitoes. By moonlight
the scene is even more _macabre_; the gigantic masses of strangely
shaped rocks take on the appearance of
“Dome, pyramid, and pinnacle,
A city of death, distinct with many a tower
And wall impregnable——.”
and the dead branches on the gaunt palm trunks sway like corpses
on a gallows tree. When I trekked in these parts I always tried to
camp for the night above the cliffs, but this was no easy matter,
as in places they rose perpendicularly from the ground.
Yet the presence of innumerable sepulchral chambers cut in the cliffs
shows that these melancholy valleys were once inhabited. The water
here is practically undrinkable. At Gagub there is a well, and on one
occasion my men all drank from it, but it was so strongly impregnated
with sulphur that it had the same effect as a very powerful dose of
physic! There is a great difference between these deep gloomy valleys,
with their oozing marshes and dead funereal palm trees, and Siwa
itself, with its rich gardens, cool defiles and long green vistas
among the trees. From the top of a hill near Melfa, the westernmost
oasis, one can see the dome of the mosque at Jerabub. In Siwa the
mosques have no domes, so one becomes unaccustomed to the sight of
them, and for this reason the dome at Jerabub looks quite impressive,
though it is actually only about the size of those that one sees over
tombs in numbers of the cemeteries of Cairo.
Jerabub used to be the Mecca of Senussiism, but what glory it ever
had has now passed away. To-day it only contains about a hundred
half-starving natives, and a few old sheikhs who still teach the
children in the zowia (religious school). Lately the people were in
such sore straits that the Senussi Wakil, Sidi Ahmed, had to send down
a convoy of grain from the coast, and the Siwans who rode into Jerabub
to sell things returned with their goods and complained that nobody had
any money to spend. The dates in the Jerabub gardens are very inferior,
so the Siwans export quite a lot of dates to their neighbours.
The only man of any wealth in Jerabub was an old retired merchant
called Mohammed el Ithneini. He was so old, and so enormously fat,
that he was unable to walk, and had to be carried about by his slaves
in a litter. In his day he had been a great merchant, travelling
between Tripoli, Wadai, Egypt and the Sudan, and in course of time he
had amassed considerable riches. But lately, finding himself short
of cash, with a large family to support, he began to raise money on
his belongings.
One day I got information that two men from Jerabub had passed through
Siwa on their way to the coast and Egypt without coming to the office
to see whether they had anything on which to pay customs. Customs
are collected at Siwa on imports from the west. I sent a patrol
after them and brought them back to the Markaz. One of them was a
grandson of the old sheikh, and the other was his cousin. I examined
their camels, and ordered them to turn out their bags, which they did
very reluctantly. They spread the contents out on the steps of the
Markaz. It was quite like a scene from the Arabian Nights. There were
heavy silver anklets, curiously chased bangles, silver earrings shaped
like a young moon with filigree bosses from which hung long silver
chains with little pendants, rings, brooches, necklaces, several small
lumps of gold, two complete sets of trappings and armour for an Arab
horse made of silver-gilt and gold-fringed velvet, filigree ornaments
and cases for charms and a little bag full of seed pearls; all this
was emptied out of two dirty old leather bags. It made a fine show
shining in the sunlight and I longed to make a bid for some of it,
but I came to the conclusion that it couldn’t be done. They were
taking it to sell to a certain merchant in Cairo, so I sent them up
with a Camel Corps patrol who were going to the coast, as already
the Siwans were casting envious eyes on the stuff. The men returned
two months later and told me that they got £140 for the lot, which
I myself had estimated as being worth a very great deal more. For
several years the old merchant had been sending stuff to be sold in
Cairo, and every year I imagine he received as small a price.
Among the valuables in his house there are a number of old Persian
and Turkish carpets, but these he keeps as they are too heavy to send
about. I had entered into negotiations with him about some of these,
but just when the bargain was being completed I got a bad “go”
of fever and had to leave for the coast. A few of the Siwan sheikhs
have good carpets, but they know their worth and are very unwilling
to part with them. Other household articles that some Siwans possess
and are very proud of are large brass Turkish samovars which they
use with charcoal for making tea. Their owners say that they were
originally brought from Constantinople, but now they have become quite
like heirlooms, and curiously enough they do not seem to wear out.
South of Siwa, beyond the shifting yellow sand-hills, there is a vast
stretch of desert without a single shred of vegetation which reaches
down to the Sudan. Only the first hundred miles has been explored,
beyond that is _terra incognita_. The Arabs call this the Devil’s
country, and rightly so. In these huge silent spaces one sees incessant
mirage, for which the native name is Devil’s water, and frequently
“the genii of the storm, urging the rage of whirlwind,” sends
a high hurricane of hot stinging sand tearing across the desert,
smothering men and beasts in blinding dust, snatching up anything
that is loose and bearing it away.
“In solitary length the Desert lies,
Where Desolation keeps his empty court.
No bloom of spring, o’er all the thirsty vast
Nor spiry grass is found; but sands instead
In sterile hills, and rough rocks rising grey.
A land of fears! where visionary forms,
Of grisly spectres from air, flood and fire
Swarm; and before them speechless Horror stalks.
Here, night by night, beneath the starless dusk,
The secret hag and sorcerer unblest
Their Sabbath hold, and potent spells compose,
Spoils of the violated graves——”
I once trekked down here in summer-time on the track of some
gun-runners who were supposed to be making for Egypt from the west. It
is a dreary region, horribly dead and monotonous, consisting of
alternate stretches of hard ground covered with shining black pebbles,
and white sand-dunes, stretching east and west, where the sand is so
soft and powdery that camels and men sink deep into it, and the surface
is so hot that one can hardly bear to feel it. There are no tracks or
mashrabs, and we were the first party to set up cairns on the hills,
wherever there were stones. If one travelled on and on for about a
thousand miles one would arrive at Darfur, in the north-west corner
of the Sudan. Until the war Darfur was an independent kingdom whose
Sultan, Ali Dinar, reigned from his capital El Fasher in a similar
manner to the Sultan of Wadai.
The Kufra, sometimes spelt “Kufara,” group of oases lie south-west
of Siwa, but owing to its distance from all civilization Kufra
was never of any importance historically or politically, though
comparatively lately it has become a convenient retreat for some of
the Senussi sheikhs. Quite a number of natives who had recently been
in Kufra visited Siwa during the time that I was there, and when I
questioned them, and various Siwans who knew Kufra well, they all
described it as being very thinly populated, less fertile and very
inferior to the Siwa oasis—from their point of view. When I discussed
the possibilities of visiting it they were exceedingly surprised
at the idea of anybody wishing to see Kufra, which they described
as being “muskeen”—wretched—but at the same time they said
that the people in Kufra would certainly not object to anybody going
there, as it was in no way a sacred place like Jerabub used to be at
one time. At Kufra there is no strange metropolis like that of Siwa,
and as recently as 1854 an English traveller who visited Jalow and
Augila stated that Kufra was practically uninhabited, except during
a certain month of the year when natives from the other oases went
there in order to gather the dates.
There is a great fascination in travelling over unexplored desert;
somehow I always had the feeling that perhaps beyond the rocky skyline,
or perhaps over the next ridge of sand-hills, there might possibly
appear the languidly swaying palm trees of some unknown oasis. Nobody
has penetrated into the heart of this desert, and it is not beyond the
realms of possibility that there are oases, either inhabited like the
lost land of Atlantis or like the mysterious desert cities that the
story-tellers describe to their evening audience in the market-place,
hidden away among those unmapped plains of the Sahara.
There are still great possibilities of excavating at Siwa, and in
the outlying oases, which have been even less explored, but I myself
had neither the leisure nor the money to do any serious digging. In
many parts of the oasis, sometimes in the middle of a palm grove, one
finds what appear to be the foundations of ancient buildings, made of
well-squared stones; and many of the rock tombs, especially in the
cliffs of the more distant oases, still contain mummies. I examined
a number of them myself, but with no luck, as they were, apparently,
of a very inferior class and had no ornaments buried with them. Near
some of them there were broken earthenware pots of an antique shape
not made in Siwa to-day. All the tombs whose entrances are visible in
the Hill of the Dead, the great rock mausoleum outside Siwa town, have
been rifled many year ago and nothing is left except scattered bones,
skulls and scraps of grave wrappings. A few of the finest tombs have
been converted into dwellings by some poor Siwans who are courageous
enough to brave the demons of the hill in order to secure a freehold
residence, cool in summer and warm in winter, and scented with the
“——Faint sweetness from some old
Egyptian fine worm-eaten shroud
Which breaks to dust when once unrolled.”
But on the whole Siwans strongly disapprove of interfering with the
tombs, although they firmly believe that some of the hills near the
town contain hidden treasure, more valuable
“Than all Bocara’s vaunted gold
Than all the gems of Samarcand.”
All the more obvious places, such as the ruins of the Temple of Jupiter
Ammon, at Omm Beyda, have been thoroughly dug about, but after spending
some time in the oasis one comes across various places that appear
to be untouched—virgin soil for the excavator.
Behind the hill on which my house, Kasr Hassuna, was built there
stood another great, isolated, limestone rock about 70 feet high with
a circumference of about 400 yards. One evening, when I was climbing
on this rock looking for a hawk’s nest, I came across the entrance
of what I supposed to be a cave right at the top. I went in, but as
I found that it stretched far into the rock I sent for my servants
and an electric torch; then armed with this I pushed on into the
darkness. There was a narrow tunnel about 5 feet high and 3 feet
wide cut out of solid rock, and sloping downwards so steeply that in
some places one could almost have sat down and tobogganed along. The
tunnel, which was about 10 or 11 yards long, terminated at the mouth
of a deep, dark shaft like a well, going straight down into the depths
of the earth. I did no more exploring that day.
On the next morning some of the sheikhs, who had evidently heard
of my discovery from the servants, told me the following story
very solemnly. Many years ago, in the time of their grandfathers,
Sheikh Hassuna, the owner of the kasr—castle—discovered, as I
had, the tunnel in the rock. He naturally supposed that it was the
entrance to a place of hidden treasure, but he did not like the idea
of going down the shaft himself, and he could find nobody else who
would. There was at this time a very venerated Fiki in Siwa, and
eventually Sheikh Hassuna persuaded him to make the first descent,
in order that he might exorcise the jinns and make it safe for the
sheikh to secure the treasure. The Fiki was lowered at the end of a
rope, with a torch, a Koran and a supply of incense. A few seconds
afterwards the people who were in the tunnel and looking into the
pit were startled by a rushing of wings and a great cloud of black
smoke, which was the jinns escaping from the place. When they hauled
up the Fiki he told them the following tale. At the bottom of the
pit there was a vast chamber hewn out of stone, and at one end of it
there was an iron door. When the Fiki began to read from the Koran
the door swung open and two terrible jinns passed out of it, escaped
up the shaft, and another jinn, a female, with huge wings, appeared
and ordered him to depart and to warn all others never to visit the
place again. So since that day nobody in Siwa disturbed the genii
of the hill. Finally, the sheikhs advised me, if I would go down,
to take with me somebody who could read the Koran.
The same afternoon I called on an old Sudanese Fiki, called Haj
Gabreen, and invited him to come exploring with me. He was a stalwart
old Sudani about sixty years old, much respected by his compatriots
of the Camel Corps and reputed skilful in doctoring and magic. He was
decidedly nervous, but at length agreed to come, mainly, I suppose,
owing to the audience of Camel Corps men who were listening. The
affair was now, to my mind, patronized by the Church. I got a dozen
of my stoutest men and a long rope. They lowered me down first, then a
couple of men, followed by the Fiki who bumped from side to side with
many groans and ejaculations of “Ya salaam”—“wallahi.” It
was very disappointing. The shaft was about 25 feet deep, narrow at
the top, but widening as it got lower. At the bottom there certainly
was a sort of chamber cut out of the rock, but very roughly done;
the floor of it was covered with a mass of loose stone and rubble
which had evidently fallen in at some time, possibly during one of
the earthquakes which are mentioned as occurring frequently at Siwa
by the eighteenth-century travellers who visited the oasis. There was
absolutely nothing in the shape of a door or a tomb, but one could
not tell what there was further down as it was choked with loose stuff.
I had men working at it for several days, trying to clear out the
debris, but there seemed to be no end to it, and as one had to haul
up every basket of stone to the top and then pass it from hand to
hand along the tunnel, the difficulty was very great. The atmosphere,
too, was very close and hot. Eventually we came to some large pieces
of detached rock which we were unable to raise, and as the work had
no appreciable result I finally gave it up.
Some time afterwards I went to see the tombs of the kings at Thebes. My
orderly, who had been at Siwa, was with me, and we were both struck
by the similarity between the tombs of the kings and the underground
place at Siwa, the latter of course being on a very small scale. Later,
when I discovered that Siwa was at one time famous for its emerald
mines, the idea suggested itself that this might have been an old
mine. Unfortunately, not being an archæologist, I was unable to
determine from the size and construction of the place whether it was
likely to be a tomb or not. I afterwards discovered another passage,
narrow but higher, cut into the outside of the rock about half-way
down, apparently with the idea of tapping the shaft, but it only
reached a few yards and then seemed to have been left uncompleted.
Haj Gabreen, the old Fiki who went down the shaft with me, evidently
spread a very fantastic rumour of my discoveries, because after I left
Siwa I got messages from the Governor inquiring whether I really had
found an iron door in the middle of the hill.
There seemed to be an abnormally large number of old men in Siwa,
as the climate is apparently conducive to old age. Siwans, like many
other natives, are very vague about their own ages. Often if one asks
them how old they are they reply, “Whatever age you would wish,” or
sometimes, “The same age as your Excellency”—which they seem to
consider a polite answer. Certainly most of the deaths that occur are
those of young children or very old people. Considerable deference
is paid to old age, although it may not always be accompanied by
corresponding virtue. When I was at Siwa the “Oldest Inhabitant”
was a wrinkled old man called Haj Suliman, the grandfather of
one of the principal merchants. He used to spend most of his time
sitting outside his house gossiping to the passers-by, and I often
stopped to talk to him. Unfortunately he was deaf and had no teeth,
so conversation between us was not very brisk. He and his relations
told me that he was 102 years old; he looked about 90, and could not
have been less than 85. He used to tell me about his one and only
visit to Cairo, some sixty years ago, on his way home from Mecca. He
also remembered and described quite clearly the visit of a certain
English traveller to Siwa in 1869.
