CHAPTER II.

LIFE IN ZAYLA.

I will not weary you, dear L., with descriptions of twenty-six quiet, similar,

uninteresting days,—days of sleep, and pipes, and coffee,—spent at Zayla, whilst

a route was traced out, guides were propitiated, camels were bought, mules sent

for, and all the wearisome preliminaries of African travel were gone through.

But a journee in the Somali country may be a novelty to you: its events shall be

succinctly depicted.

With earliest dawn we arise, thankful to escape from mosquitoes and close air.

We repair to the terrace where devotions are supposed to be performed, and busy

ourselves in watching our neighbours. Two in particular engage my attention:

sisters by different mothers. The daughter of an Indian woman is a young person

of fast propensities,—her chocolate-coloured skin, long hair, and parrot-like

profile1 are much admired by the elegants of Zayla; and she coquettes by

combing, dancing, singing, and slapping the slave-girls, whenever an adorer may

be looking. We sober-minded men, seeing her, quote the well-known lines—

“Without justice a king is a cloud without rain;

Without goodness a sage is a field without fruit;

Without manners a youth is a bridleless horse;

Without lore an old man is a waterless wady;

Without modesty woman is bread without salt.”

The other is a matron of Abyssinian descent, as her skin, scarcely darker than a

gipsy’s, her long and bright blue fillet, and her gaudily fringed dress, denote.

She tattoos her face 2: a livid line extends from her front hair to the tip of

her nose; between her eyebrows is an ornament resembling a fleur-de-lis, and

various beauty-spots adorn the corners of her mouth and the flats of her

countenance. She passes her day superintending the slave-girls, and weaving

mats3, the worsted work of this part of the world. We soon made acquaintance, as

far as an exchange of salams. I regret, however, to say that there was some

scandal about my charming neighbour; and that more than once she was detected

making signals to distant persons with her hands.4

At 6 A.M. we descend to breakfast, which usually consists of sour grain cakes

and roast mutton—at this hour a fine trial of health and cleanly living. A

napkin is passed under my chin, as if I were a small child, and a sound scolding

is administered when appetite appears deficient. Visitors are always asked to

join us: we squat on the uncarpeted floor, round a circular stool, eat hard, and

never stop to drink. The appetite of Africa astonishes us; we dispose of six

ounces here for every one in Arabia,— probably the effect of sweet water, after

the briny produce of the “Eye of Yemen.” We conclude this early breakfast with

coffee and pipes, and generally return, after it, to the work of sleep.

Then, provided with some sanctified Arabic book, I prepare for the reception of

visitors. They come in by dozens,—no man having apparently any business to

occupy him,—doff their slippers at the door, enter wrapped up in their Tobes or

togas 5, and deposit their spears, point-upwards, in the corner; those who have

swords—the mark of respectability in Eastern Africa—place them at their feet.

They shake the full hand (I was reproved for offering the fingers only); and

when politely disposed, the inferior wraps his fist in the hem of his garment.

They have nothing corresponding with the European idea of manners: they degrade

all ceremony by the epithet Shughl el banat, or “girls’ work,” and pique

themselves upon downrightness of manner,—a favourite mask, by the by, for savage

cunning to assume. But they are equally free from affectation, shyness, and

vulgarity; and, after all, no manners are preferable to bad manners.

Sometimes we are visited at this hour by Mohammed Sharmarkay, eldest son of the

old governor. He is in age about thirty, a fine tall figure, slender but well

knit, beardless and of light complexion, with large eyes, and a length of neck

which a lady might covet. His only detracting feature is a slight projection of

the oral region, that unmistakable proof of African blood. His movements have

the grace of strength and suppleness: he is a good jumper, runs well, throws the

spear admirably, and is a tolerable shot. Having received a liberal education at

Mocha, he is held a learned man by his fellow-countrymen. Like his father he

despises presents, looking higher; with some trouble I persuaded him to accept a

common map of Asia, and a revolver. His chief interest was concentrated in

books: he borrowed my Abu Kasim to copy6, and was never tired of talking about

the religious sciences: he had weakened his eyes by hard reading, and a couple

of blisters were sufficient to win his gratitude. Mohammed is now the eldest

son7; he appears determined to keep up the family name, having already married

ten wives: the issue, however, two infant sons, were murdered by the Eesa

Bedouins. Whenever he meets his father in the morning, he kisses his hand, and

receives a salute upon the forehead. He aspires to the government of Zayla, and

looks forward more reasonably than the Hajj to the day when the possession of

Berberah will pour gold into his coffers. He shows none of his father’s

“softness:” he advocates the bastinado, and, to keep his people at a distance,

he has married an Arab wife, who allows no adult to enter the doors. The Somal,

Spaniard-like, remark, “He is one of ourselves, though a little richer;” but

when times change and luck returns, they are not unlikely to find themselves

mistaken.

