To Mesopotamia and Kurdistan in disguise

by Ely Banister Soane

I then told him what had happened, and as the recital proceeded, his indignation, never far to seek, burst forth in such phrases as “Adabsiz!” “Keupek ughlu!” “Tarbiatsiz!” (Mannerless! Sons of dogs! Ignorant creatures!), and then affirmed that he would at once see the commissaire of police and demand an apology. On second thoughts, however, he considered it wiser to seek assistance from the Mudir Effendi of the School. He bustled around, and having changed his trousers and coat—for he put aside his better clothes when in his cell, to save them—locked his door, and we went to the school, where we found the schoolmaster on his bench in the garden. To him the old man poured out the tale in fluent Turkish, while the effendi nodded his head and played with his beads, and when he had finished, the old man banged with his stick upon the ground and once more abused the police. The Mudir Effendi then asked me why I had really come here, and I pointed out that even had I come as a “sayyah” or tourist, that no objection could be raised unless I be proved to engage myself in an undesirable pursuit. Further, that as far as circumstances permitted I had occupied myself in business, but that it was somewhat difficult to trade in a place whence no roads were open to the neighbouring districts. This he agreed to, and having asked me to state that I was a British subject, said he would speak to the police. He said they had a right to demand the “ubur tezkere,” or Turkish travelling passport, but none to remove other passports, nor were they authorised to annoy even a suspect in his own house.

As I could expect nothing more from him, I thanked him and left, and he with Mustafa Beg went towards the Serai or Governor’s house to see the police commissaire, who had an office there.

CHAPTER XIII
LIFE IN SULAIMANIA (continued)

During this time Hama had returned once with a large number of mule-loads of “run” from Halabja, and was great with projects of a journey to Bagdad to buy sugar. The road to that place was still closed, and the only means of access to the south was by Halabja and Khaniqin, a large frontier town on the Bagdad Kermanshah road. All the merchants of the place were itching to be off and away to Bagdad, for the sugar that in April had cost two krans a loaf was now selling for five, and there were days at the coffee-house when one could not get tea, the sugar having run out, and people, from force of habit, sat there smoking cigarettes and discussing politics, tealess.

But in his commercial schemes, Hama, with all the characteristic of the Kurd to the fore, quite forgot that he had left outstanding at Halabja a number of debts which he must collect before more money was risked, and was hoping to rake in a good profit on a new undertaking, while disregarding the loss on the old one. So I had to send him back to Halabja, for he had disposed of the fifty pairs of shoes mostly on credit, and had but a hazy idea of who the buyers were. He sat at the edge of the tank twiddling his fingers and puzzling his brains to remember to whom he had given the shoes, while I tried to make a list, which was finely descriptive where he could not remember the names. One had taken a pair for twelve krans, “who was the second rider of Majid Beg’s men from Narinjalan”; another, “a big man who sits at the corner of Shaul the Jew’s shop, in the bazaar”; another, “a man I met in the coffee-house, who was talking to Hama Rasha of Ababail”; and so on. Lady Adela herself had taken some, and there were quite a number of her servants whose shoes, according to Hama, were also chargeable to her, though apparently she never consented to pay for them. So I sent him away again to Halabja, and in his place engaged a small boy, son of the Hama who was the caravanserai keeper of Matti. This boy was content to serve for a penny every three days, and his food. He was a child of extraordinarily acute intelligence. He had picked up some Persian in the bazaars, and displayed great aptitude in learning it when spoken to him. But if his intelligence helped him thus, it also assisted in making him a great trial to both his father and the Christians in the caravanserai. For he was the leader of several gangs of small hooligans, was continually fighting, and obeyed only in a small degree his father. His mother, a most estimable soul, who came to make bread for me, was in despair of him, for he was quite out of her hands, and did just as he pleased with her. By making himself a great nuisance to the Christians, he had instituted a kind of toll, which he received on demand, a piastre or two at a time. He would, for instance, come to Habib, demanding his fee, and if it be refused, as it was sometimes, would jump upon the unfortunate man’s back and half throttle him, or sweep round and round his office, overturning the wares and dealing destruction as he went. If he were chastised, he returned, fortified with genuine fury, to the fray, and the easiest way to deal with him was to give him his twopence. When he came to me, I naturally earned the gratitude of all his victims, but he still found time to run round to the caravanserai and hurl a taunt or two at its occupants. He was a child of the Aorami, that tribe of Kurdistan which is not Kurd, which claims descent from Rustam himself, and counts its place of origin to be Demavend. The neighbours were not particularly pleased at his advent, for he carried war into their territory, and from the roofs, the playground of children in the summer, he raided the courtyards, and taught all the quiet children of the quarter the wild games he delighted in. The women stood in dread of him, for he would, when sent upon an errand to borrow a pot or pan, a common enough errand in these parts, remain for an hour teasing.

A KURDISH URCHIN

According to the custom of Sulaimania, there were during the day none but women in the houses; and in our quarter, where small merchants and shopkeepers lived, the men were out from early morning to late evening. My interests took me but little outside on some days of the week, and as I became known, and the presence of the old dame rendered such a proceeding not indecorous, the female portion of the surrounding inhabitants would spend some part of their not too fully occupied time chatting. For the most part they were merry people, like all Kurdish women, free from any affectations of speech or manner, saying what they meant without an attempt at softening rough corners from the subject—saying it while they looked one straight in the eyes, so to speak—and laughing heartily at the pleasantries that abound in Kurdish conversation, with no sign of what we call “flirtation,” nor self-conscious tricks of any kind.

Breadmaking days were the time for a regular meeting of such, and when, if at home, I would retire to my room. The professional woman baker would arrive early in the morning with a bag of flour, and Ghafur, the child of wrath, would be sent round to borrow a big copper pan from one of the neighbours, the capture of which he usually signalled by beating a tattoo upon its resonant sides all the way up the street. The woman baker was by this time drinking her tea with the old house-dame, listening to the oft-told tale of her son’s death on the Bagdad road, and weeping a tear or two in sympathy. With the advent of Ghafur, she would speedily desert the tea—for she was, and I hope still is, a busy woman—and get to mixing her flour. This operation was always performed under the little space of roofing just inside the open courtyard door, so when the neighbours, bound upon their multifarious house-to-house errands, passed by, it was natural that they should stroll in to assist. If they did not, then Ghafur would be sent to beat them up, an operation which he fully appreciated, for to bake the bread well required two or three, and as we had no earth-oven, someone else’s must be heated, and then of course others who had a little bread to bake would ask the favour of cooking theirs after ours, in the still hot oven; for the heating costs money, and the opportunity of baking at another’s fire is never lost by a good Kurdish housewife.

BREAD BAKING

So as a rule we had as assistants at the game of kneading and rolling into balls, ready for slapping into thin flap-jacks, the carpenter’s wife from opposite, a sturdy creature, hard-worked and hard-working. She had five children, whom she kept clean and tidy, two of whom usually accompanied her, fair, curly headed youngsters with pale blue eyes, and as rosy cheeked as only a Kurd or a Persian is among the Middle Eastern people. Then there were the two sisters from next door, wives of two brothers who kept a coffee-house, lazy creatures who sat about and smoked cigarettes. Occasionally one, Adela, wife of the ward of the children in whose house I lived, would look in, but she was a haughty creature, of velvets and golden ornaments and diamond rings, the beauty of the quarter, who knew her own importance. She certainly was very beautiful, and had the added advantage possessed by many Kurdish women over those of the neighbouring races—height, and a fine straight height too.