One day I heard a great deal of noise in the neighbourhood of
Haj Suliman’s house; on inquiry I was told that there was a
“fantasia” going on, so I strolled over to see it. I found a
number of dancers, music in the shape of drums and whistles, and free
“lubki” being handed round. Carpets were spread in the courtyard
and Haj Suliman, very gaily dressed, was receiving the company,
surrounded by his sons and grandchildren. He looked very pleased with
himself and invited me to drink tea, which I did. All the time he
stood near, evidently expecting me to say something to him. Eventually
I asked him why he was giving a “fantasia”—at which the whole
family began talking and telling me that it was for a wedding. “But
where is the bridegroom?” I asked, and Haj Suliman leant forward
with a silly grin on his antique face. Then, to my amazement, they
told me that the old gentleman himself was the bridegroom, this being
his thirty-sixth wedding and the bride was 14 years old. I realized
that he had been expecting my congratulations, so I offered them,
as he was evidently not of the opinion that “crabbed age and youth
cannot live together.” He died suddenly about eight months later,
“a victim of connubiality.” I had seen him the day before in
his garden working hard with an enormous iron hoe as big as a spade,
which is much used in Siwa.
Another very old man in Siwa was an aged Sudani who sold a queer
little collection of oddments in a corner of the market. At one time
he had acted as postman for the Senussi between Siwa and Kufra. He
told me, and I heard it besides from various sources, that he used to
go alone to Kufra by a track across the sand-dunes south of Siwa. He
was paid three pounds for each trip, but the danger was enormous;
if his camel had strayed or fallen ill he would have been absolutely
done for. Another queer old character was an old woman called Hanoui,
who was at one time a secret agent and remarkably clever at acquiring
information. She was also useful when one wanted to get baskets made.
The only real industry in Siwa, and it is not an important one, is the
making of mats and basket work from palm fronds. Mats and large coarse
hampers for carrying dates on camels are made by men. The mats are
usually round, very strong, lasting and useful. The Arabs buy large
quantities of them when they come down for dates in the autumn. The
baskets are made entirely by women. They are manufactured from thin
strips of palm leaves which become like raffia; sometimes they are
coloured with dye, but the better kinds are ornamented with minute
patterns of coloured silk worked into the sides, and decorated with
tassels of variegated coloured silks and scarlet leather flaps in
which to fasten cords for holding them.
The work is very fine indeed, so fine that in some cases the baskets
will even hold water. They are made in various shapes, but generally
round with a conical cover. Besides baskets they make dishes and
platters with covers to them, which are used for carrying food
and fruit. These baskets are exceedingly attractive and useful and
command a high price in Cairo and in England. They are very light
and can be made in “nests” of five or six, in order to be more
easily conveyed. They are very distinctive and quite different to
those that are made at Assuan, in Sinai, or the Sudan.
Siwan women also make a rough kind of pottery. They get the clay from
a hill near Siwa, and another kind of clay which they make into paint
from another place on the oasis. The pottery is all made by hand,
not on a wheel, so it is very rough, but it acquires a good colour
and a slight glaze. It is used for making bowls, dishes, pitchers
and little braziers for a charcoal fire on which the kettle is kept
hot when the Siwans make tea. These utensils are ornamented with
rude patterns of a darker colour, the ground being generally yellow,
or a reddish brown. I found that there was one old man in Siwa who
was a professional toy-maker, which is an occupation that one rarely
comes across among Mohammedans, all forms of statues or images being
forbidden by the Koran as tending towards the worship of idols. But the
Siwan children have dolls and toy animals, and they are very cleverly
made, too. This old man made them chiefly of rags stuffed with sawdust,
and they really compared very favourably with the “Teddy bears”
and other monstrosities that one sees at home. Siwan children are
queer little things, very solemn and not as lively as the small
Sudanese. They start working at an early age, and before that they
seem to spend most of their time dabbling about in the streams among
the gardens. One difference that one notices between these small
children and ones of the same age at home is that the former are not
given to the tiresome habit of continually asking questions.
In trying to develop the basket-making industry one meets with many
difficulties. The women are casual and lazy, so that it is almost
impossible to ensure a definite supply of baskets by a certain
date. The fact that the baskets are made only by women who live
in strict seclusion is a great disadvantage, as one has to explain
everything through a third person. Once as a great privilege I was
allowed to see a woman at work on some baskets. She was the mother
of one of the policemen, quite a venerable old thing, but for the
occasion she sat swathed in a thick veil with only one eye showing,
and thus with great difficulty she gave a demonstration of how baskets
were made. I suggested several new shapes and patterns which she very
quickly understood and taught to the others.
[Illustration: SIWA TOWN FROM THE SOUTH]
With the bedouin women it is different. During the war, especially at
the close of the Senussi operations, there was great destitution among
the Arabs. Numbers of men who had served with the Senussi were killed,
and many others retired over the frontier and never returned. Their
wives and children were left unprovided for. As usual the English,
against whom they had been fighting, turned and helped these
refugees. Miss Baird, the daughter of the late Sir Alexander Baird,
collected a number of these women and their children at Amria, in the
desert west of Alexandria, and in conjunction with the F.D.A. started a
carpet-making industry. She lived amongst them herself, superintended
the work, and by degrees she acquired a wonderful influence over
them. She became somewhat like Lady Hester Stanhope in the Lebanon,
only her influence was not due to religious superstition. I once
stopped at Amria on my way from Cairo to Sollum by camel in the early
days of the industry, and I shall never forget my first impression
of the four or five hundred wild bedouin women working away at the
carpets like girls in a factory at home, absolutely controlled by
one young Englishwoman right out in the desert. Miss Baird’s death
in 1919 was a very great loss, but the work that she began is still
being carried on by the F.D.A., who have moved the factory from
Amria and installed it in an imposing building at Behig, which is
the headquarters of the Eastern District of the Western Desert.
One of the things that is noticeable at Siwa is the absence of
flowers. Owing to there being no rain there is no sudden burst of
vegetation in the spring, as there is along the coast. At certain times
there is blossom in the gardens on the various trees—apples, almonds,
pomegranates, lemons, etc.—and for a month or two there are roses and
a very heavily scented flowering shrub called “tamar-el-hindi.”
But one does not see the riot of colour that follows on the track of
the rains. There are very few wild animals, too. In the neighbouring
oases one sees gazelle and a few foxes, and in Siwa itself there are
quantities of jackals. According to the natives an animal which they
call “Bakhr wahash”—wild ox—is to be found at a place called
Gagub, an uninhabited oasis, consisting of a salt lake surrounded by
sterile palm trees, between Siwa and Jerabub. But when I went there
I saw no signs of the creature. It is described as being the size of
a donkey, of a yellowish brown colour, with two horns like a cow’s.
In Siwa there are very few domestic animals. None of the people
keep camels, partly because they have no need for them, and partly
owing to the presence of the “ghaffar” fly which inoculates
camels and horses with a disease that shortens their life very
considerably. For this reason one set of camels belonging to the
F.D.A. remain permanently at Siwa in order to avoid spreading the
disease among the camels on the coast. Almost every man in Siwa has
a donkey, and some of the large landowners have thirty or forty. One
meets them everywhere, in the streets trotting along under enormous
loads, but carrying them apparently with the greatest ease. The Siwans
rarely walk any distance, they always ride. The donkeys are stout
little beasts and are better treated on the whole than in Egypt. They
are imported by the Gawazi Arabs from Upper Egypt and the Fayum, via
Farafra, the oasis of “Bubbling Springs,” which lies south-east
of Siwa, but they breed freely in Siwa, and their diet of dry dates
seems to suit them well.
Donkeys are also used as a threshing machine. When the barley is
ripe it is cut and collected and spread out in a circle on a smooth,
hard piece of ground. Ten or fifteen donkeys are harnessed abreast,
in line, and driven round and round over the barley; when they wheel
the innermost donkey moves very slowly, and the outer ones trot
fast. In this way the corn is crushed out of the husks. Afterwards
it is winnowed by the simple process of throwing it up into the air
so that the straw blows away and leaves only grain. There are about
a hundred cows in Siwa; they are small animals, about the size of a
Jersey, but they give very good milk.
At certain times one sees quite a number of birds at Siwa, but they
are mostly migratory. I have noticed crane, duck, flamingo and geese
on the salt lakes; hawks, crows, ravens and owls among the cliffs;
doves, pigeon, hoopoes, wagtails and several varieties of small singing
birds in the gardens. Some of them nest in the oasis, and I collected
about a dozen different kinds of eggs, but unfortunately they all got
broken. There is one bird which is, I believe, indigenous to Siwa,
it is known by the natives as “Haj Mawla.” It is about the size
of a thrush, black with white feathers in its tail, and a very pretty
song somewhat similar to the note of a robin.
Lately the Administration has installed lofts of carrier pigeons along
the coast and at Siwa. On the coast they have been quite successful,
but so far no pigeons have been trained to cross the desert. The hawks
at Siwa are a serious menace to them, and quite a number have been
killed. In former days the Libyan Desert produced ostriches. Browne,
in 1792, mentions that he saw broken eggs and tracks of ostriches on
his way to Siwa. But nowadays there are none. Many of the lions that
were used in the arenas of Rome were brought from Libya, but these
too are now extinct.
“So some fierce lion on the Libyan plain,
Rolls its red eyes, and shakes its tawny mane.”
But the Arabs who travel between the Sudan and Tripoli tell of a long
wadi, with water and vegetation, north of Darfur, which takes three
days to cross by camel, and this wadi, so they say, is full of wild
animals—lions, tigers, giraffe, etc.—which have never been hunted.
Siwa is a bad place for snakes, scorpions and tarantulas. The cerestes,
or horned viper, is very common, as well as several other poisonous
species. One of the most deadly is a little light-coloured snake
with a hard prong at the end of its tail like a scorpion, which lies
half covered with sand. I also saw a specimen of the puff adder. My
house seemed to be a favourite abode of snakes, which may possibly
have been because I had a pigeon loft close to it. Several times I
was awakened in the night by my dog barking in the room and found
a big snake slithering along the floor, or underneath the edge of
the matting. Three men were bitten by snakes while I was there and
died as a result; in each case they had stepped on a snake with bare
feet. Strabo relates that in these parts of Africa the workmen had to
wear boots and rub garlic over their feet to protect themselves. The
local cure, which seems quite ineffective, is to rub the powdered
stems of a broombush on to the bite. Nothing will induce the natives
to touch a snake, dead or alive, with their fingers, as they say the
smell sticks to them and attracts other snakes. I was only once bitten
by a scorpion, and unfortunately I was out on trek without a first-aid
box. It was a large, blackish green scorpion, one of the worst kind,
and it caught me on the end of one of my fingers. But my men knew
what to do from previous experience. They tied my arm tightly at the
elbow and the wrist with a tourniquet, and then cut several gashes
with a razor blade across the finger which had been bitten. It was
very painful during the night, and I had a good deal of fever, but
I was none the worse for it after a couple of days. The cure for
a scorpion bite is a powder made from a snake’s tail, cooked and
pounded, and a few of the natives specialize in making this powder.
There are no snake charmers in Siwa, and I have seen none anywhere on
the Western Desert. In Egypt one meets many, the most famous perhaps
is a man at Luxor. I saw him perform a few days before I left Egypt,
and I was most impressed by his exhibition. One evening, without any
warning, I took him out with me to a place near Karnak, having first
examined him and satisfied myself that he had no snakes hidden about
his clothes. In about a quarter of an hour he discovered seven or
eight snakes. He used no whistle, but walked about in a very small
area muttering to himself, stopping dead every now and then in front
of a stone or a bush, thrusting his hand into it and withdrawing it
clasping a writhing lively snake. Several of the snakes were known to
me as being venomous. He took two of these, one by one, held them to
his wrist, and let them bite him so that when he pulled them off his
flesh they left blood on his hand. Anybody else would have suffered
severely, and would probably have died, but the snake charmer was
immune. His father and his grandfather had practised the same trade
before him, and according to him they had neither of them suffered
in any way by their profession.
CHAPTER VI
CUSTOMS AND SUPERSTITIONS
“. . . Tell the laughing world
Of what these wonder-working charms are made. . . .
Fern root cut small, and tied with many a knot,
Old teeth extracted from a white man’s skull.
A lizard’s skeleton, a serpent’s head:
. . . O’er these the leach
Mutters strange jargons and wild circles forms.”
“Custom is King, nay tyrant, in primitive society.”
AFTER being some time at Siwa one cannot help noticing how very much
the life of the people is influenced by their belief in superstitions
and magic arts. To every ordinary accident or natural phenomenon
they seem to attach a supernatural explanation, and they constantly
carry out little rites, which have no apparent purpose, whose origin
and reason they do not know, but which they explain has been the
custom “min zamaan.” To believe, as they do, without knowing,
is the grossest form of superstition. They have a number of purely
local customs and practices which are entirely different to those
which are prevalent in Egypt, or among the Arabs of the Western
Desert. The Siwans are Mohammedans, and strictly religious in most of
their observances, but in some of their habits one can trace a faint
resemblance to rites that have survived from former times, long before
the people adopted their present religion. But most of the apparently
meaningless practices are founded on the inherent fear of evil spirits,
which are implicitly believed in by all the inhabitants.
These fabulous beings are of many kinds, and have various
characteristics; there are jinns, in whose veins runs fire instead
of blood, who once inhabited the earth, but sinned and were driven
away by the angels of God; Sheytans, who are children of Iblis, the
Devil; Afreets, Marids; and Ghouls, who are female demons and live
among deserts and graveyards, assuming various forms and luring men
to death. These creatures are usually found in caves, tombs, wells,
empty houses, latrines, and at cross roads. Sometimes they assume
the shapes of men and sometimes they appear in the forms of domestic
animals; in Siwa they are said to favour most the disguise of a cow.
Among the most ignorant natives one meets with a decided reluctance to
discuss things that are supernatural, but the more educated men are
willing to speak of them. As in all countries the lower classes are
the most credulous. For instance, in the case of certain old women
who are reputed to be witches, the poor people avowedly believe in
them, while the upper classes pretend not to; but when there is a
birth or a wedding in the family of a sheikh, or a notable, they
send presents to these old women saying that it is merely charity,
although at heart they consider it safer to propitiate them in order
to avert possible misfortune. It is rather like the lady in church
who always bowed at the name of the Devil, because she thought it
safer to be on the right side!
The difference between the customs and superstitions of the Siwans
and those of the Arabs on the desert which surrounds them is due to
the fact that the former are of Berber origin. Their whole system of
living is different, too. The Siwans are town dwellers whose dominant
principle has been a sort of communism, whereas the Arabs are nomads,
who adopted patriarchalism as their method of rule. The Siwans fought
on foot, the Arabs were essentially cavalry. There are sheikhs in Siwa,
but they are more like the members of a town council, while the real
Arab sheikh corresponds to the feudal lord of the Middle Ages. It is
strange to find the Siwans, with such a definite, different scheme
of living, existing in the midst of a desert whose Arab population
regards them almost as foreigners.