Amongst other visitors, we have the Amir el Bahr, or Port Captain, and the Nakib

el Askar (Commandant de place), Mohammed Umar el Hamumi. This is one of those

Hazramaut adventurers so common in all the countries bordering upon Arabia: they

are the Swiss of the East, a people equally brave and hardy, frugal and

faithful, as long as pay is regular. Feared by the soft Indians and Africans for

their hardness and determination, the common proverb concerning them is, “If you

meet a viper and a Hazrami, spare the viper.” Natives of a poor and rugged

region, they wander far and wide, preferring every country to their own; and it

is generally said that the sun rises not upon a land that does not contain a man

from Hazramaut.8 This commander of an army of forty men9 often read out to us

from the Kitab el Anwar (the Book of Lights) the tale of Abu Jahl, that Judas of

El Islam made ridiculous. Sometimes comes the Sayyid Mohammed el Barr, a stout

personage, formerly governor of Zayla, and still highly respected by the people

on acount of his pure pedigree. With him is the Fakih Adan, a savan of ignoble

origin. 10 When they appear the conversation becomes intensely intellectual;

sometimes we dispute religion, sometimes politics, at others history and other

humanities. Yet it is not easy to talk history with a people who confound Miriam

and Mary, or politics to those whose only idea of a king is a robber on a large

scale, or religion to men who measure excellence by forbidden meats, or

geography to those who represent the earth in this guise. Yet, though few of our

ideas are in common, there are many words; the verbosity of these anti-Laconic

oriental dialects11 renders at least half the subject intelligible to the most

opposite thinkers. When the society is wholly Somal, I write Arabic, copy some

useful book, or extract from it, as Bentley advised, what is fit to quote. When

Arabs are present, I usually read out a tale from “The Thousand and One Nights,”

that wonderful work, so often translated, so much turned over, and so little

understood at home. The most familiar of books in England, next to the Bible, it

is one of the least known, the reason being that about one fifth is utterly

unfit for translation; and the most sanguine orientalist would not dare to

render literally more than three quarters of the remainder. Consequently, the

reader loses the contrast,— the very essence of the book,—between its brilliancy

and dulness, its moral putrefaction, and such pearls as

“Cast the seed of good works on the least fit soil.

Good is never wasted, however it may be laid out.”

And in a page or two after such divine sentiment, the ladies of Bagdad sit in

the porter’s lap, and indulge in a facetiousness which would have killed Pietro

Aretino before his time.

[Illustration]

Often I am visited by the Topchi-Bashi, or master of the ordnance,—half a dozen

honeycombed guns,—a wild fellow, Bashi Buzuk in the Hejaz and commandant of

artillery at Zayla. He shaves my head on Fridays, and on other days tells me

wild stories about his service in the Holy Land; how Kurdi Usman slew his

son-in-law, Ibn Rumi, and how Turkcheh Bilmez would have murdered Mohammed Ali

in his bed.12 Sometimes the room is filled with Arabs, Sayyids, merchants, and

others settled in the place: I saw nothing amongst them to justify the

oft-quoted saw, “Koraysh pride and Zayla’s boastfulness.” More generally the

assembly is one of the Somal, who talk in their own tongue, laugh, yell, stretch

their legs, and lie like cattle upon the floor, smoking the common Hukkah, which

stands in the centre, industriously cleaning their teeth with sticks, and eating

snuff like Swedes. Meanwhile, I occupy the Kursi or couch, sometimes muttering

from a book to excite respect, or reading aloud for general information, or

telling fortunes by palmistry, or drawing out a horoscope.

It argues “peculiarity,” I own, to enjoy such a life. In the first place, there

is no woman’s society: El Islam seems purposely to have loosened the ties

between the sexes in order to strengthen the bonds which connect man and man. 13

Secondly, your house is by no means your castle. You must open your doors to

your friend at all hours; if when inside it suit him to sing, sing he will; and

until you learn solitude in a crowd, or the art of concentration, you are apt to

become ennuye and irritable. You must abandon your prejudices, and for a time

cast off all European prepossessions in favour of Indian politeness, Persian

polish, Arab courtesy, or Turkish dignity.

“They are as free as Nature e’er made man;”

and he who objects to having his head shaved in public, to seeing his friends

combing their locks in his sitting-room, to having his property unceremoniously

handled, or to being addressed familiarly by a perfect stranger, had better

avoid Somaliland.

You will doubtless, dear L., convict me, by my own sentiments, of being an

“amateur barbarian.” You must, however, remember that I visited Africa fresh

from Aden, with its dull routine of meaningless parades and tiresome courts

martial, where society is broken by ridiculous distinctions of staff-men and

regimental-men, Madras-men and Bombay-men, “European” officers, and “black”

officers; where literature is confined to acquiring the art of explaining

yourself in the jargons of half-naked savages; where the business of life is

comprised in ignoble official squabbles, dislikes, disapprobations, and

“references to superior authority;” where social intercourse is crushed by

“gup,” gossip, and the scandal of small colonial circles; where—pleasant

predicament for those who really love women’s society!—it is scarcely possible

to address fair dame, preserving at the same time her reputation and your own,

and if seen with her twice, all “camp” will swear it is an “affair;” where,

briefly, the march of mind is at a dead halt, and the march of matter is in

double quick time to the hospital or sick-quarters. Then the fatal struggle for

Name, and the painful necessity of doing the most with the smallest materials

for a reputation! In Europe there are a thousand grades of celebrity, from

statesmanship to taxidermy; all, therefore, co-exist without rivalry. Whereas,

in these small colonies, there is but one fame, and as that leads directly to

rupees and rank, no man willingly accords it to his neighbour. And, finally,

such semi-civilised life abounds in a weary ceremoniousness. It is highly

improper to smoke outside your bungalow. You shall pay your visits at 11 A.M.,

when the glass stands at 120°. You shall be generally shunned if you omit your

waistcoat, no matter what the weather be. And if you venture to object to these

Median laws,—as I am now doing,—you elicit a chorus of disapproval, and acquire

some evil name.