Two distinct kinds of magic are practised in Siwa, Divine magic, or
white magic, and Satanic, or black magic, black being considered the
Devil’s colour. Certain old men and Fikis (readers of the Koran
in the mosques) are supposed to have particular gifts in telling
fortunes, compounding medicines and composing charms against evil,
especially against the much dreaded Evil Eye. They work with the
aid of the Koran, and by reciting long prayers and the names of
Allah. This is legitimate magic. These men are conspicuously regular
in their attendance at the mosques, and their power is attributed
to their peculiar goodness. Women are considered by Mohammedans, and
particularly by Siwans, to be by nature more wicked than men. One Arab
writer speaks of woman as “The Devil’s Arrow,” and another says,
“—I stood at the gates of hell and lo, most of its inmates were
women.” Even in the _Thousand and One Nights_ one reads:
“Verily women are devils created for us, they are the source of all
the misfortunes that have occurred among mankind, in the affairs of
the world and religion—”
“Verily women are treacherous to everyone near and distant:
With their fingers dyed with henna: with their hair arranged
in plaits:
With their eyebrows painted with kohl; they make one drink
of sorrow;”
This is the reason that any skill that the Siwan women possess in
medicine, making amulets, or tracing lost property, is, as a matter of
course, ascribed to their evil practices and their use of black magic,
whereby they are able to invoke demons, ghools and afreets to carry
out their orders, either for good or for evil. For this reason they
keep their doings as secret as possible, and this secrecy increases
their notoriety and evil reputation. But as their methods are said
to be usually successful they are patronized as much, or even more,
than the men, especially by their own sex. So there is quite a lively
rivalry between Fikis, or wizards, and the wise women, or witches.
Siwan women, owing to their precarious position as wives, are
not fond of bearing children. Many of them use medicines, made
from certain plants and herbs that grow in the oasis, to prevent
childbirth. Browne mentions, as far back as 1792, that it was a
common practice at Siwa for women to take their newly born infants,
probably girls, up to the top of the walls and throw them over the
battlements. There was one case of child murder reported while I was
living there. Siwan women are not as hardy as Sudanese or Arab women,
and the Egyptian doctor is of course never allowed to attend them
for births. Women are looked after by the Siwan midwives, old women
who have considerable practical experience, but make up for medical
ignorance by a vast knowledge of amazingly futile superstitions. As a
result quite a number of children die at birth. It was suggested that
a Siwan woman should be sent to Cairo and be trained in a hospital;
after much difficulty a suitable woman was found who was brave enough
to be the first Siwan woman to leave the oasis, but unfortunately
the proposition was never carried through.
When the birth of a child occurs in the family of one of the sheikhs
or notables it is celebrated with great rejoicings, especially if the
baby is a boy, as there is an enormous superfluity of women in Siwa. On
the seventh day after the birth all the female friends and relations of
the mother come to the house to congratulate her, bringing their own
children with them. She receives them with the child and the midwife,
herself lying on the bare floor. It is the custom for all women,
even the wives of the richest sheikhs, who occasionally have an old
brass bedstead in their room, to sleep on the floor for ten days after
giving birth to a child. A meal is provided for the guests—sweets,
cakes, fruits, Arab tea, and a curious sort of edible clay which is
brought from near Jerabub. This clay is a yellowish colour, tasting
very like a mushroom, and is always eaten by Siwan, and sometimes
by Arab, women when they are expecting a child. But the essential
necessity at this meal is fish, which in a place that is 200 miles
from the sea, and where there are no fresh-water fish of eatable size,
is somewhat difficult to obtain. However, the merchants make a special
point of bringing a species of salted fish from Cairo, which by the
time it arrives at Siwa can be smelt from several streets away. This
delicacy is the _chef d’œuvre_ at birthday parties. It is curious
that the Arabs on the coast, who could catch fresh fish, have the
strongest abhorrence to eating fish of any kind. The practice at Siwa
was inaugurated by the mother of Sidi Suliman, the patron sheikh,
on the birth of her son.
If the child is a boy the father decides on his name, but in the
case of a girl the mother is sponsor. After the meal everybody looks
at the child and congratulates the mother. Then the midwife, who is
generally a toothless, dirty old hag, mixes some henna and paints
the cheeks of all the children with a red stripe, and they run out
into the streets and markets calling out the names of the child. The
women remain. A large, round, earthenware bowl, specially made for the
occasion, is then brought in and filled with water. Each woman throws
into it her bracelets and silver ornaments. They stand in a circle
holding the bowl while the midwife recites the name of the child,
and the others repeat phrases, such as, “May he be happy—may he
be favoured by Allah—may Allah avert all evil from him.” Then
they solemnly raise the bowl several times in the air and let it
drop to the ground; the bowl smashes into atoms, the water splashes
over the floor, the bracelets and bangles roll along the ground,
and the child screams loudly with fright. At this all afreets and
jinns take flight, and the newly born child is blessed with fortune
and riches. Afterwards the women collect their jewellery and return
to their homes. Young children are not washed or kept clean; they are
deliberately made to look as unattractive as possible, at an early age,
in order not to tempt Providence. The Siwans dislike people to admire
their belongings, especially their children, who are considered most
susceptible to the Evil Eye, as it is thought that nothing can be
more valuable than one’s offspring.
The status of a woman in Siwa is low. She is worth less, and is of
less importance, than a donkey. She is worth, in money, a little less
than a goat. There is a strange custom in Siwa which is absolutely
different to that among the Arabs or the Egyptians. There is a fixed
price for a woman; that is to say, the “marriage money” paid by
the man to his future wife’s parents is in all cases exactly the
same—120 piastres (£1 4s.). It makes no difference whether the girl
is young or old, maid or widow, rich or poor, exquisitely beautiful,
which is rare, or hideously ugly, which is common; the only thing
that varies is the trousseau of clothes which is given by the man to
his bride, and the quality of this depends on his means. The present
of a poor man would be one gown, one silk handkerchief, one shawl
and one pair of trousers, but a rich man would give his wife several
silk robes and silver ornaments. There were innumerable quarrels on
the subject, especially when wives were divorced and their husbands
tried to keep the clothes (which belonged rightly to the woman) and
give them to the next wife. Daughters, among the Arabs, if they are
sufficiently attractive, are a source of wealth to their parents,
owing to the large amount of “marriage money” which they can
demand, but in Siwa they bring in practically nothing. Marriage is
not a binding institution. According to the Mohammedan law a wife
can be divorced by her husband merely saying, “I divorce thee,”
before two witnesses; he can do this twice, and after each time, if
he changes his mind, he can order his wife to return to him, and she
is compelled to do so. But if he says it three times, or if he says,
“Thou art triply divorced,” it is irrevocable and he cannot get
her back until she has been married to another man and divorced by
him also. But such a contretemps rarely occurs.
[Illustration: A BRIDE—THE DAUGHTER OE BASHU HABUN BEFORE HER
WEDDING]
In Siwa a man marries, then divorces his wife as soon as he gets bored
by her, and marries another. One man probably repudiates several dozen
women in his lifetime, but each of them in her turn is his regular,
official and recognized wife. Polygamy is rare, in fact almost unknown,
because when a man fancies a new wife he divorces his present one;
owing to this there is very little promiscuous immorality, but the
line between marriage and prostitution is very slender. A divorced
woman does not lose caste, and in most cases she appears to have a
better chance of marrying again than an unmarried girl. Men marry at
sixteen, and girls from nine to twelve years old, so a girl of eleven
has often been married and divorced several times. This state of
things is simply the ordinary Mohammedan custom as regards marriage,
but carried on in an absolutely lax manner. It has always been the
same in Siwa, and so it is considered right and proper. It must be
so confusing for the people to remember who is So-and-So’s wife
for the time being. Naturally the prevailing conditions have a very
disastrous effect on the birth-rate.
A first-time marriage in the family of a sheikh or a rich notable is
celebrated by festivities which last sometimes for several days. On
the eve of the wedding, towards sunset time, the bride dresses in
her richest clothes and accompanied by twenty or thirty girls walks
through the gardens to a spring near the town called Tamousy. This
spring is one of the oldest and most beautiful in Siwa. It is
surrounded by stately palm trees and tropical vegetation; it is deep
and very clear and the ancient masonry round it is still in excellent
preservation. As the young bride and her attendants walk through the
palm groves they chant a curious tune, a plaintive melody that sounds
more like a dirge than a wedding song.
“As from an infinitely distant land
Come airs, and floating echoes, that convey
A melancholy into all our day.”
The scene at the spring is very picturesque; the girls and women
stand grouped round the water, their dark robes and silver ornaments
reflected in its blue depths. Very solemnly the bride removes the large
round, silver disc that hangs on a solid silver ring from her neck,
which denotes that she is a virgin; she then bathes, puts on different
clothes and has her hair plaited and scented by one of her friends. The
procession then returns homewards. On the way they are met by another
party of women, the relations of the bridegroom, who bring presents of
money for the bride, each according to her means. An old woman collects
the coins in a silk scarf, carefully noting the amount given by each
individual, and the two parties return together, singing, through
the palm-bordered paths to the town. These “virginity discs”
are sometimes of great age, having been handed down from mother to
daughter as heirlooms. Formerly they were always made of solid silver,
but now they are often made of lead with a silver coating.
One evening rather late I was bathing at Ein Tamousy, swimming
round the spring without making much noise. Suddenly I looked up
and saw a large crowd of girls—a wedding party—standing on the
path above. It was most awkward. I splashed loudly, but they were
singing and talking so noisily that they did not hear. Eventually one
of them saw me and screamed out that there was a jinn in the spring,
whereupon the whole crowd fled shrieking into the gardens, leaving the
bride’s wedding garment lying on the ground. I hastily slipped out,
clutched my clothes and dressed hurriedly behind some palm trees,
from whence I watched the party cautiously returning, one by one,
to see whether the monster had disappeared.
Meanwhile the bridegroom collects his friends and summons the Fiki;
carpets are spread in the courtyard of his house, which is illuminated
with candles and lanterns, and dishes of food are set before the
guests. As soon as the marriage contract is settled each guest seizes
as much food of any sort as he can possibly hold in his hand and
crams it into his mouth; the more he eats the more he is supposed
to show his friendship for the bridegroom. The usual tea generally
follows. At midnight the bridegroom’s friends and relations—men,
women and children—carrying lanterns and flaring torches, walk in
procession through the narrow streets to the house of the bride and
demand her from her father.
On the return of the bride from her bath she is taken by her mother and
hidden in an upper room of the house. When the bridegroom’s family
have arrived they collect outside the door and call out, “Bring
out the bride, the gallant groom awaits her.” The girl’s family
answer, “We have lost her, we have lost her.” Then “Find her,
the bridegroom is getting impatient,” and the answer is, “She
is asleep, still sleeping.” Then the bridegroom’s family say,
“Go, wake her, and bring her to her man.” Then the women of the
bride’s house weep and scream, and there is a mock fight between the
families. The men flourish their sticks and sometimes actually strike
each other, but eventually the girl is produced and handed over to the
bridegroom’s family by her father. The mock capture of the bride
and the pretended resistance is possibly a survival of marriage by
conquest, or possibly it is meant to denote excessive modesty on the
part of the bride. If one inquires the reason the Siwans reply that
it has been the custom “min zamaan,” and nobody is any the wiser.
The bride wears her bridal gown, which is a long-sleeved robe
of striped coloured silk and is weighed down with a quantity of
silver ornaments, borrowed, if she has not enough of her own, from
her friends; over this she wears a long woollen blanket entirely
covering her, and she has a sword hung from her right shoulder. In
this costume she rides on a led donkey to the house of the bridegroom,
followed by the people of both families, singing and beating drums
and cymbals. On arrival at the house she is received by an old woman,
usually a Sudanese slave woman, who lifts her off the donkey, and
with the assistance of others carries her across the threshold,
up the stairs, into the bridal room, and lays her on the couch,
taking care that the bride’s feet never touch the ground. The crowd
remain below and are entertained by Zigale dancers, who are hired for
the occasion. Later a sheep is killed at the entrance of the house,
and the blood is smeared across the doorway in the Arab fashion;
and if the family are wealthy several more sheep are roasted whole
and a feast is made for the guests. Thursday is considered the most
propitious day for a wedding, as the girl wakes up for the first time
in her new home on a Friday, which is the Mohammedan Sunday.
All this time the bridegroom remains in the background, taking no
part in the doings. The old woman who received the bride brings
her some dishes of food and a handful of wheat and salt, which she
places beneath the pillow, where it remains for a week to keep away
bad spirits and afreets who might otherwise be attracted to harm
the newly married couple. Then the bridegroom arrives outside the
door and knocks upon it, on which there follows a long conversation
between him and the old woman. She calls out to him saying what a
beautiful bride he has obtained, describing her as a young moon with
eyes like a gazelle, cheeks like peach blossom and the figure of a
swaying willow. After a high-flown eulogy the bridegroom inquires,
“What is the girl worth?” to which the old woman replies, “Her
weight in silver and gold—” which is queer when one remembers
that she is actually worth £1 4s. The old woman then opens the door,
and after receiving a present from the bridegroom retires and leaves
them together. The bridegroom takes the sword from the girl and puts it
under the mattress for use against jinns, takes off the blanket which
entirely covers her, and then removes her right shoe and strikes her
seven times on the foot with the palm of his hand. This is said to
bring luck to the marriage. He stays with her for some time, but the
marriage is not consummated until two days later. During this time
the bridegroom leaves his house and spends his time in the gardens
with one other man, who acts as a sort of best man.
On the third day the presents from the girl’s family arrive:
carved wooden chests, finely made baskets which have taken several
months to complete, earthenware cooking pots and supplies of sugar
and foodstuffs. The money which was given to the girl at the spring
of Tamousy is counted again, and each of the donors is presented with
some doves, rabbits or chickens, in proportion to the amount which
they gave. Among the Arabs, and especially among the Berbers of the
oases in southern Morocco, an excessive shyness and bashfulness exists
between the bridegroom and his mother-in-law and all the bride’s
near relations. This avoidance and aversion to the wife’s relatives
may be another survival of the idea of marriage by conquest, but in
Siwa one does not find it to such an extent as in other places. These
festivities are only celebrated by the wealthier natives, and only
when the girl is being married for the first time. Later marriages
are quieter affairs, with nothing more than a little dancing, a
free distribution of “lubki” and perhaps one sheep cooked for
the guests.
When a Siwan dies his widow is expected to be “ghrula,” that is
in mourning for a month and a half, but the custom has slackened now
and most women marry again as soon as they get the chance. During the
forty-five days the woman dresses in white and keeps to her house,
only going out in the evening after sunset. She lives plainly, eating
no meat and wearing no jewellery. On the last day of her seclusion
the town-crier, accompanied by a boy beating a drum, announces in the
town that the widow of So-and-So will proceed on the following morning
to a certain spring, having completed her period of mourning. On the
next morning a number of boys run through the streets calling out the
same announcement and warning the people by what road she will pass,
in order that they can keep to their houses and avoid seeing her. When
she leaves her house some of her relations go up to the roof and again
call out the warning. At noon the widow, with her hair hanging loose,
her face uncovered, wearing a white robe and no ornaments, walks down
to one of the springs and bathes there. Anybody who meets or sees
her on the way is supposed to incur very bad luck indeed. After this
Lady Godiva-like progress, she hurries back to her house, puts on her
ordinary clothes, oils and dresses her hair and invites a number of her
women friends to a feast. She then begins to hope for another husband.