About 11 A.M., when the fresh water arrives from the Hissi or wells, the Hajj

sends us dinner, mutton stews, of exceeding greasiness, boiled rice, maize

cakes, sometimes fish, and generally curds or milk. We all sit round a primitive

form of the Round Table, and I doubt that King Arthur’s knights ever proved

doughtier trenchermen than do my companions. We then rise to pipes and coffee,

after which, excluding visitors, my attendants apply themselves to a siesta, I

to my journal and studies.

At 2 P.M. there is a loud clamour at the door: if it be not opened in time, we

are asked if we have a Nazarene inside. Enters a crowd of visitors, anxious to

pass the afternoon. We proceed with a copy of the forenoon till the sun

declines, when it is time to escape the flies, to repair to the terrace for

fresh air, or to dress for a walk. Generally our direction is through the town

eastwards, to a plain of dilapidated graves and salt sand, peopled only by

land-crabs. At the extremity near the sea is a little mosque of wattle-work: we

sit there under the shade, and play a rude form of draughts, called Shantarah,

or at Shahh, a modification of the former.14 More often, eschewing these

effeminacies, we shoot at a mark, throw the javelin, leap, or engage in some

gymnastic exercise. The favourite Somali weapons are the spear, dagger, and

war-club; the bow and poisoned arrows are peculiar to the servile class, who

know

“the dreadful art

To taint with deadly drugs the barbed dart;”

and the people despise, at the same time that they fear firearms, declaring them

to be cowardly weapons15 with which the poltroon can slay the bravest.

The Somali spear is a form of the Cape Assegai. A long, thin, pliant and knotty

shaft of the Dibi, Diktab, and Makari trees, is dried, polished, and greased

with rancid butter: it is generally of a dull yellow colour, and sometimes

bound, as in Arabia, with brass wire for ornament. Care is applied to make the

rod straight, or the missile flies crooked: it is garnished with an iron button

at the head, and a long thin tapering head of coarse bad iron16, made at

Berberah and other places by the Tomal. The length of the shaft may be four feet

eight inches; the blade varies from twenty to twenty-six inches, and the whole

weapon is about seven feet long. Some polish the entire spear-head, others only

its socket or ferule; commonly, however, it is all blackened by heating it to

redness, and rubbing it with cow’s horn. In the towns, one of these weapons is

carried; on a journey and in battle two, as amongst the Tibboos,—a small javelin

for throwing and a large spear reserved for the thrust. Some warriors especially

amongst the Eesa, prefer a coarse heavy lance, which never leaves the hand. The

Somali spear is held in various ways: generally the thumb and forefinger grasp

the third nearest to the head, and the shaft resting upon the palm is made to

quiver. In action, the javelin is rarely thrown at a greater distance than six

or seven feet, and the heavier weapon is used for “jobbing.” Stripped to his

waist, the thrower runs forward with all the action of a Kafir, whilst the

attacked bounds about and crouches to receive it upon the round targe, which it

cannot pierce. He then returns the compliment, at the same time endeavouring to

break the weapon thrown at him by jumping and stamping upon it. The harmless

missiles being exhausted, both combatants draw their daggers, grapple with the

left hand, and with the right dig hard and swift at each other’s necks and

shoulders. When matters come to this point, the duel is soon decided, and the

victor, howling his slogan, pushes away from his front the dying enemy, and

rushes off to find another opponent. A puerile weapon during the day, when a

steady man can easily avoid it, the spear is terrible in night attacks or in the

“bush,” whence it can be hurled unseen. For practice, we plant a pair of

slippers upright in the ground, at the distance of twelve yards, and a skilful

spearman hits the mark once in every three throws.

The Somali dagger is an iron blade about eighteen inches long by two in breadth,

pointed and sharp at both edges. The handle is of buffalo or other horn, with a

double scoop to fit the grasp; and at the hilt is a conical ornament of zinc. It

is worn strapped round the waist by a thong sewed to the sheath, and long enough

to encircle the body twice: the point is to the right, and the handle projects

on the left. When in town, the Somal wear their daggers under the Tobe: in

battle, the strap is girt over the cloth to prevent the latter being lost. They

always stab from above: this is as it should be, a thrust with a short weapon

“underhand” may be stopped, if the adversary have strength enough to hold the

stabber’s forearm. The thrust is parried with the shield, and a wound is rarely

mortal except in the back: from the great length of the blade, the least

movement of the man attacked causes it to fall upon the shoulder-blade.

The “Budd,” or Somali club, resembles the Kafir “Tonga.” It is a knobstick about

a cubit long, made of some hard wood: the head is rounded on the inside, and the

outside is cut to an edge. In quarrels, it is considered a harmless weapon, and

is often thrown at the opponent and wielded viciously enough where the spear

point would carefully be directed at the buckler. The Gashan or shield is a

round targe about eighteen inches in diameter; some of the Bedouins make it much

larger. Rhinoceros’ skin being rare, the usual material is common bull’s hide,

or, preferably, that of the Oryx, called by the Arabs Waal, and by the Somal,

Baid. These shields are prettily cut, and are always protected when new with a

covering of canvass. The boss in the centre easily turns a spear, and the

strongest throw has very little effect even upon the thinnest portion. When not

used, the Gashan is slung upon the left forearm: during battle, the handle,

which is in the middle, is grasped by the left hand, and held out at a distance

from the body.

We are sometimes joined in our exercises by the Arab mercenaries, who are far

more skilful than the Somal. The latter are unacquainted with the sword, and

cannot defend themselves against it with the targe; they know little of dagger

practice, and were beaten at their own weapon, the javelin, by the children of

Bir Hamid. Though unable to jump for the honour of the turban, I soon acquired

the reputation of being the strongest man in Zayla: this is perhaps the easiest

way of winning respect from a barbarous people, who honour body, and degrade

mind to mere cunning.