The town-crier is a venerable, white-bearded individual whose family
have held the post for many generations. It is his duty to announce any
new regulations in the town, and to summon the populace to meetings or
to work. When an announcement has been proclaimed on three consecutive
days it is considered that everybody knows it, and if after this an
order is infringed the excuse of ignorance is not entertained. The
town-crier is a very necessary institution in a place where scarcely
anybody can read, and public notices are therefore useless; his voice
rivals the muezzin’s, and his drum corresponds to the bell of the
old style English bellman.
Funerals in Siwa are simple affairs. They generally take place in the
early afternoon and are attended by almost everybody in the town. When
a death occurs the women in the house raise the deathwail, which is
taken up in piercing accents by the women in the other houses near,
and then by the whole neighbourhood. It sounds appalling, especially
when it starts suddenly in the night. The body is carried on a rough
bier of olive wood, followed by a long procession, the relatives,
the sheikhs and notables, usually riding on donkeys with umbrellas to
shade them from the sun, and a nondescript crowd of women and men. As
the procession passes through the streets the men chant a solemn
dirge and the women swing their veils in the air, throwing dust on
their heads, and every now and then joining in with shrill cries
and wailings. On arrival at the cemetery the women sit down some
distance apart, and the men proceed to the grave, reciting verses
from the Koran. At twilight the women collect again before the door
of the deceased’s house and continue the wailing, and afterwards
the friends of the family are entertained at a funeral feast where
they eat and praise the virtues of the dead person.
[Illustration: THE TOWN CRIER’S DAUGHTER]
There are several cemeteries round the town, some of them belong to the
easterners and some to the westerners. Almost all the roads into the
town cross burying-grounds. Until a few years ago it was the custom to
cover the grave with two split palm logs and a thin layer of earth,
which usually subsided, leaving nothing but wood on the top. These
old graves are still a source of danger, as often when one rides
over them, without knowing, the wood gives way. Graves of sheikhs
are distinguished by a roughly shaped headstone, and generally a
little heap of earthenware braziers, left by the women who come to the
cemetery and burn incense. When a particularly religious or important
Siwan dies, his family keep a guard over the grave at night for about
a fortnight after his death, which they say is necessary to prevent
the ghoulish old witches from profaning it by digging up the corpse
and stealing the dead man’s hair and finger-nails for their charms.
The fear of the Evil Eye is almost more deeply rooted in Siwa than in
Egypt. It is thought that ill-disposed and jealous people can cast a
malignant influence over others, and also over animals and inanimate
objects. The Prophet Mohammed permitted the use of charms against
the Evil Eye, although he forbade them for any other purposes. For
this reason innumerable charms are worn and exhibited by the Siwans;
houses, gardens and olive presses are protected from the much-dreaded
curse by bundles of old bones, animals’ skulls, or black earthenware
pots stuck upside down and set along the roofs. In many houses and in
tombs an aloe plant is hung just inside the entrance, swinging from the
ceiling, which prevents any envious person from doing harm. Special
charms are made for animals by the witches and the Fikis. The charm
used to protect a donkey consists of some ashes, a spider’s web,
a little salt, and a scrap of paper inscribed with a verse from the
Koran, tied in a black bag and hung round the animal’s neck. Some
of the most valuable donkeys have quite a cluster of amulets hung
round them. The ingredients of the various charms manufactured by
the women are very similar to those used by the witches in Macbeth,
those that are the most difficult to obtain being the most efficacious.
But in spite of innumerable precautions people are constantly under the
impression that they have incurred the Evil Eye, and then complicated
rites have to be performed in order to raise the curse. This can be
done in various ways. If the evil wisher is known his victim follows
him without being seen and collects a little sand from his footprints
which he takes to the Fiki. The Fiki, for a small fee, recites certain
verses over it, which removes the curse. Another system is for the
victim to go on a Friday, without speaking to anybody on the way,
to a male date palm. He pulls off some of the stringy, brown fibre
and brings it back to the Fiki who twists it into a cord and binds
it round the man’s head. The patient keeps this on his head during
the day, and in the evening he again visits the Fiki who unties the
cord and reads some appropriate passages from the Koran, after which
the object is no longer in danger. There is another method which is
frequently practised in more serious cases. The Fiki takes a hen’s
egg—presumably a fresh one—and inscribes certain cabalistic signs
upon it. He then burns a great deal of incense and mutters charms;
when the patient has become thoroughly bewildered he takes the egg
and moves it seven times round the victim’s head. He then breaks
it in a basin, gazes fixedly at it, discovers whose is the Evil Eye,
and destroys its power by scattering it on the floor.
Any individual who was popularly supposed to possess an Evil Eye was
carefully avoided. There was one old woman who was particularly feared
on this account. She was quite old and rather mad, but she certainly
had an exceptionally evil expression, and she showed her face more
than most of them. Anybody who met her in the morning, starting out
to his garden or on some expedition, would attribute any mishap that
occurred during the day to her malevolent glance.
The witches of Siwa live among some ruined houses in the highest part
of the old town. Their leader is a little blind woman who is said to
be 100 years old. She looks exactly like one of the shrivelled mummies
that are found in some of the tombs near Siwa, but her scanty wisps
of hair are dyed red which gives a most sinister effect. She creeps
about leaning on a staff, like the regular witch in Grimm’s fairy
tales, and although she is quite blind she manages to slip about the
high battlements like a lizard, knowing by force of habit every stone
in the place. When a client wishes to consult her he comes after
nightfall to a certain place among the ruins high up in the town,
where a number of dark passages converge, and then he calls her. She
lives somewhere up above with two or three others. She mystifies her
visitors by appearing suddenly, quite close to them, noiselessly and
apparently from nowhere.
I once sent a message saying that I should like to make her
acquaintance. One night after dinner I walked over to the town,
taking a man with me who knew the place well. We scrambled up and
up, through pitch-dark passages to the highest part of the town and
eventually arrived at a little low door about 4 feet high, in one of
the narrowest and steepest tunnels. After knocking several times it
was opened. I lit a match and saw the little old woman herself. She
led me up several more dark flights of steps to the roof of the house,
and there, sitting in the moonlight, I drank tea with her. The tea
was served by her grandchild, a Sudanese boy. Unfortunately I could
hardly understand a word she said, but the tea was excellent, and
the view was very fine.
It was a hot summer night, but the high roof was cool with even a
faint breeze blowing across it. Looking down over the parapet one
saw white-wrapped, sleeping figures on the roofs below, and in the
distance there sounded the faint, mysterious melody of reed pipes and
a tom-tom. These Libyan nights are very wonderful; the sky is a deep,
dark blue, powdered with myriads of stars, and every few minutes
a long-tailed meteor flashes downwards. Shooting stars are said to
be hurled by the angels in heaven at the jinns on the earth below,
but the Siwans fear them as they say that each star kills a palm
tree. They prove this statement by arguing that when a tree dies in
a natural way it withers from the bottom, but when it withers from
the top, as many do, it is caused by a falling star.
When a Siwan girl thinks that it is about time that she was married,
and no suitors are forthcoming, she adopts the following custom. On a
Friday, when the muezzins on the mosques are calling the Faithful to
pray at noon, she leaves the house, carrying some sugar in her right
hand and a little salt tightly clutched in her left hand. She covers
her face with her long, grey shawl and hurries through the streets,
avoiding everybody, to a little hill outside the town—close to
the Camel Corps barracks—which is crowned by the tomb of a very
venerated Siwan sheikh. When she arrives she runs seven times round
the tomb, eating the sugar and the salt and calling on the sheikh to
help her. She does this on three Fridays in succession, and after that
somebody comes to her parents and asks for her hand. Later, if she has
a child, she distributes food to the poor at the tomb of the sheikh
as a thank-offering. The actual tomb of Sheikh Abu Arash is inside a
little whitewashed mud building. The tomb is covered with white linen,
which is renewed by devotees of the saint, and a number of ostrich
eggs, brought many years ago from the Sudan, are suspended from the
ceiling. Sometimes women bring flowers and palm boughs and lay them on
the tomb. Often on a Friday I have noticed a woman hurrying round it,
muttering earnestly to herself and hoping for a husband. I wondered at
one time whether the proximity of the Camel Corps barracks had anything
to do with this recipe for obtaining a husband—but the belief has
been held for many years, long before the Camel Corps were thought of.
Another way of obtaining a husband is as follows. The girl summons one
of the “wise women” to her house and provides her with a basket,
which is, by the way, a perquisite. The old woman takes the basket
and goes round to each mosque in the town collecting a handful of dust
from the ground immediately in front of each door. She then brings the
basket full of dust back to the girl and they mix it with olive oil,
making a kind of putty. The girl then brings in a round tin or a large
round dish and takes a bath, using the putty as soap. The old woman
carefully collects the water which has been used in an earthenware
pitcher. She goes out at night again to each mosque and sprinkles a
little of the water round the doors. The next day, when the men come
in and out of the mosques they tread on the place where the water was
poured, and probably some of the mud sticks to their feet. One of them
is sure to demand the girl in marriage. There are various other methods
of attaining the same ends; amulets and charms are manufactured by
the witches, which are supposed to attract a certain man, especially
if the ingredients of the charm include something that once belonged
to him. The whole idea is very much the same as the system of love
philtres and charms that were used in Europe in the Middle Ages.
The witches are supposed to be able to summon jinns whenever they
want to, but any ordinary person has to follow out a complicated
proceeding before being able to do so. The system used for invoking
jinns is only practised secretly, and by women, but it is implicitly
believed in by everybody. For forty-five days the woman eats no meat,
feeding entirely on bread, rice, lentils and fruits. Every evening she
bakes a loaf of wheaten bread, unsalted and flavoured with red pepper,
which is the favourite flavouring among jinns. She takes the loaf,
naked, with her hair hanging loose, to the rubbish heap outside her
house, where she leaves it. On the forty-fourth night a jinn appears
in the form of some familiar animal: a camel, donkey, or cow. If the
woman is afraid it kills her at once, but if she is brave, and speaks
to it, it does her bidding. The jinn tells her to prepare a dinner
on the following night for six of his brothers. Next day she makes
six loaves and flavours them with spiders’ webs besides pepper, and
takes them out to the dust heap as before. She leaves them and returns
an hour later. Then she finds the chief of the jinns, Iblis himself,
waiting for her, a monstrous creature with flaming eyes, horns and
great hooked teeth, breathing out fire from his mouth. This individual
asks her what she desires and promises to carry out her wishes on
the condition that from henceforth she never utters the name of Allah.
There is another even more fantastic story that sometimes at midnight
one of the witches swings a cord from her house on the battlements to
the top of the tall minaret of a mosque just below. She then steps off
the wall and walks along the rope, which is suspended in mid-air, like
a tight-rope dancer. People also assert that it is a practice of the
witches to creep out into the graveyards at night, to dig up a body,
tear off the head, and carry it back in their mouths like animals. This
gruesome habit was ascribed to werewolves in the olden days.
Often when there is a case of theft in the town one of the “wise
women” is summoned to help discover the thief and the whereabouts
of the stolen property. She occasionally finds the property, but
very rarely exposes the culprit. One day a rich merchant came to
my office in a great fuss and complained that a quantity of silver
ornaments belonging to his wife had disappeared from his house. I
held an official inquiry, but there were no clues, and nothing was
found out. Then the merchant invited the help of an old woman called
Marika, who according to popular opinion was assisted by a familiar
jinn. He offered her a substantial reward if she could trace the
jewellery. About a week later Marika came to the merchant and asked him
to collect every single person in his household outside the door of the
house at a certain time that night. The door was closed on the empty
house and the old woman hobbled up and down outside it for about ten
minutes, muttering incantations and watched with considerable awe by
the whole household. After this proceeding she flung open the door and
led the merchant to one of the lower rooms where the missing ornaments
were found lying on the floor near the window. She explained that a
jinn had brought them back; the merchant paid her a reward and she
then retired. Nobody thought of trying to discover who had replaced
the stuff, and my suggestion that the lady herself had some knowledge
of the culprit was indignantly dismissed. These old women have access
to all the harems and have a considerable influence over the women,
so they are able to collect an enormous amount of information which
helps them in affairs like these, though they are by no means always
so successful.
If a number of people are implicated in a theft another very curious
system is used for discovering the culprit. A smooth, round dish, or
a flat, round piece of wood about the size of a plate is produced and
inscribed with curious hieroglyphics and verses from the Koran. Two
men, one of them who has to be an expert, sit down on the ground
facing each other, holding the dish in the air about a foot from the
ground, balanced on the tips of their fingers. Each of the suspects
come in one by one and places a scrap of paper or rag on the middle
of the round piece of wood. If they are innocent nothing happens, but
when the guilty man has dropped his piece of paper on to it the wood
begins to revolve. I have seen this performance done three times; on
two occasions nothing happened, but the other time the wood certainly
did move round, although I could not see how it was manipulated.
Divination, which is considered to be a form of satanic magic among
good Mohammedans, is much practised at Siwa. Perhaps it is the idea
of oracular communication which has lingered in the oasis since the
days when Siwa was famous for its oracle. Its most frequent form is
the interpretation of dreams, but future events are also discovered
by examining certain bones in animals that are slaughtered for food,
in a similar manner to the Roman augeries. The lines on certain bones
of a sheep denote coming events. One old man, after examining the thigh
bone of a young kid, announced to me that ten men and six camels would
arrive on the morrow from Jerabub, and also that a large convoy was
moving from the coast to Jerabub. Part of the prediction turned out
to be true, but I expect that he found out about the camels before
he made the prophecy.
The interpretation of dreams is considered the most reliable guidance
of this kind. When a man has a difficult problem to decide he pays
fees to a Fiki and gives him some small article that belongs to
him. The Fiki takes the article, a cap for instance, and goes to
the tomb of Sidi Suliman or another sheikh; he prays and then lies
down and sleeps. Afterwards he interprets his dream as an answer to
his client’s questions. Sometimes he has to visit the tomb many
times before being able to give any advice, so in an urgent case
this system would not be a success. The art of divination at tombs
is hereditary, and there is a kind of code which attaches definite
meanings to certain things that the man dreams about. The ancient
Berbers who believed in an after life consulted at the graves of
their chiefs in a similar manner.
One of the Fikis, an old man who has performed the Pilgrimage four
times, is an expert fortune-teller. His methods are many, but his
favourite one seems to be a complicated system by which he draws
a species of chart in the sand or on paper, with a number of little
squares or “houses” which he fills in with figures depending on his
client’s birth date. He has other ways of working with sand alone, or
by opening a certain Arabic book on necromancy at random, and reading
from the page at which he happens to open it. The natives have great
faith in him, and say that his predictions are very accurate—but
this was not my opinion when I once consulted him as an experiment.
When there is an epidemic in Siwa, such as the “Spanish Influenza”
which carried off an enormous proportion of the population in 1918,
a ceremony takes place which must have originated when the Berbers
of Siwa made sacrifices to appease their gods. The wealthy men of the
town subscribe together and buy a young heifer. For several days it is
allowed to roam about feeding as it likes in anybody’s garden. On an
appointed day the people assemble in the square before the tomb of Sidi
Suliman, and the heifer is brought forward and decorated with wreaths
and flowers. It is then led seven times round the walls, followed
by a procession of the sheikhs and a band of men and boys playing
on cymbals, drums and pipes. It is led to the gate of the principal
mosque, Gama el Atik; a man steps forward and slits its right ear with
a knife, drawing blood, and then throws the knife away. Afterwards the
butchers slaughter it, cutting up the meat into innumerable minute
pieces and distributing it so that each household in Siwa has one
small piece. The people take the scraps of meat home and hang them up
in their house, and this, so they say, has the effect of removing any
plague or disease that affects the town. Herodotus describes almost
the same ceremony as being a custom among the ancient Libyans.
Every Mohammedan is supposed, once in his lifetime, to perform the
Pilgrimage to Mecca. But only very few Siwans have enough money to
do this. Generally, every summer, two or three men go from Siwa,
taking with them a sum of money, the proceeds of the sale of dates
from certain trees which have been dedicated by their owners as
offerings to the mosque at Mecca. Endowments of this description,
either for the support of a mosque or religious school, or for the
giving of alms to the poor on certain days in the year, are often made
by wealthy Mohammedans. A gift of this kind is called a “wakf,”
and there is a special branch of the Egyptian Government which deals
with them, but in Siwa the “wakfs” are administered by one of
the sheikhs, and this gives cause for a great deal of quarrelling
and libels. The pilgrims from Siwa carry the money with them, though
it often amounts to well over a hundred pounds, which among Arabs is
a very considerable sum, but the sanctity of their purpose protects
them from robbery. They generally accompany a caravan of Arabs going
direct to Alexandria, via the oasis of Gara.
On the day of their departure the whole town turns out to see them off,
escorting them to the most distant spring on the eastern edge of the
oasis. The wives of the pilgrims accompany them, and when they arrive
at the parting-point the following quaint ceremony takes place. The
crowd form up in the background, leaving the pilgrims and their wives
on an open space by the side of the spring. A near relative takes
from the wife of the pilgrim her round silver bangles and rolls them
along the ground, a distance of about a hundred yards, to where the
husband stands facing the east. The wife, who on this occasion is
dressed entirely in white, runs along behind him and gathers up a
little sand from each place where the bracelets stopped rolling and
fell to the ground. She puts the sand carefully into a little leather
bag. After this she stands under a certain very tall palm tree near
the spring while the relative climbs up and cuts off three long palm
fronds which he gives to her. After farewells have been said the
caravan goes on its way, the camels driven along in a bunch in front,
followed by the Arabs and the pilgrims; the wives and people return
to Siwa, the women wailing noisily, and the men beating tom-toms and
singing. The spring is about a mile beyond Aghourmi, and generally
on that day the sheikh of the village gives an entertainment and a
luncheon to some of the people.
On arrival at her house the wife of the pilgrim, with the women of the
family and one near male relation, goes up to the roof and ties the
three palm branches firmly to one corner; she puts the sand into a
little green linen bag and fastens it to the tips of the three palm
fronds, so that they bend towards the east—towards Mecca. This
ensures the pilgrim a safe journey and also serves to let everybody
know that the owner of the house is doing the Pilgrimage.
In two months’ time it is supposed that the pilgrims have reached
Mecca. Their friends and relations have a feast on the roof and hold
a reading of the Koran. Then the man who rolled the bracelets gets up
and pierces the little green bag of sand so that the contents pour
out; he then turns the palm branches round and fixes them in such a
way that they point towards the west, in which position they remain
till the pilgrim returns safely home again.
When it is known that the caravan has arrived at Ain Magahiz, or one of
the outlying springs, a crowd of men ride out to welcome the returned
pilgrims, but their women-folk stay at home, prepare a substantial
meal, and then go on to the roof, take down the palm branches and
watch the distant road for the cloud of dust that invariably announces
a caravan.
There is one festival in Siwa which almost corresponds to our Christmas
Day. It takes place in the winter, on the tenth day of the month of
January. For several days before Yom el Ashur—the tenth day—the
roofs of all the houses where there are children are decorated with
palm branches, 10 or 20 feet long, with a torch soaked in oil fastened
to each branch. After dark, on the eve of the day, all the children
go up on to the roofs and set light to the torches. There is a blaze
of illumination along the walls, and for a few minutes the whole town
is lit by the flaming torches. It is a strange and beautiful sight,
quite as effective as the most elaborate illuminations. The children
on each roof sing songs to each other, and the wail of their voices
sounds far on into the night in a monotonous sweet refrain.
On the following day the children visit each other and exchange
presents which are very like “Christmas-trees.” Each child makes a
square framework of palm branches a few feet long, the white wood is
stained and dyed with coloured patterns, and on it are hung fruits,
nuts and sweets. Some of the richer children give each other doves
and rabbits, but generally they keep to sweets, the most favourite
kind being pink and white sugared almonds which are imported by the
merchants from Cairo. The children of Siwa look forward to Yom el Ashur
with as much pleasure as their parents do to the annual mulids. It
is really a very attractive sight to see these little Siwans, very
clean and in fresh white clothes for the occasion, trooping solemnly
along the streets on their way to visit their friends, while their
papas sit outside their houses and chuckle at them, and the mammas
watch them proudly from an upstairs window.
[Illustration: A LITTLE SIWAN GIRL]
CHAPTER VII
“FANTASIAS”
“A very merry, dancing, drinking,
Laughing, quaffing, and unthinking time.”
“I hear the women singing, and the throbbing of the drum,
And when the song is failing, or the drums a moment mute,
The weirdly wistful wailing, of the melancholy flute.”
SIWANS, on the whole, do not take life very seriously, and when they
have an excuse for an entertainment they thoroughly let themselves go
and are glad of an occasion, if they can afford it, for a terrific
gastronomic display, at which an Englishman feels like a canary
feeding among hungry ostriches. The poor people eat twice a day, in the
morning and evening; the meal consists mainly of dates washed down by
lubki and a few drops of tea. They are very sociable, fond of talk,
of entertaining their friends and holding “fantasias,” but one
notices very much the entire absence of communion between sexes. Men
hardly ever speak to women in public, and it would be considered
quite a scandal for anyone to be seen in company with his own wife,
almost worse than if he was seen speaking to the wife of another man.
With the Arabs it is different. They meet about the camps, and
especially at the wells, which from the time of Rebekah have been
the scene of many flirtations and courtships. The young men often go
and sit by the well-head watching the women drawing water, chaffing
and talking to them and, very occasionally, helping them to haul up a
heavy bucketful. I have often seen most amusing “goings-on” at a
well. Lifting up the weighty tins and drawing up the skins of water
gives the girls an opportunity for coquettish displays of neat arms
and ankles, but an infinitely more modest expanse is exhibited by
these Arabs than by the average young woman in England to-day. But
in Siwa if one rode past a spring where women were washing clothes
they would run off into the gardens as fast as they could, and even
when a Siwan man came to the pool they retired hurriedly with shawls
pulled over their faces, and waited some distance away.
In the hot summer evenings, when noises are hushed and the day’s
work is over, men sit in little groups outside their doors on low
mud benches, drinking tea, discussing the latest “cackle of the
palm-tree town,” and watching the piping shepherds driving their
flocks home from the grazing, raising clouds of golden dust as they
come along the sandy roads. The women collect on the roofs up above,
playing with their children and talking to each other. Each sheikh
sits before his house surrounded by a little crowd of sycophants,
sipping tea and adulation, and listening to the latest scandal told
about his rival of the opposite faction. Passers-by are invited to
join in, and if a stranger arrives there ensues a lengthy greeting of
much-repeated phrases, many hand-shakings, and polite expressions. When
one walked through the market-place after sunset there would be a
murmur of conversation from the shadowy white figures sitting and
lying round the doorways, who rose up and bowed at one’s approach,
and then sank down again silently. This Eastern deference is very
impressive at first, but it does not take long to get accustomed to it.
In Siwa there is no lurid night life like that of Cairo, in which
novelists revel. The people go early to bed and lights are very
little used. Even the quarter of the women of the town is as quiet
as the other streets. There are no noisy cafes with music and
dancing girls, and no hidden houses where natives smoke hashish
and opium. The Senussi religion forbids smoking, or “drinking
tobacco,” as it is called, also coffee, which is supposed to be too
stimulating for the passions, and for this reason tea is the universal
drink. Life is a very leisurely affair, a pleasant monotony, and
“Bukra—inshallah!”—to-morrow, if God wills—is the favourite
expression. Very few games are played. Chess, which was invented in
the East, is unknown, but one sometimes sees a couple of men deeply
absorbed in a game called “helga,” which is rather like draughts,
played with onions and camel-dung on a board which is marked out in
the sand on the ground.
The younger men, especially the ones with black blood in their veins,
are much addicted to drinking lubki, an inexpensive, intoxicating
liquor made from the sap of palm trees. The branches that form the
crown of the tree are cut off, leaving the heart of the palm tree
bare. A groove is cut from the heart through the thick outer bark,
and a jar is hung at the end of this groove which receives the juice
when it oozes up from the tree. A palm which has been tapped in
this way yields lubki for two or three months, and if the branches
are allowed to grow again after some time the tree will continue to
bear fruit, but the branches grow very ragged and trees that have
been used for lubki acquire a rather drunken-looking appearance which
always remains. One of the favourite tricks of small Siwan boys is to
climb up the palm trunks and drink the lubki from the jar in which it
is being collected by the owner of the garden. When freshly drawn it
is as sweet and frothy as ginger-beer, but in a few days it becomes
strongly alcoholic and tastes bitter, like sour milk. Labourers working
in the gardens always retire to a spring and bathe after the day’s
work, then they enjoy a long “sundowner” of lubki before they ride
home to the town. All intoxicating drinks are forbidden by the Koran,
but in Siwa the people satisfy their consciences by saying that the
Prophet approved of all products of the palm tree, so lubki cannot
be a forbidden drink.
The Siwans are most particular in their religious observances. There
are a very large number of mosques in comparison to the population,
and Friday—the Mohammedan Sabbath—is very strictly kept. On
Thursday evening the prayers of the muezzins are longer, as they
remind the people that the morrow is Friday. On Friday all the men
visit the mosques; no work is done in the gardens, and sometimes
one of the sheikhs distributes alms to the poor outside a mosque,
or at the tomb of one of his illustrious ancestors. For a long time
before the event the “mesakin” (poor) of the town collect at the
place; one sees old blind men, cripples, shrivelled hags, and ragged
women carrying solemn little babies, every one trying hard to appear
the most abjectly destitute, and therefore the most deserving case
for alms. Then the sheikh arrives, fat and prosperous, holding an
umbrella, and followed by some stout servants carrying huge bowls
heaped with cold boiled rice spotted with dark-coloured lumps of
camel flesh. The dishes are set down before the people, men and women
sitting apart, with a servant standing near each dish to keep order
and prevent free fights. The paupers snatch and claw at the food,
grabbing it with skinny, dirty fingers, squabbling fiercely over
yellowish-looking lumps of fat, shrieking vile abuse at each other
and trying to hide tasty scraps of meat in their clothes. The sheikh
looks on with a complacent smile and listens with much gratification
while his friends make audible remarks about his excessive generosity
and his liberal qualities.
The typical Arab sheikh of modern fiction (if he does not turn out
to be an Englishman) is a young, dashing, handsome and intensely
fascinating individual, well mannered and well washed; but in
real life one rarely meets such a person—I myself have never seen
him. The typical sheikh at Siwa or on the Western Desert was elderly,
bearded and only moderately clean. Some of them were certainly very
fine-looking men, but utterly different to the personage that one
would expect from the descriptions in a certain style of popular
novel. The “guides” who swindle visitors in Cairo are much more
like the sheikh of fiction in appearance than are the real sheikhs
whom one meets and has dealings with on the desert.
One of the most curious, partly philanthropic institutions which has
survived in Siwa is the “Beit el Mal,” a public fund used for
providing shrouds for persons who die without money or relations, and
also for repairing mosques, causeways and sun-shelters. The money is
contributed from the sale of public land belonging to the community,
and also from the sale of argoul, which is a plant that is used as
manure, and rents for grazing paid by visiting Arabs. The fund is
collected and administered by certain sheikhs, and in former days it
included fines, inflicted as punishments, and taxes on strangers who
visited the oasis. Any case which is considered deserving of charity
is supplied from the money.
Ramadan, the Mohammedan Lent, the month in which the Koran was
supposed to have been sent down from heaven, is kept very strictly
in Siwa. During this month all good Mohammedans are expected to
refrain from the pleasures of the table, the pipe and the harem; no
morsel of food or drop of water may pass their lips during the day,
but at night the revels commence and they feast and enjoy themselves
till the unwelcome approach of morning. Night is turned into day,
and at Siwa, during Ramadan, there is a continuous rumble of drums
from sunset till the early morning; at first it is disturbing, but
one grows accustomed to it before the month is out.
The words of the Koran are:
“Eat and drink until ye can plainly distinguish a black thread from
a white thread by the daybreak; then keep the fast until night.”
It is possible to obtain a dispensation from keeping Ramadan, on
medical grounds, and among the effendi class I noticed that this
was frequently done; travellers are also excused from observing it,
though I have often been out on trek during Ramadan with men who
were strictly fasting. If the month occurs in the hot weather it
is a very great strain on every one. Siwa, in the daytime, during
Ramadan, is like a dead place; the minimum amount of work is done
in the gardens, everybody stays indoors during the day, and one sees
nobody about the streets except in the cool of the early morning and
after sunset. Fasting, especially abstaining from drinking, is a severe
strain; the sheikhs, when they come to the Markaz, look thin and ill,
and one’s servants make the fast an excuse for doing nothing.
This arduous month is terminated by a festival lasting for three days
known as the Minor Festival or Kurban Bairam. It is celebrated with
great festivities and rejoicings in Egypt; servants expect tips and
every one appears in new clothes, but in Siwa it is not so important
an occasion; the people merely take a rest after the trials of the
fast month, reserving all their energy and money for the great local
mulid which occurs a week or so later. The mulid of Sidi Suliman,
the anniversary of the birth of Siwa’s patron sheikh, is the most
important incident of the whole year. The festival generally lasts
for three days, but the people take three more days to recover from
it. All the year round everybody saves money in order to make a
“splash” at the annual mulid.