When tired of exercise we proceed round the walls to the Ashurbara or Southern

Gate. Here boys play at “hockey” with sticks and stones energetically as in

England: they are fine manly specimens of the race, but noisy and impudent, like

all young savages. At two years of age they hold out the right hand for

sweetmeats, and if refused become insolent. The citizens amuse themselves with

the ball17, at which they play roughly as Scotch linkers: they are divided into

two parties, bachelors and married men; accidents often occur, and no player

wears any but the scantiest clothing, otherwise he would retire from the

conflict in rags. The victors sing and dance about the town for hours,

brandishing their spears, shouting their slogans, boasting of ideal

victories,—the Abyssinian Donfatu, or war-vaunt,—and advancing in death-triumph

with frantic gestures: a battle won would be celebrated with less circumstance

in Europe. This is the effect of no occupation—the primum mobile of the Indian

prince’s kite-flying and all the puerilities of the pompous East.

We usually find an encampment of Bedouins outside the gate. Their tents are

worse than any gipsy’s, low, smoky, and of the rudest construction. These people

are a spectacle of savageness. Their huge heads of shock hair, dyed red and

dripping with butter, are garnished with a Firin, or long three-pronged comb, a

stick, which acts as scratcher when the owner does not wish to grease his

fingers, and sometimes with the ominous ostrich feather, showing that the wearer

has “killed his man:” a soiled and ragged cotton cloth covers their shoulders,

and a similar article is wrapped round their loins.18 All wear coarse sandals,

and appear in the bravery of targe, spear, and dagger. Some of the women would

be pretty did they not resemble the men in their scowling, Satanic expression of

countenance: they are decidedly en deshabille, but a black skin always appears a

garb. The cantonment is surrounded by asses, camels, and a troop of naked

Flibertigibbets, who dance and jump in astonishment whenever they see me: “The

white man! the white man!” they shriek; “run away, run away, or we shall be

eaten!”19 On one occasion, however, my amour propre was decidedly flattered by

the attentions of a small black girl, apparently four or five years old, who

followed me through the streets ejaculating “Wa Wanaksan!”—“0 fine!” The

Bedouins, despite their fierce scowls, appear good-natured; the women flock out

of the huts to stare and laugh, the men to look and wonder. I happened once to

remark, “Lo, we come forth to look at them and they look at us; we gaze at their

complexion and they gaze at ours!” A Bedouin who understood Arabic translated

this speech to the others, and it excited great merriment. In the mining

counties of civilised England, where the “genial brickbat” is thrown at the

passing stranger, or in enlightened Scotland, where hair a few inches too long

or a pair of mustachios justifies “mobbing,” it would have been impossible for

me to have mingled as I did with these wild people.

We must return before sunset, when the gates are locked and the keys are carried

to the Hajj, a vain precaution, when a donkey could clear half a dozen places in

the town wall. The call to evening prayer sounds as we enter: none of my

companions pray 20, but all when asked reply in the phrase which an Englishman

hates, “Inshallah Bukra”—“if Allah please, to-morrow!”—and they have the decency

not to appear in public at the hours of devotion. The Somal, like most Africans,

are of a somewhat irreverent turn of mind.21 When reproached with gambling, and

asked why they persist in the forbidden pleasure, they simply answer “Because we

like.” One night, encamped amongst the Eesa, I was disturbed by a female voice

indulging in the loudest lamentations: an elderly lady, it appears, was

suffering from tooth-ache, and the refrain of her groans was, “O Allah, may thy

teeth ache like mine! O Allah, may thy gums be sore as mine are!” A well-known

and characteristic tale is told of the Gerad Hirsi, now chief of the Berteri

tribe. Once meeting a party of unarmed pilgrims, he asked them why they had left

their weapons at home: they replied in the usual phrase, “Nahnu

mutawakkilin”—“we are trusters (in Allah).” That evening, having feasted them

hospitably, the chief returned hurriedly to the hut, declaring that his

soothsayer ordered him at once to sacrifice a pilgrim, and begging the

horror-struck auditors to choose the victim. They cast lots and gave over one of

their number: the Gerad placed him in another hut, dyed his dagger with sheep’s

blood, and returned to say that he must have a second life. The unhappy pilgrims

rose en masse, and fled so wildly that the chief, with all the cavalry of the

desert, found difficulty in recovering them. He dismissed them with liberal

presents, and not a few jibes about their trustfulness. The wilder Bedouins will

inquire where Allah is to be found: when asked the object of the question, they

reply, “If the Eesa could but catch him they would spear him upon the spot,—who

but he lays waste their homes and kills their cattle and wives?” Yet, conjoined

to this truly savage incapability of conceiving the idea of a Supreme Being,

they believe in the most ridiculous exaggerations: many will not affront a

common pilgrim, for fear of being killed by a glance or a word.

Our supper, also provided by the hospitable Hajj, is the counterpart of the

midday dinner. After it we repair to the roof, to enjoy the prospect of the far

Tajurrah hills and the white moonbeams sleeping upon the nearer sea. The evening

star hangs like a diamond upon the still horizon: around the moon a pink zone of

light mist, shading off into turquoise blue, and a delicate green like

chrysopraz, invests the heavens with a peculiar charm. The scene is truly

suggestive: behind us, purpling in the night-air and silvered by the radiance

from above, lie the wolds and mountains tenanted by the fiercest of savages;

their shadowy mysterious forms exciting vague alarms in the traveller’s breast.

Sweet as the harp of David, the night-breeze and the music of the water come up

from the sea; but the ripple and the rustling sound alternate with the hyena’s

laugh, the jackal’s cry, and the wild dog’s lengthened howl.

Or, the weather becoming cold, we remain below, and Mohammed Umar returns to

read out more “Book of Lights,” or some pathetic ode. I will quote in free

translation the following production of the celebrated poet Abd el Rahman el

Burai, as a perfect specimen of melancholy Arab imagery:

“No exile is the banished to the latter end of earth,

The exile is the banished to the coffin and the tomb

“He hath claims on the dwellers in the places of their birth

Who wandereth the world, for he lacketh him a home.

“Then, blamer, blame me not, were my heart within thy breast,

The sigh would take the place of thy laughter and thy scorn.

“Let me weep for the sin that debars my soul of rest,

The tear may yet avail,—all in vain I may not mourn! 22

“Woe! woe to thee, Flesh!—with a purer spirit now

The death-day were a hope, and the judgment-hour a joy!

“One morn I woke in pain, with a pallor on my brow,

As though the dreaded Angel were descending to destroy:

“They brought to me a leech, saying, ‘Heal him lest he die!’

On that day, by Allah, were his drugs a poor deceit!

“They stripped me and bathed me, and closed the glazing eye,

And dispersed unto prayers, and to haggle for my sheet.

“The prayers without a bow23 they prayed over me that day,

Brought nigh to me the bier, and disposed me within.

“Four bare upon their shoulders this tenement of clay,

Friend and kinsmen in procession bore the dust of friend and kin.

“They threw upon me mould of the tomb and went their way—

A guest, ‘twould seem, had flitted from the dwellings of the tribe!

“My gold and my treasures each a share they bore away,

Without thanks, without praise, with a jest and with a jibe.

“My gold and my treasures each his share they bore away,

On me they left the weight!—with me they left the sin!

“That night within the grave without hoard or child I lay,

No spouse, no friend were there, no comrade and no kin.

“The wife of my youth, soon another husband found—

A stranger sat at home on the hearthstone of my sire.

“My son became a slave, though not purchased nor bound,

The hireling of a stranger, who begrudged him his hire.

“Such, alas, is human life! such the horror of his death!

Man grows like a grass, like a god he sees no end.

“Be wise, then, ere too late, brother! praise with every breath

The hand that can chastise, the arm that can defend:

“And bless thou the Prophet, the averter of our ills,

While the lightning flasheth bright o’er the ocean and the hills.”

At this hour my companions become imaginative and superstitious. One Salimayn, a

black slave from the Sawahil24, now secretary to the Hajj, reads our fortunes in

the rosary. The “fal”25, as it is called, acts a prominent part in Somali life.

Some men are celebrated for accuracy of prediction; and in times of danger, when

the human mind is ever open to the “fooleries of faith,” perpetual reference is

made to their art. The worldly wise Salimayn, I observed, never sent away a

questioner with an ill-omened reply, but he also regularly insisted upon the

efficacy of sacrifice and almsgiving, which, as they would assuredly be

neglected, afforded him an excuse in case of accident. Then we had a recital of

the tales common to Africa, and perhaps to all the world. In modern France, as

in ancient Italy, “versipelles” become wolves and hide themselves in the woods:

in Persia they change themselves into bears, and in Bornou and Shoa assume the

shapes of lions, hyenas, and leopards. 26 The origin of this metamorphic

superstition is easily traceable, like man’s fetisism or demonology, to his

fears: a Bedouin, for instance, becomes dreadful by the reputation of sorcery:

bears and hyenas are equally terrible; and the two objects of horror are easily

connected. Curious to say, individuals having this power were pointed out to me,

and people pretended to discover it in their countenances: at Zayla I was shown

a Bedouin, by name Farih Badaun, who notably became a hyena at times, for the

purpose of tasting human blood.27 About forty years ago, three brothers, Kayna,

Fardayna, and Sollan, were killed on Gulays near Berberah for the crime of

metamorphosis. The charge is usually substantiated either by the bestial tail

remaining appended to a part of the human shape which the owner has forgotten to

rub against the magic tree, or by some peculiar wound which the beast received

and the man retained. Kindred to this superstition is the belief that many of

the Bedouins have learned the languages of birds and beasts. Another widely

diffused fancy is that of the Aksar28, which in this pastoral land becomes a

kind of wood: wonderful tales are told of battered milk-pails which, by means of

some peg accidentally cut in the jungle, have been found full of silver, or have

acquired the qualities of cornucopiae. It is supposed that a red heifer always

breaks her fast upon the wonderful plant, consequently much time and trouble

have been expended by the Somal in watching the morning proceedings of red

heifers. At other times we hear fearful tales of old women who, like the Jigar

Khwar of Persia, feed upon man’s liver: they are fond of destroying young

children; even adults are not ashamed of defending themselves with talismans. In

this country the crone is called Bidaa or Kumayyo, words signifying a witch: the

worst is she that destroys her own progeny. No wound is visible in this

vampyre’s victim: generally he names his witch, and his friends beat her to

death unless she heal him: many are thus martyred; and in Somali land scant

notice is taken of such a peccadillo as murdering an old woman. The sex indeed

has by no means a good name: here, as elsewhere, those who degrade it are the

first to abuse it for degradation. At Zayla almost all quarrels are connected

with women; the old bewitch in one way, the young in another, and both are

equally maligned. “Wit in a woman,” exclaims one man, “is a habit of running

away in a dromedary.” “Allah,” declares another, “made woman of a crooked bone;

he who would straighten her, breaketh her.” Perhaps, however, by these

generalisms of abuse the sex gains: they prevent personal and individual

details; and no society of French gentlemen avoids mentioning in public the name

of a woman more scrupulously than do the misogynist Moslems.