For several days the women are busy cooking cakes and sweets; the
best fruit in the gardens is carefully watched over to be ready
at the mulid, and certain animals are fed up with a view to being
slaughtered. If possible one or two camels are bought from the Arabs
and kept at grass till they are fat enough to kill. On the eve of the
feast there is a general spring cleaning of the town. The tombs of
the sheikhs are freshly painted with whitewash, carpets and coloured
blankets are hung from every roof, while the houses are swept and
cleaned, and the place looks quite gay with its clean white tombs,
and bright mats and rugs hanging out from roofs and windows. In the
evening the sheep that are to be slaughtered on the morrow are led
in from the fields, and everybody discusses with interest how many
animals Sheikh So-and-So is going to kill. Sometimes the richest men
kill as many as seven or eight sheep, and this is remembered and often
mentioned to their credit, all through the year. One year there was a
great scandal in the town because Sheikh Mohammed Hameid had boasted
to everybody that he had killed six sheep, but one of his household
let out that there had only been three old goats slaughtered. Enormous
supplies of lubki are drawn before the holiday in order that it may
stand long and become really strong.
On the morning of the mulid everybody puts on his best clothes, and
even the poorest labourer dons a new shirt or a clean jibba. Every man
goes to pray in his own particular mosque, and the women visit the
tombs and lay palm branches on the graves of their relations. After
this people retire to their houses and eat an enormous meal and as
much meat as they can possibly swallow. When the men have eaten, the
remainder of the food is sent to the harem, and when the harem have
finished, it is sent out to the servants and labourers who pick the
bones clean. After this heavy meal and during the two following days
everybody calls on everybody else, and on this occasion one may see
eastern sheikhs riding haughtily through the western quarter to call
on their much-detested neighbours. In all the streets one meets the
sheikhs riding along on their best donkeys, wearing gorgeous silk,
coloured robes, which emerge from the chests in which they are locked
up during most of the year, each followed by an escort of servants. The
people let each other know at what time they will be “at home”
and when they will ride out visiting.
On arriving at the house one finds servants waiting to hold the
donkeys, and if one is so indiscreet as to look up at the little
windows numbers of female heads pop out of sight. The owner of the
house is found seated in his largest room, with the best carpets
covering the floor, surrounded by about a dozen little tables with
dishes of peaches, grapes, figs, melons, nuts, cakes and sweets, and
one dish which contains the young, white pith of a palm tree, which is
much esteemed as a delicacy. Along the side of the room there are more
dishes, covered with napkins, heaped up with meat, generally smothered
by a cloud of flies. The host offers tea, coffee, or an exceedingly
disagreeable syrupy liquor made from a species of fruit “syrop”
which should be taken cold with soda, but is served hot like tea,
according to Siwan fashion. Strict etiquette enjoins that one must
drink three cups of tea or coffee, and taste every dish in the room,
except the meat, which is reserved for the family at each house.
The extra amount of food everywhere attracts swarms of flies,
and the sticky smell of fruit and meat is rather overpowering,
when the temperature is about 106 degrees in the shade. One year
I rode round myself and paid calls, but the next time I was wiser
and invited the sheikhs and notables to a light meal at the Markaz,
after their own solid luncheon, and even then, although showing
post-prandial symptoms, they managed to eat very heartily. It was
at one of these entertainments that I learnt that the Siwans have
special names for people who offend against the strict etiquette of
eating. The following are all highly condemned:
The man who turns round and looks to see whether more is coming.
The individual who bites a piece of meat and replaces it in the dish.
The person who blows on his food to cool it.
The one who is undecided and fingers first one piece, then the other.
And finally the visitor who orders about his host’s servants,
which I have noticed myself as being a very common habit.
In the afternoon of the mulid the younger men and boys go out into
the gardens, where they lie singing and drinking lubki. At dusk the
people begin to collect in the open space below the highest part of
the old town, round the square, white tomb of Sidi Suliman, which is
illuminated with candles and lanterns, and ornamented with banners
stuck along the parapet of the roof. Crowds of men keep on passing
up the steps and in and out of the tomb, shuffling off their shoes
at the entrance and praying at the grave of the saint. Then everybody
collects at his own particular mosque, in various parts of the town,
and a great “zikr,” a kind of prayer-meeting and religious dance,
is held outside the Medinia mosque in the eastern quarter of the
town. It is a very wonderful sight, and is attended by four or five
hundred devotees.
There is a large, open space outside the mosque surrounded by tall
houses, whose little black windows look like gaping eyes, and behind
them one catches a glimpse of the tops of palm trees in some gardens
darkly silhouetted against the deep blue African sky. The whole
scene is flooded with brilliant moonlight, except where the cold,
black shadows fall from the high houses. The ground is entirely
carpeted with old rugs and mats whose faded colours show dimly in the
moonlight; along one side, in front of the mosque, sit the sheikhs
and notables of the Medinia sect, and on the other three sides of the
square there is a vast congregation of white-robed, seated natives,
row upon row of “dusk faces with white silken turbans wreathed.”
A carpeted space in the centre is kept empty.
Among the shadows of the houses there are more blurred white figures,
and in one corner of the square kettles are being boiled on open
fires, and men in flowing robes walk to and fro across the light from
the flames. There is a subdued murmur of conversation. The first
part of the entertainment is a solemn tea-drinking. Dozens of men
move about, barefooted and silent, carrying trays and distributing
hundreds of little glasses of tea, which is made and poured out by
the sheikhs. After everybody has drunk three glasses the low tables
in front of the sheikhs are carried away, and the audience becomes
absolutely silent. Then the chief sheikh of the Medinia mosque,
a handsome, bearded man wearing the green turban, whose looks belie
his notoriously bad character, begins intoning verses from the Koran
in a sonorous, impressive voice, sitting on the carpet with his hands
spread on his knees. When he stops one of the other sheikhs begins,
until most of them have had a turn. After this three men step into
the space in the centre of the seated audience. One of them is quite
a boy with a very beautiful voice, the other two are older men. They
walk slowly round and round the square, abreast, singing together a
tune which resembles the solemn grandeur of a Gregorian chant, and
after each verse the whole audience, several hundred powerful male
voices, intone the refrain. It is an intensely impressive performance
and one feels thrilled at being the only white man present at such
a spectacle. The bright moonlight shines down on the massed ranks
of motionless natives whose faces look black, much darker than they
actually are, in comparison with their white robes and white skull
caps or turbans. For a background there are the high houses, and on
the roofs, peering down at the square, a number of heavily veiled
women, and “over all the sky—the sky! far, far out of reach,
studded with the eternal stars.”
After some time everybody rises and all the full-grown men close up and
form a circle, tightly wedged together. The old sheikh steps into the
centre and begins repeating more prayers, quietly at first then with
restrained violence. The audience join in, chanting the Mohammedan
creed. Gradually the singing grows louder, the voice of the sheikh
is drowned, and the ring of white-robed men begin swaying to and
fro, backwards and forwards, their voices become hoarse and raucous;
every man jerks to and fro in a frenzy of religious excitement, and
the prayer becomes a violent repetition of the word “Allah—’la,
’la, ’la.” Then the sheikh who leads the prayer gradually slows
down, and the congregation repeat more quietly the Mohammedan creed,
“La ilahi illa—llah, wa Mohammed rasul Allah”—there is no
deity but God, and Mohammed the prophet of God. The contrast between
the performers at the beginning of the zikr, when they are calm and
grave, and at its close, when they are hot, dishevelled and exhausted,
is very remarkable.
Meanwhile the crowd in the Sidi Suliman square increases. From
the various mosques come long processions of white-robed figures,
singing and carrying banners; the light of their torches and lanterns
flashes in and out as they slowly thread their way through the steep,
winding streets of the town, and their voices become faint, then loud,
as they pass through and out of the arches and tunnels. They assemble
in the square, forming large circles and dancing zikrs. In one corner
one sees a ring of old men singing and clashing cymbals; in another
group there are a dozen men banging drums, while a half-naked young
negro in their midst twirls rapidly round and round, then suddenly
falls to the ground and rolls over and over till he reaches the tomb
itself, where he is lifted up by his admiring and applauding friends
and carried away unconscious. Behind the tomb there are fires where
the drums can be warmed, in order to tighten their parchment. Numbers
of women squat on the outskirts of the crowd, huddled in their dark
robes, hardly visible, except when the moon gleams on their silver
ornaments and pale white faces. Some of them are burning incense in
little earthenware braziers, and occasionally one of them creeps up
to the white tomb and kisses the wall, if she can reach it before
being driven off by the ghaffirs—watchmen.
[Illustration: A “FANTASIA” AT THE TOMB OF SIDI SULIMAN]
The dancers in the centre of the circles move faster, keeping time to
the drums and hand-clappings of the audience, and soon everybody is
swaying to and fro. Away in the gardens outside the town there are
flickering lights and a sound of singing. The great zikr before the
Medinia mosque ceases and all the people come streaming out from the
dark, shadowy lanes towards the tomb of Sidi Suliman, which shines
white in the moonlight with orange lights blazing from its open
door and little windows. The sheikhs walk slowly about from group
to group, each followed by a little knot of men—servants carrying
carpets and cushions, and some watchmen in tall brown tarbouches,
holding staves. The police stand about in the crowd, and when one
walks up to watch a dance they hurry forward and push people aside,
saying, “Make way, make way!” The sound of distant singing in the
gardens grows louder and nearer, and suddenly mobs of men and boys,
mad with drink, half naked, come leaping and shrieking into the square,
scattering fire from their blazing torches.
Then drums are beaten madly, cymbals crash, and the shrill screech
of reed pipes rends the air. The crowd forms into a great circle
round the mass of frenzied dancers who career round, drinking as
they dance, shouting and yelling. In the centre there are a dozen
men lashing away at cymbals and tom-toms. One of the dancers is an
enormous blind giant, almost naked, who flourishes a jug of lubki,
and some of the boys have wreaths round their heads and bunches of
flowers stuck behind their ears.
As the night goes on the pandemonium becomes wilder; the exotic
timbre of the music grows more frenzied; many of the dancers throw off
their robes, and great pitchers full of potent lubki are distributed
among the people. The fires in the square, heaped up with rushes,
blaze more brightly when the honey-coloured moon sinks behind the
high walls of the town, and frantically writhing figures are seen
whirling round by the light of the shooting flames and torches. The
whole scene becomes even more _macabre_. Gradually boys and men among
the audience, fascinated by the mad mob of dancers, plunge in among
them, linking arms and revolving round the musicians in the centre,
crouching, jumping, hopping, and running, each one executing strange
steps and postures as he goes along. Sometimes the music is voluptuous
and alluring, then the dance becomes frankly indecent; at other times
it is wild and furious, and the performers seem to be overcome with
savage transports of rage; but the whole time the music has a very
definite rhythm which urges them on. The light of many torches gleams
on glistening black flesh and shining teeth and eyes; the air is thick
with heavy fumes of incense, and the bitter smell of liquor. On the
outskirts of the crowd one sees figures stretched like corpses on the
ground, overcome with the orgy of drink and dancing. When the faint
light of dawn shows in the sky, and the fires are dying down they
begin to tire of the Bacchanalian revels, and one by one the dancers
fall exhausted to the ground, lying where they fell, or crawl away,
staggering through the silent streets, to sleep off the effects in
readiness for the following day. Looking down on to this riotous
African carnival from the highest roofs of the town one can imagine
oneself, like Dante, watching damned souls writhing in hell.
The Siwans are extremely fond of music and singing. Their instruments
are crude and simple, but they manage to obtain a surprising amount
of music from them. Drums, or tom-toms, are of various kinds, either
cylindrical gourds or basins with a skin stretched across one end,
or large round tambourines with parchment covers. By striking first
the side of the drum and then the resounding parchment, two different
sounds are obtained, one hard, the other soft, and this again can
be varied by using either the palm of the hand or the clenched
fist. Flutes are usually made from the barrels of long Arab guns,
or occasionally from reeds, and string instruments, like primitive
guitars, are manufactured from a bowl covered with skin, a wooden
frame, and string made from wire or gut which can be tightened or
slackened. The combination of these simple instruments with human
voices is singularly effective.
There is a similarity in all African music; in fact, all Eastern
music is somewhat alike. The melody is monotonous and barbaric:
sometimes a song sung in a tremulous, high-pitched voice which rises
above the throbbing tom-toms, or a tune played on a shrill flute with
an accompaniment of drums and twanging string instruments. The scale
ranges from bass to treble, sometimes short, sad notes, and sometimes
long drawn-out wails, varied by sudden, unexpected pauses. It is
difficult to describe, but the general effect is somewhat sinister,
at the same time very fascinating. To a stranger it may sound like
an inharmonious wail, but in time one gets to appreciate the subtle
undercurrent of half-notes which makes the melody. It is suggestive
of fierce passions, vague longings, and vast desert spaces.
The characteristic song of the Western Arabs, a dreamy refrain with
a reiterated note, which they sing to themselves as they ride alone
across the desert, is very similar to the Swiss yeodling; but Siwan
music is quite different. The Siwans have songs and tunes of a distinct
individual style. With them certain notes have definite meanings;
there is a language of sound. When some of their best singers, usually
boys, are performing, the listeners can interpret the meaning of
the song without needing to hear the words. They sing everywhere,
and at all times, especially when at work in the gardens. Several
men and boys working in different parts of a big palm grove sing to
each other, taking up the refrain and answering each other back,
and these unaccompanied quartets and trios sound very attractive,
especially when one hears them in the evening, now loud and clear, now
faintly in the distance. Good voices are much esteemed, and the best
singing boys are hired to perform at entertainments. The songs that
have words are in the Siwan language, but when literally translated
they are exceedingly indecent.
Dancing, too, is very different to the fashion of the Arabs or the
Sudanese. In many parts of the Sudan one sees men and women dancing
together, and among the Arabs there are dancing girls who perform in
front of a mixed audience. On the Western Desert it is not considered
shameful for respectable women to dance, although most of the best
dancers are very decidedly not respectable. But in Siwa only the men
dance in public, and it is very difficult to see women performing,
but on one occasion I did see an entertainment of this kind.
It took place at night in the courtyard of a house discreetly
surrounded by high, windowless walls. A space on the ground was spread
with carpets, with some cushions at one side, and the moon shone
down and illuminated the scene. A little wooden door in the wall
was pushed open and about a dozen girls, followed by an old woman,
and a small boy carrying a brazier of smoking incense, shuffled into
the court and squatted down in a line on one side. The girls wore
the usual Siwan dress, a blue striped robe reaching below the knees,
and white silk-embroidered trousers; but besides this each of them
wore a long silk, coloured scarf, hiding her face and shoulders, and
a quantity of jingling silver ornaments and heavy bangles which they
took off and gave to the old woman to hold while they danced. Three
or four of them had small drums which they beat as they sang. At
first they sat in a row, very carefully veiled, singing quietly to
the accompaniment of the little tom-toms. Then one of them got up,
with the thin coloured veil hiding her face, and began to dance,
slowly at first, keeping time to the music, but gradually moving
faster as the music grew wilder. The dancing began by simple steps and
swaying gestures of the arms, then the movements became more rapid,
and one saw a confused mass of swirling draperies and silver chains.