After a conversazione of two hours my visitors depart, and we lose no time—for

we must rise at cockcrow—in spreading our mats round the common room. You would

admire the Somali pillow 29, a dwarf pedestal of carved wood, with a curve upon

which the greasy poll and its elaborate frisure repose. Like the Abyssinian

article, it resembles the head-rest of ancient Egypt in all points, except that

it is not worked with Typhons and other horrors to drive away dreadful dreams.

Sometimes the sound of the kettledrum, the song, and the clapping of hands,

summon us at a later hour than usual to a dance. The performance is complicated,

and, as usual with the trivialities easily learned in early youth, it is

uncommonly difficult to a stranger. Each dance has its own song and measure,

and, contrary to the custom of El Islam, the sexes perform together. They begin

by clapping the hands and stamping where they stand; to this succeed advancing,

retiring, wheeling about, jumping about, and the other peculiarities of the Jim

Crow school. The principal measures are those of Ugadayn and Batar; these again

are divided and subdivided;—I fancy that the description of Dileho, Jibwhayn,

and Hobala would be as entertaining and instructive to you, dear L., as Polka,

Gavotte, and Mazurka would be to a Somali.

On Friday—our Sunday—a drunken crier goes about the town, threatening the

bastinado to all who neglect their five prayers. At half-past eleven a

kettledrum sounds a summons to the Jami or Cathedral. It is an old barn rudely

plastered with whitewash; posts or columns of artless masonry support the low

roof, and the smallness of the windows, or rather air-holes, renders its dreary

length unpleasantly hot. There is no pulpit; the only ornament is a rude

representation of the Meccan Mosque, nailed like a pothouse print to the wall;

and the sole articles of furniture are ragged mats and old boxes, containing

tattered chapters of the Koran in greasy bindings. I enter with a servant

carrying a prayer carpet, encounter the stare of 300 pair of eyes, belonging to

parallel rows of squatters, recite the customary two-bow prayer in honor of the

mosque, placing sword and rosary before me, and then, taking up a Koran, read

the Cow Chapter (No. 18.) loud and twangingly. At the Zohr or mid-day hour, the

Muezzin inside the mosque, standing before the Khatib or preacher, repeats the

call to prayer, which the congregation, sitting upon their shins and feet,

intone after him. This ended, all present stand up, and recite every man for

himself, a two-bow prayer of Sunnat or Example, concluding with the blessing on

the Prophet and the Salam over each shoulder to all brother Believers. The

Khatib then ascends his hole in the wall, which serves for pulpit, and thence

addresses us with “The peace be upon you, and the mercy of Allah, and his

benediction;” to which we respond through the Muezzin, “And upon you be peace,

and Allah’s mercy!” After sundry other religious formulas and their replies,

concluding with a second call to prayer, our preacher rises, and in the voice

with which Sir Hudibras was wont

“To blaspheme custard through the nose,”

preaches El Waaz30, or the advice-sermon. He sits down for a few minutes, and

then, rising again, recites El Naat, or the Praise of the Prophet and his

Companions. These are the two heads into which the Moslem discourse is divided;

unfortunately, however, there is no application. Our preacher, who is also Kazi

or Judge, makes several blunders in his Arabic, and he reads his sermons, a

thing never done in El Islam, except by the modice docti. The discourse over,

our clerk, who is, if possible, worse than the curate, repeats the form of call

termed El Ikamah; then entering the Mihrab or niche, he recites the two-bow

Friday litany, with, and in front of, the congregation. I remarked no

peculiarity in the style of praying, except that all followed the practice of

the Shafeis in El Yemen,—raising the hands for a moment, instead of letting them

depend along the thighs, between the Rukaat or bow and the Sujdah or

prostration. This public prayer concluded, many people leave the mosque; a few

remain for more prolonged devotions.

There is a queer kind of family likeness between this scene and that of a

village church, in some quiet nook of rural England. Old Sharmarkay, the squire,

attended by his son, takes his place close to the pulpit; and although the

Honoratiores have no padded and cushioned pews, they comport themselves very

much as if they had. Recognitions of the most distant description are allowed

before the service commences: looking around is strictly forbidden during

prayers; but all do not regard the prohibition, especially when a new moustache

enters. Leaving the church, men shake hands, stand for a moment to exchange

friendly gossip, or address a few words to the preacher, and then walk home to

dinner. There are many salient points of difference. No bonnets appear in

public: the squire, after prayers, gives alms to the poor, and departs escorted

by two dozen matchlock-men, who perseveringly fire their shotted guns.

1 This style of profile—highly oval, with the chin and brow receding— is very

conspicuous in Eastern Africa, where the face, slightly prognathous, projects

below the nose.

2 Gall-nuts form the base of the tattooing dye. It is worked in with a needle,

when it becomes permanent: applied with a pen, it requires to be renewed about

once a fortnight.

3 Mats are the staple manufacture in Eastern, as in many parts of Western,

Africa. The material is sometimes Daum or other palm: there are, however, many

plants in more common use; they are made of every variety in shape and colour,

and are dyed red, black, and yellow,—madder from Tajurrah and alum being the

matter principally used.