After each girl had danced for a few minutes the _motif_ of music
changed, becoming more sensuous, and the _prima danseuse_ took the
floor again. This time she performed a variety of the _danse de
ventre_, which consists of queer quivering movements and swaying
the body from the hips, keeping the upper part still, with arms
stretched down and painted hands pointing outwards. This was varied
by an occasional rapid twirl which gave the audience a sight of the
dancer’s features; a pale face with long “kohl” tinted eyes and
a scarlet painted mouth, set in a frame of black braided hair, oiled
and shiny. Finally, the lilt of the music became even more seductive,
and the dancer swung off the long, fringed, silk scarf and danced
unveiled, swaying more violently, with her arms stretched above her
head, stamping on the ground in time to the rhythm of the music, and
finally subsiding into her place in an ecstasy of amorous excitement.
It was not an attractive performance, although the dance is one
which is very much admired by natives, who consider it intensely
alluring. One sees it in various forms all over Africa, and everywhere
it is equally ugly and dull.
CONCLUSION
MANY people have at various times carefully considered the agricultural
possibilities of Siwa from a commercial point of view. Undoubtedly
the cultivation in the oasis could be greatly developed, as there is
enough water to irrigate a much larger area of ground than that which
is now being cultivated. At present the natives have only the most
primitive ideas of agriculture; for instance, they neglect most of the
fruit trees by doing no pruning, and through sheer laziness they have
allowed various species to die out completely. They are handicapped,
too, by having no proper tools or machinery. The dates of Siwa are
exceptionally fine, famous all over Egypt, and besides these there
is a quantity of other fruit whose quality could be much improved by
proper care. Olive oil is a valuable product and commands a very high
price on the coast and in Egypt. No wine is made from the grapes,
and no one has experimented in drying fruit, which is a simple and
lucrative industry.
But the difficulty that faces one in all commercial schemes is the
means of transport. Camels can only be hired from the coast at rare
intervals and during the season when the Arabs do not mind visiting
the oasis, and their hire is so prohibitive as to make any heavy
transport hardly worth while. The ex-Khedive went to Siwa for the
purpose of seeing whether it would be worth running a light railway
from the coast to the oasis, and since then the project has been
seriously thought of more than once, but it has always been considered
impracticable on account of the expense and the great difficulty of
crossing such an expanse of waterless desert.
An alternative scheme of running a service of motor lorries is a
more likely proposition, and when once started it might be highly
remunerative. Some of the richest and most progressive Siwans were very
anxious to buy a lorry and send their olive oil direct to Alexandria,
but they failed to appreciate that one lorry alone would be useless,
and the minimum number would have to be four.
Apart from the possibilities of trade Siwa is valuable as a field
for excavators. So far very little digging has been done in Siwa and
the adjoining oases, and undoubtedly there are great possibilities
in this direction. Labour is cheap and one could hire enough men in
the place to do any work of this kind. Nobody has attempted to locate
and examine the subterranean passages which connect Aghourmi and the
temple, and Siwa town with the Hill of the Dead. There is also the
possibility of rediscovering the emerald mines which brought fame
to the oasis many centuries ago, and which are now so completely
forgotten that I doubt whether half a dozen people have ever heard
of their existence. Under the present regime, though one does not
know how long it will last, an Englishman can live at Siwa in perfect
safety, and though the climate is certainly very hot in summer-time
it is quite agreeable during more than half the year.
But Siwa will never become a much-visited place, which is perhaps all
for the best, owing to the strip of desert which stretches between it
and the coast. Otherwise it might have developed into another Biskra,
which is the oasis in Algeria that Hitchens describes so wonderfully
in _The Garden of Allah_. Quite lately I noticed in a travel book
called _Kufara, the Secret of the Sahara_, by Mrs. Rosita Forbes,
a mention of this very desert between Siwa and the coast which was
described as a “tame desert.” This expression, used by a lady
with such great knowledge of deserts in all parts of the world,
surprised me—and I own that it annoyed me! Her only experience of
this particular desert was acquired during the one day in which she
motored up from Siwa to Matruh in the company of several officers of
the F.D.A. who met her there. But people on the Western Desert can
remember, only too well, a terrible fatality which occurred less than
a year ago in which three Englishmen were involved, and which proved
conclusively that no waterless desert is safe or “tame,” even in
these days when cars can travel across it.
I was not actually in Siwa when Hassanein Bey arrived there,
accompanied by Mrs. Forbes, after their memorable journey to Kufra,
but I returned there soon afterwards, and it was very interesting to
hear of her exploit from the various natives who came in to Siwa from
the west.
In spite of a climate that was sometimes trying, in spite of a bad
bout of fever, and in spite of an occasional feeling of loneliness,
the memory of the time that I spent at Siwa will always be a very happy
one. Siwa is so absolutely unspoilt, and so entirely Eastern. Even the
ubiquitous Greek trader has not penetrated this desert fastness. It
is a place that grows on one, and the few who have been there, and
who appreciate its curious fascination, find it very hard to leave.
There is a saying in Egypt that whoever tastes the water of the Nile
must some time return there, and I am very sure that he who drinks
from the Siwa springs will always wish to go there again. Walking by
moonlight under those huge, towering battlements of the strange old
town, through streets and squares deserted save for an occasional
white-robed figure, one could almost credit the queer stories of
ghosts, jinns and afreets that are believed by the Siwans to haunt
every spot in this mysterious little oasis which lies hidden among
the great barren tracts of the pitiless Libyan Desert.
[Illustration: THE WESTERN DESERT OF EGYPT]
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Books consulted in compiling the “History of Siwa”:—
Anonymous History of Siwa (Arabic).
ARRIAN. Expeditio Alexandri.
BATES, ORIC. The Eastern Libyans.
BLOCHET. History of the Arab Conquest.
BOVARY. Letters from Egypt.
BREASTED. History of Egypt.
BROWNE, W. G. Travels in Africa (1792-6).
BUDGE. Life of Alexander.
BUTLER, A. J. Arab Conquest.
CAILLIAUD. Travels in the Oases.
CAMERON. Egypt in the Nineteenth Century.
CORRIPUS, F. C. Johannides.
DIODORUS SICULUS. Bibliotheca. History of Egypt.
Edmonstone’s Journey. (1822).
ERMANN. Handbook of Egyptian Religion.
FALLS, EWART. Three Years in the Libyan Desert.
FORBES, ROSITA. The Secret of the Sahara, Kufara.
GWATKIN WILLIAMS, R. S. In the hands of the Senussi.
GWATKIN WILLIAMS, R. S. Prisoners of the Red Desert.
HAMILTON, J. Wanderings in North Africa.
HAREEM. Ancient Commerce of Africa.
HERODOTUS. Egypt.
HOHLER, T. B. Report on Oasis of Siwa (1904).
HORNEMANN, F. C. Journal, from Cairo to Mourzouk.
HOSKINS, S. A. Visit to Libyan Desert (1837).
JUVENAL, Satires.
LANE, E. W. Arabian Nights.
LANGLES. Memoires sur les oases d’après les auteurs Arabes.
LEO, JOHANNES. Africae Descriptio.
MERCIER, ERNEST. Histoire de l’établissement des Arabes dans
l’Afrique Septrionale.
Nelson’s History of the Great War.
OKLEY. History of the Saracens.
PETRIE, FLINDERS. History of Egypt.
PINDAR. Hymns to Deities.
PLINY. Geography of the World.
PLUTARCH. Life of Alexander.
QUINTIUS CURTIUS. Alexander.
ROLLINS. Ancient History.
R. E. JOURNAL. Vol. 37, No. 2.
ST. JOHN, BAYLE. Adventures in the Libyan Desert (1849).
SALE. The Koran.
SILVA WHITE. From Sphinx to Oracle.
SMITH. Classical Dictionary.
STANLEY, CAPTAIN. Report on Siwa Oasis.
STRABO. Geography.
VIRGIL. Ænid.
WILKINSON, SIR J. S. Manners and Customs of Ancient Egypt.
Translations, mostly French, of the following Arab Historians and
Geographers:—
IBN ABDEL HAKIM KHALDOUN. History of the Berbers.
MOHAMMED BEN AYAS.
EL MAKRIZI.
EL MASOUDI.
IBN EL WARDI.
ABULFEDA.
EL IDRISI.
SCHEMFEDDEN MOHAMMED ABDEL FURUR.
INDEX
Abbas Helmi, 3
Abbas Pasha, 108
Abdel Arti, smuggler, 115, 117
Abdel Gader, sheikh of travellers, 54
_Abdel Moneim_, cruiser, 34, 35
Abdel Rahman, Sheikh, 66
Abdel Sayed, 180
Abdulla Homeid, Sheikh, 66, 247
Abdulla Mansur, 112
Abu Zeyed, 54
Actium, battle of, 9
Aeroplanes, 125
African Association, 101
Agagia, battle of, 126
Age of Siwans, 196
Aghourmi, 69, 71, 83, 86, 87, 96; sheikh of, 67; spring, 81;
temple, 78
Agriculture, 260
Ahmed Fazi, 119
Ahmed Hamza, 112
Ahmed Idris, 111
Ain el Hammam, 81
“Akaba incident,” xiv
Alexander the Great, 84, 85, 176
Alexandria, 3, 5, 6, 34, 35; summer resort, 8; Alexander buried
at, 85
Algeria, 10
Ali Balli, 102, 104
Ali Dinar, Sultan of Darfur, 132, 190
Almsgiving, 243
Amaryllis, 10
Ammon, god, 76; legends of, 77, 79, xix
Ammonia, 7, 79
Ammonians, 76, 77, 79, 80
Amrou, 89
Animals at Siwa, 202
Antony, 9
Appetites of Siwans, 168, 239
Arabia, 93
Arabs, 5, 14, 17; carrying arms, 18; clothes, 20;
characteristics, 209; conversation, 24; dance, 44; horses, 27;
hospitality, 22; invasion, 5, 89, 94; at Maragi, 185; refugees,
201; songs, 256; tents, 19; wealth, 26; wells, 43; welcome rains,
32; wives, 39; women, 21
Arasieh, lake, 103
Architecture, Siwan, 133, 134
Areg, El, oasis of, 183, 184
Argoul, 158, 244
Arms, seizing, 73
Arusia, sect, 151
Assiut, 184
Athanasius, St., 88
Athenians, 79
Atlantic, 94
Atlantis, 191
Augerin, Bir, 43
Augustus, 88
Australian Light Horse, 125
Awlad Ali, 6
Azhar university, 119
Bachelors, custom of, 98
Bagbag, 15
Bahrein oasis, 115, 183, 184
Bairam, Kurban, feast of, 246
Baird, Miss, xxi, 201
Bakhr-Wahash, wild ox, 202
Bakshish, 176
Bangles, rolling the, 235
Barley, 6
Barrani, 13, 14; evacuation, 124; reoccupation, 126
Bashu Habun, 176
Basket making, 199
Bates, Oric, 75, 76
Bathing, 61, 63; bride, 216; at Matruh, 8
Bazaars, 141
Beda, el, 120
Behera, 110
Beit el Mal, 244
Ben Ayas, historian, 90
Ben Soleim, tribe of, 93
Bequests, religious, 235
Berbers, 2, 88, 91, 94, 95, 209; from Europe, 20, xvii; dialect,
146; sacrifices, 234
Berseem, custom of, 162
Bikaner, Maharajah, xxiv
Bilad el Kelab, 57
Bir Hakim, 123, 131
Birds, 31, 203; eggs, 204
Birth-rate at Siwa, 2
Bisharin trackers, 53
Blossoms, 202
Booba, story of, 173
Booza camp, 40
Bramley, Captain Jennings, xxii
Bread, on trek, 52
Bride, customs of, 213, 216
Browne at Siwa, 100
Budget, economy on, 34
Butin, Colonel, 103
Byzantines, 89
Cairns, rock, 52
Calamis, statue by, 80
Cambyses, lost army of, 80
Camel Corps, 2, 15, 26, 37, 38; barracks, 49; exploring with,
195; as garrison, 131, 135; soldiers, 41; songs of, 54; wives of,
62, 100
Camels, 25; riding, 48; fly, 202; in rain, 32; stories of, 36;
drinking, 45; as transport, 260
Camp, in the desert, 49
Canaanite migration, xvii
Canal, Suez, 123
Caravans, 56, 86, 120
Carpets, 189; leather, 91; makers of, 201
Cars, 11
Carthage, 80
Cats, 170
Causeway, 104
Caves, at Kasr Hassuna, 119
Cemeteries, 223
Chess, 241
Childbirth preventives, 211
Children, 146, 200, 211, 213; festival, 237; murder of, 173
Christianity at Siwa, 88
Cimon, 81
Cisterns, 17, 43, 44
Civil War in Siwa, 99, 100
Clearchus, King, 78
Cleopatra, 9
Clerk, Coptic, 67
Climate, 263
Coastal belt, 5
Coastguards, 3, 4, 34, 37, 124; fight with Abdel Arti, 117;
officers of, 124
Coffee, 67
Constantinople, 122, 189; Sayed Ahmed retires to, 131
Cooks, 44, 60
Corippus, 75
Cows, 203
Crime, 172
Crœsus, 76
Crops, 155, 156
Customs, 188
Cyprus, 81
Cyrene, 84
Cyrenians, 78
Daftar el Ain, 154
Dak bungalows, 13
Dakhla oasis, 128
Dakrur, Gebel, 83, 93
Danaus, 77
Dancing, 46, 253, 254, 257, 258; Arab, 45
Darfur, 56, 132, 190
Dartmoor, 14
Dates, markets, 137, 138; harvest, 152; palms, 156; cultivation,
157; at El Areg, 184
Decorations, Turkish, 127
Delphi, 87
Derna, 105
Desert plateau, 57
“Devil’s Country,” 189
Diodorus Siculus, 77
Dionysius, 76, 78
District Officer’s house, 59, 60
Divorce, among Siwans, 172, 173, 214, 215; Arabs, 21
Doctor, Syrian, 67
Dodona, oracle of, 77, 79
Dogs, Arab, 23; country of, 57; as food, 169, 170; “Howa,”
47, 163
Doré, Gustave, 57
Dorset Yeomanry, 126
Doves, 77
Dreams, interpretation of, 232
Drinking, 150, 249
Drums, 252, 255
Ear-rings, 148
Earthquakes, 195
Easterners, 99, 100
Egyptian Army, 38
Egyptian Government, 2, 114; representative, 64
Emeralds, 86, 91, 93, 261
Enver Pasha, xxv
Ethiopia, 80, 77
Evening at Siwa, 240
Evil Eye, 25, 209, 223; charms against, 224, 225
Exabia oasis, 185
Excavations, 93, 178, 191, 192, 261
Ex-Khedive, 3, 4, 93, 178, 261
Falls, Ewart, 3
False dawn, 47
Fantasias, 239
Farafra oasis, 203
Farag Khasaf, 104
Fasting, 244
Fénelon, 88
Ferik, 83
Fever, 160, 189, 263
Fezzan, 101
Fikis, 194, 209; charms of, 224
Fish, 212; destroy mosquitoes, 160; as food, 97
Flies, 248
Flowers, 32
Flying Corps, 124
Forbes, Mrs., xxvii, 262
Fortune-telling, 233
Fossils, 88, 183
Fostat, 92
Fountain of the Sun, 81
French in Algeria, 119
Frogs, 164
Frontier Districts Administration, xiv, xv, 2, 37, 201
Fruit, 156, 158; at Siwa, 202, 248
Fuca, Bir, 6
Funerals, 149, 222
Furniture, 144
Gabreen, Haj, 194
Gaffar Pasha, 125, 126
Gagub, oasis, 185; spring at, 186; wild oxen, 202
Gallipoli, 123
Gara, oasis, 102, 179; legends about, 180, 181
Gardens, 154, 156, 158
Gawazi Arabs, 203
Gazelle, 30, 49, 184
Gebel Dakrur, 83, 93
Geography, Strabo’s, 87
Germans, 4, 6, 101; in N. Africa, 118; in Tripoli, 122
Ghaffir, 253; El Ain, 154
Ghouls, 208
“Ghrula,” 221
Girba, battle of, 129; evacuation of, 130
Goats, 24; quarrel about, 111
God of Siwa, 76
Governor’s House, 7
Governor, Western Desert, 37
Gramophone, 164
Graves, 223
Greece, 77
Greeks, 5, 58, 79; colonists, 7, 13, 10, 263
Gum trees, 182
Gun-running, 38, 190
Gurzil, 76
Haboob, 72
Habun, Bashu, 175, 176
Habun, Osman, 112, 113, 114, 115, 116, 117
Hakim, Bir, 123, 131
Halfia Pass, 127
Ham, 77
Hamed, Bir, 44
Hamilton, 105, 106, 107
Hannibal, 79
Hanoui, 198
Hares, 28
Harimat, 39, 62
Hashish, 241
Hassan Mitnana, 98
Hassanein Bey, xxvi, 262
Hassein Bey, 102, 103, 104
Hassuna Mansur, 110, 111
Hassuna, Kasr, 119, 129
Hawking, 27, 28
Hedjaz, 119
“Helga,” 241
Henna, 20, 226, 210
Hens, 175
Hephistion, 85
Herodotus, 77, 78
Hidden cities, 92
Hilal tribe, 93
Hill of the Dead, 68, 94, 104
History, Arabic, 3, 74, 80
Holy war, 118
Hornemann, 101
Horses, 27
Hounds, 29
Houses, 33; Siwan, 133; interior of, 142
Hunter, Colonel G. G., xv, 37
Hunting, 29, 30
Husband, to obtain, 228
Iblis, 208; to summon, 230
Ibrahaim el Bishari, 56
Idris, Sidi, 132
Immorality, 101
Inheritance, 155, 172
Interpreters, 98
Ireland, 18
Iron, 91
Irrigation, 153, 154
Islands of the Blessed, 1
Italians, in Tripoli, 15, 118, 122, 132; British alliance
with, 123
Jackals, 31
Jalo, 56, 96; Senussi at, 120
Jerabub, 56, 96, 110; the Senussi at, 121; view of, 186
Jewels, 91, 188
Jews, 10
Jinns, 136, 194
Johannides, 265
“Joy Riders,” 35
Jupiter, 77
Juvenal, 87
Kareished, 178
Karnak, 80
Kasr Hassuna, 103, 119; caves at, 120; shaft, 193
Keimat en Nus, 53
Kerdassa, 148
Khadria confraternity, 119
Khamissa, 83, 88, 185
Khamsin, 7
Khargeh oasis, 80
Khartoum, 36
Khedival road, 7
Kingfishers, 8
Kitchener, Lord, 6
Kom Ombo, 38
Koran, 94; used by Fikis, 209; quotations from, 245
“Kreish,” 18
Kufra oasis, 56, 96, 177, 190, 191, 262
Labour, cost of, 261
Lagoons at Matruh, 8, 9
Lake, magic, 90
Language, 2, 101, 146
Lapis lazuli, 91
Level, sea, 1, 57
Libyans, ancient, xvii, 4, 5, 76
Light cars, 16, 31
Lions, 204
Liquor, 255
Loneliness, 263
Lotophagi, lotus eaters, 4
“Lover, the,” magic stone, 91
Lubbok, 115
Lubki, 242; drinkers of, 249
Lucky Days, 43
Luncheon, garden, 162, 165
Luxor, 38; snake charming at, 206
Lybis, king, 78, 79
Lysander, 79
Macdonnel, Colonel, 37
Magic, 207, 209
Mahdi, Sudanese, 122
Mahdi Abdel Nebi, sheikh of Aghourmi, 67, 69
Mails, 34, 42
Malaria, 160, 161
Mamur, 13, 59, 67; at Siwa, 109; Arab, 118; killed by Habun, 116
Manshia, suburb, 97, 108
Maragie, 185
Marids, 208
Marissa, 41
Markaz, 59, 65, 128
Markets, date, 137, 138
Marriage, Arab, 21; Englishmen, question of, 172; oldest
inhabitant, 197; customs, 214; money, 213
Mashrabs, 52; El Abd, 53
Maspero, M., 44, 75
Mat making, 157, 198
Matruh, Mersa, 3, 11, 79, 84; town, 7; bay, 8; water supply,
9; pack, 29; as base, 125
Meat, 169
Mecca, 95, 96, 101, 119, 234, 236
Mediæval historians, 90
Medinia, sect, 112, 151; revolt of, 128; “zikr,” 249, 250
Mediterranean, 1, 3, 14
Megahiz, spring, 58, 107
Mejberry Pass, 182
Melfa, oasis of, 185, 186
Memphis, 80
Meneclush, King, 82, 83
Merchandise, from Jerabub, 188
Mesamia, 104
Mice, 169
Michael’s Mount, 133
Midwives, 211
Mihrab, 119
Military Administrator, 37
Mines, 91
Ministry of Health, 160
Mirage, 14, 51, 189
Mitnana, Hassan, 98
Mogabara Arabs, 56
Mohammed Ali, 75, 102, 108
Mohammed el Mahdi, 120, 121
Mohammed el Sherif, 121
Mohammed Effendi Saleh, 126, 129, 130, 131
Mohammed el Senussi, 118, 119, 120, 121
Mohammed Hamman, 69, 70
Mohammed Ithneini, of Jerabub, 187
Mohammed Said, 112
Mohammedan invasion, 5, 94
_Moorina_, survivors of, 130
Morals, Siwan, 150
Morocco, xviii, 119
Mosques, 139, 242
Motors, 11, 127, 261
Moussa Ibn Nosseir, 90
Mud pans, 51
Muezzins, 69, 155
Mulids, 246
Mummies, 192
Music, 255, 256
Nabis, 79
Naming children, 212, 213
Napoleon, 101
Nasamonians, 4
Natrun Wadi, 102
Negb Mejberry, 182
Niger, river, 79
Night life, 241
Nile, river, 79
Noah, 77
Nomads, 17
Oases, xix, 1, 75, 78, 177
Occupations at Siwa, 170
Officials, Egyptian, 67
Old age, Siwan, 197
Oldest inhabitant, 197; his wedding, 198
Olives, 178; press for, 179; oil, 178, 260
Omm Beyda, 82
Opium, 241
Orange tree, fabulous, 91
Painting, 171; mural, 184
Palms, date, 156; cultivation, 157
Pan-Islamic possibilities, 4
Parætonium, 7, 84
Partridges, 31
Peyton, General, xxiv
Persia, 81
Persians, 5
Pharaoh, 85
Phœnicians, 77
Photography, 171; photo of Siwa, 4
Pigeons, 31; carrier, 204
Pilgrimage, 234, 235, 236
Pindar, 79
Plague, 95
Pliny, 76
Police, Siwan, 65, 100, 253
Polygamy, 21
Population, 2
Postman, Senussi, 198
Pottery, 199
Pumice stone, 13
Puttees, worn by Senussi, 127
Quail, 31
Quarrel of East and West, 98, 99
Quinine, 160
Qur el Beid, 47
Rabbits, 145
Raid, rifle, 72
Rains, 5, 32, 33, 125
Ram-headed divinity, xix, 75, 78, 85, 86
Ramadan, 244, 245
Rameses, 75
_Rasheed_, gunboat, 124
Rashwan, King, 94
Rats as food, 169
Ravens lead Alexander, 85
Rest houses, 13
Revolt of Siwans against Senussi, 128
Ritual of temple, 85, 86
Rodd, Francis, xxiii
Rollins history, 77
Romans, 9, 44, 88; road, 17
Roofs, 144
Roses, 165
Routine, daily, at Siwa, 63
Royal Artillery, 8
Royle, Major, 124
Sacrifice of bull, 234
Sahara, 191
St. John, Bayle, 105
St. Menas, xxii, 4
Said Pasha, 108
Sakhit Amouou, 78
Saleh Said, Sheikh, 65
Salt, 91; lakes, 159; tribute, 159
Samovars, 189
Sand-storms, 80
Santarieh, 90
Sayed Ahmed, 122, 123; at Siwa, 126; goes to Dakhla, 128;
flight from Siwa, 129; retires to Turkey, 131; character, 132
Sayed Mohammed, xxv
Scarp, 14, 16, 17, 29, 31; in spring, 32; ascent of, 47
School, 139
Scorpions, 205
Sebukh, 97, 159, 182
Semna, 24
Senagra tribe, 4
Senussi, xxiv, 8; rebellion, 18, 38; brethren, 52; power of,
109, 110, 111; peace made by, 114; operations against, 117; history
of, 118, 119, 120, 121; at outbreak of war, 122; campaign against
British, 123-132
Serpents, 91
Servants, 61, 245
Shaigis, 44
Sharks, 12
Sheep, 25
Sheikhs, Siwan, 65; in fiction, 243
Shells, 87
Sheytan, 208
Shops, 139, 140, 141
Shyata, 185
Sightseers, 135
Sikhs, 125
Silius Italicus, 79
Silugis, 29, 47
Sinai, xiv, 37
Singer, 4
Siwa, whereabouts, 1; arrival at, 58; first impressions, 61;
view from, 68; history of, 74-132; town of, 133; population of, 150
Slaves, 95, 96
Slave-woman’s story, 70, 71
Smoking, 241
Snakes, 28, 205; charmers, 206
Snow, 88; Colonel, 124
Solitude, 171
Sollum, 1, 3, 5, 7, 13, 14; camp of, 16; houses at 33; Camel
Corps camp at, 40; departure from, 42; garrison of, 123; evacuated,
124; recaptured, 127
Soud, Sheikh, 176
Sparta, 79
Sponge fishers, 12
Springs, 152, 153, 161
“Stables,” 68
Stanhope, Lady Hester, 201
Stars, shooting, 227
Stolen property, 230, 231
Stone, sacred, 76, 91
Stove, story of, 39, 40
Strabo, 87
Submarines wrecked on coast, 123
Sudan, 6, 26, 36, 44, 56, 61; rest houses, 13; recruiting in,
38; trade, 96; caravans from, 87; invasion of, 102; rebellion
in, 132
Sudanese, 38; conversation, 57; views of, 26; wives, 39
Sugar, 142
Suitors, to obtain, 227, 228
Suliman, Haj, 197
Suliman, Sidi, 96, 98; legends of, 97, 212; Mulid of, 246, 249;
tomb of, 110, 114, 138, 233, 234
Sulphur spring, 186
Sultan of Turkey, 118, 131; excommunicated by Senussi, 121
Sultan Mousa, 162
“Sultan” of tea ceremony, 167
Sunset at Siwa, 69
Sun worship, 75
Sweets, 237
Table manners, 249
Talbot Mission, xxiv
Tamousy, spring, 215
_Tara_, torpedoed, 123; rescue of crew, 130
Tea-drinking, 167, 248, 250
Tebu, lost army from, 81
Telemachus, 88
Telephone, 181
Temperature, 50, 61
Temple of Jupiter, 77
Temple of Jupiter Ammon, 32, 77
Temple of Thebes, 80
Tharic Ben Sayed, 90
Thebes, 76
Theft, discovery of, 230
Thieves, 137
“Thirty, The,” 95
Thomi, Sheikh, 66, 163
Thorn, camel, 183
_Thousand and One Nights_, 210
Timasius, 88
Title-deeds, 155
Tombs, of kings, 196; of sheikhs, 246, 247; inhabited, 192
Town-crier, 221
Toy-maker, 200
Trade, 10, 120, 261
Transport difficulties, 260
Treaty of Lausanne, 118
Trees, 202
Tripoli, 1, 15, 71, 93, 96, 101, 105, 151, 187; smugglers, 115;
Arabs of, 18, 118; blankets, 184; Italians, 122, 123; Senussi, 120
Tunis, 10
Tunnels in Gebel Hassuna, 193
Turks, 102; in Tripoli, 118, 122
Typhoid, 160
Uganda, 57
Viceroy of Egypt, 107
Wadai, 96, 120
Wadi Natrun, 102
Wær, Bir, 127
Wahabi confraternity, 151
Wakf, 95, 235
Watchmen, 253
Water supply in Siwa, 152; rights, 154, 155
Weddings, Arab, 45; customs, 217, 218, 219; presents, 214, 220;
procession, 216
Wells, 18; in Siwa, 136; courting at, 240; at Gara, 179
Westerners, 99, 100
Westminster, Duke of, 127, 130, 131
Whitewashing custom, 137
“Widow’s War,” 111
Widow, custom of, 221
Wind, 72-107
Windows, 143
Witches, 208, 225; tea with, 226; invoking demons, 229; practices
of, 230
Witnesses, female, 174
Wives, “taking over,” 62; Siwan, 213
Wreckage, 13
Yeomanry, 125
Yom el Ashur, 237
Yusif Ali, 104, 105, 106, 107, 108
Zafr el Medina, 151
Zealand, New, Brigade, 125
Zebras, 93
Zeitoun, 177
Zeus, 85
Zigale, 98, 106
Zikr, 248, 249, 250
Zouias, 120
Transcriber's note:
pg xi Changed: "A Little Siwan Girl -- 283" to: "238"
pg 12 Changed: "what a a strange" to: "what a strange"
Caption of twelfth illustration “KASR HASSUNA,” Changed:
"OFFICER’S HOUS" to: "HOUSE"
pg 163 Changed: "I was introduce to the other" to: "introduced"
pg 190 Changed: "It js a dreary region" to: "is"
pg 250 Changed: "surrounded by tall, houses" to: "tall houses"
pg 265 Changed: "from Cairo to Mouzouk" to: "Mourzouk"
pg 266 Changed: "ABDULFEDA" to: "ABULFEDA"
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