4 When woman addresses woman she always uses her voice.

5 The Tobe, or Abyssinian “Quarry,” is the general garment of Africa from Zayla

to Bornou. In the Somali country it is a cotton sheet eight cubits long, and two

breadths sewn together. An article of various uses, like the Highland plaid, it

is worn in many ways; sometimes the right arm is bared; in cold weather the

whole person is muffled up, and in summer it is allowed to full below the waist.

Generally it is passed behind the back, rests upon the left shoulder, is carried

forward over the breast, surrounds the body, and ends hanging on the left

shoulder, where it displays a gaudy silk fringe of red and yellow. This is the

man’s Tobe. The woman’s dress is of similar material, but differently worn: the

edges are knotted generally over the right, sometimes over the left shoulder; it

is girdled round the waist, below which hangs a lappet, which in cold weather

can be brought like a hood over the head. Though highly becoming, and

picturesque as the Roman toga, the Somali Tobe is by no means the most decorous

of dresses: women in the towns often prefer the Arab costume,—a short-sleeved

robe extending to the knee, and a Futah or loin-cloth underneath.

As regards the word Tobe, it signifies, in Arabic, a garment generally: the

Somal call it “Maro,” and the half Tobe a “Shukkah.”

6 Abu Kasim of Gaza, a well known commentator upon Abu Shujaa of Isfahan, who

wrote a text-book of the Shafei school.

7 The Hajj had seven sons, three of whom died in infancy. Ali and Mahmud, the

latter a fine young man, fell victims to small pox: Mohammed is now the eldest,

and the youngest is a child called Ahmed, left for education at Mocha. The Hajj

has also two daughters, married to Bedouin Somal.

8 It is related that a Hazrami, flying from his fellow-countrymen, reached a

town upon the confines of China. He was about to take refuge in a mosque, but

entering, he stumbled over the threshold. “Ya Amud el Din”— “0 Pillar of the

Faith!” exclaimed a voice from the darkness, calling upon the patron saint of

Hazramaut to save a Moslem from falling. “May the Pillar of the Faith break thy

head,” exclaimed the unpatriotic traveller, at once rising to resume his vain

peregrinations.

9 Mercenaries from Mocha, Hazramaut, and Bir Hamid near Aden: they are armed

with matchlock, sword, and dagger; and each receives from the governor a monthly

stipend of two dollars and a half.

10 The system of caste, which prevails in El Yemen, though not in the northern

parts of Arabia, is general throughout the Somali country. The principal

families of outcasts are the following.

The Yebir correspond with the Dushan of Southern Arabia: the males are usually

jesters to the chiefs, and both sexes take certain parts at festivals,

marriages, and circumcisions. The number is said to be small, amounting to about

100 families in the northern Somali country.

The Tomal or Handad, the blacksmiths, originally of Aydur race, have become vile

by intermarriage with serviles. They mast now wed maidens of their own class,

and live apart from the community: their magical practices are feared by the

people,—the connection of wits and witchcraft is obvious,—and all private

quarrels are traced to them. It has been observed that the blacksmith has ever

been looked upon with awe by barbarians on the same principle that made Vulcan a

deity. In Abyssinia all artisans are Budah, sorcerers, especially the

blacksmith, and he is a social outcast as among the Somal; even in El Hejaz, a

land, unlike Yemen, opposed to distinctions amongst Moslems, the Khalawiyah, who

work in metal, are considered vile. Throughout the rest of El Islam the

blacksmith is respected as treading in the path of David, the father of the

craft.

The word “Tomal,” opposed to Somal, is indigenous. “Handad “is palpably a

corruption of the Arabic “Haddad,” ironworker.

The Midgan, “one-hand,” corresponds with the Khadim of Yemen: he is called Kami

or “archer” by the Arabs. There are three distinct tribes of this people, who

are numerous in the Somali country: the best genealogists cannot trace their

origin, though some are silly enough to derive them, like the Akhdam, from

Shimr. All, however, agree in expelling the Midgan from the gentle blood of

Somali land, and his position has been compared to that of Freedman amongst the

Romans. These people take service under the different chiefs, who sometimes

entertain great numbers to aid in forays and frays; they do not, however,

confine themselves to one craft. Many Midgans employ themselves in hunting and

agriculture. Instead of spear and shield, they carry bows and a quiver full of

diminutive arrows, barbed and poisoned with the Waba,—a weapon used from

Faizoghli to the Cape of Good Hope. Like the Veddah of Ceylon, the Midgan is a

poor shot, and scarcely strong enough to draw his stiff bow. He is accused of

maliciousness; and the twanging of his string will put to flight a whole

village. The poison is greatly feared: it causes, say the people, the hair and

nails to drop off, and kills a man in half an hour. The only treatment known is

instant excision of the part; and this is done the more frequently, because

here, as in other parts of Africa, such stigmates are deemed ornamental.

In appearance the Midgan is dark and somewhat stunted; he is known to the people

by peculiarities of countenance and accent.

11 The reason why Europeans fail to explain their thoughts to Orientals

generally is that they transfer the Laconism of Western to Eastern tongues. We

for instance say, “Fetch the book I gave you last night.” This in Hindostani, to

choose a well-known tongue, must be smothered with words thus: “What book was by

me given to you yesterday by night, that book bringing to me, come!”

12 I have alluded to these subjects in a previous work upon the subject of

Meccah and El Medinah.

13 This is one of the stock complaints against the Moslem scheme. Yet is it not

practically the case with ourselves? In European society, the best are generally

those who prefer the companionship of their own sex; the “ladies’ man” and the

woman who avoids women are rarely choice specimens.

14 The Shantarah board is thus made, with twenty-five points technically called

houses. [Illustration] The players have twelve counters a piece, and each places

two at a time upon any of the unoccupied angles, till all except the centre are

filled up. The player who did not begin the game must now move a man; his object

is to inclose one of his adversary’s between two of his own, in which case he

removes it, and is entitled to continue moving till he can no longer take. It is

a game of some skill, and perpetual practice enables the Somal to play it as the

Persians do backgammon, with great art and little reflection. The game is called

Kurkabod when, as in our draughts, the piece passing over one of the adversary’s

takes it.

Shahh is another favourite game. The board is made thus, [Illustration] and the

pieces as at Shantarah are twelve in number. The object is to place three men in

line,—as the German Muhle and the Afghan “Kitar,”— when any one of the

adversary’s pieces may be removed.

Children usually prefer the game called indifferently Togantog and Saddikiya. A

double line of five or six holes is made in the ground, four counters are placed

in each, and when in the course of play four men meet in the same hole, one of

the adversary’s is removed. It resembles the Bornou game, played with beans and

holes in the sand. Citizens and the more civilised are fond of “Bakkis,” which,

as its name denotes, is a corruption of the well-known Indian Pachisi. None but

the travelled know chess, and the Damal (draughts) and Tavola (backgammon) of

the Turks.

15 The same objection against “villanous saltpetre” was made by ourselves in

times of old: the French knights called gunpowder the Grave of Honor. This is

natural enough, the bravest weapon being generally the shortest—that which

places a man hand to hand with his opponent. Some of the Kafir tribes have

discontinued throwing the Assegai, and enter battle wielding it as a pike.

Usually, also, the shorter the weapon is, the more fatal are the conflicts in

which it is employed. The old French “Briquet,” the Afghan “Charay,” and the

Goorka “Kukkri,” exemplify this fact in the history of arms.

16 In the latter point it differs from the Assegai, which is worked by the

Kafirs to the finest temper.

17 It is called by the Arabs Kubabah, by the Somal Goasa. Johnston (Travels in

Southern Abyssinia, chap. 8.) has described the game; he errs, however, in

supposing it peculiar to the Dankali tribes.

18 This is in fact the pilgrim dress of El Islam; its wide diffusion to the

eastward, as well as west of the Red Sea, proves its antiquity as a popular

dress.

19 I often regretted having neglected the precaution of a bottle of walnut

juice,—a white colour is decidedly too conspicuous in this part of the East.

20 The strict rule of the Moslem faith is this: if a man neglect to pray, he is

solemnly warned to repent. Should he simply refuse, without, however,

disbelieving in prayer, he is to be put to death, and receive Moslem burial; in

the other contingency, he is not bathed, prayed for, or interred in holy ground.

This severe order, however, lies in general abeyance.

21 “Tuarick grandiloquence,” says Richardson (vol. i. p. 207.), “savours of

blasphemy, e.g. the lands, rocks, and mountains of Ghat do not belong to God but

to the Azghar.” Equally irreverent are the Kafirs of the Cape. They have proved

themselves good men in wit as well as war; yet, like the old Greenlanders and

some of the Burmese tribes, they are apparently unable to believe in the

existence of the Supreme. A favourite question to the missionaries was this, “Is

your God white or black?” If the European, startled by the question, hesitated

for a moment, they would leave him with open signs of disgust at having been

made the victims of a hoax.

The assertion generally passes current that the idea of an Omnipotent Being is

familiar to all people, even the most barbarous. My limited experience argues

the contrary. Savages begin with fetisism and demon-worship, they proceed to

physiolatry (the religion of the Vedas) and Sabaeism: the deity is the last and

highest pinnacle of the spiritual temple, not placed there except by a

comparatively civilised race of high development, which leads them to study and

speculate upon cosmical and psychical themes. This progression is admirably

wrought out in Professor Max Muller’s “Rig Veda Sanhita.”

22 The Moslem corpse is partly sentient in the tomb, reminding the reader of

Tennyson:

“I thought the dead had peace, but it is not so;

To have no peace in the grave, is that not sad?”

23 The prayers for the dead have no Rukaat or bow as in other orisons.

24 The general Moslem name for the African coast from the Somali seaboard

southwards to the Mozambique, inhabited by negrotic races.

25 The Moslem rosary consists of ninety-nine beads divided into sets of

thirty-three each by some peculiar sign, as a bit of red coral. [Illustration]

The consulter, beginning at a chance place, counts up to the mark: if the number

of beads be odd, he sets down a single dot, if even, two. This is done four

times, when a figure is produced as in the margin. Of these there are sixteen,

each having its peculiar name and properties. The art is merely Geomancy in its

rudest shape; a mode of vaticination which, from its wide diffusion, must be of

high antiquity. The Arabs call it El Baml, and ascribe its present form to the

Imam Jaafar el Sadik; amongst them it is a ponderous study, connected as usual

with astrology. Napoleon’s “Book of Fate” is a specimen of the old Eastern

superstition presented to Europe in a modern and simple form.

26 In this country, as in Western and Southern Africa, the leopard, not the

wolf, is the shepherd’s scourge.

27 Popular superstition in Abyssinia attributes the same power to the Felashas

or Jews.

28 Our Elixir, a corruption of the Arabic El Iksir.

29 In the Somali tongue its name is Barki: they make a stool of similar shape,

and call it Barjimo.

30 Specimens of these discourses have been given by Mr. Lane, Mod. Egypt, chap.

3. It is useless to offer others, as all bear the closest resemblance.

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excludes neither sun, nor wind, nor rain.