To Mesopotamia and Kurdistan in disguise

by Ely Banister Soane

MEET THE HAMAVANDS

Not wishing to rest so near the village, we kept on for some time till a turn of the hills hid us, and then in a depression by a basin where the grass grew knee-high, we threw the loads under some trees. Hardly had we done this than from every gully in the hill-sides horsemen came galloping down. Handsome men these Hamavands. As they rushed along, the silk head handkerchiefs of many colours streamed behind them; their long tunics, covering even their feet, rose and fell with the horses’ action. The stirrups of many were inlaid with silver, contrasting with the scarlet upturned shoes. Their zouave jackets they had ornamented to the highest degree. Weird designs in gold braid and thread covered the pale blue cloth. Most were armed with Mauser repeating rifles, taken from the Turkish soldiers by force, and they made no pretence of hiding such evidences of their predatory predilections before the numerous soldiers and officers of our caravan.

Altogether there were about fifty of them, and notwithstanding the attitude of the soldiers, who had entrenched themselves behind bales, covering the oncomers, they rode straight up to the encampment, heedless of the disconcerted army that rose from behind its cover, looking foolish. As they approached near, each one ostentatiously opened the breech of his rifle and emptied it of cartridges, then slung it on his back, thereby announcing at once their friendly intentions, and their scorn for the soldiers. It was evident that the Shuan messengers had been well received, for the Hamavand head-man was there, a lad of about twenty, gorgeous in silk raiment, even to the undershirt, of which the long pointed sleeves hung to his feet. Remarkable, too, was the spotless cleanliness of these people. Despite their rough lives and constantly being in the saddle, not one showed a soiled shirt. Later, I discovered that the predatory Kurd, the more wealthy he becomes, insists ever more upon clean clothing—a feature peculiar, I should imagine, to the Kurd of these parts—not that the race can be called dirty, as the standards of Persia go.

The Hamavands, members of a race famous for bravery and lawlessness, have made a name for themselves among their countrymen, outdoing the wildest in foolhardy raids, and the bravest in their disregard of any danger, and a hostility to the Turks that has broken out continually ever since the powers of the old pashas of Sulaimania were broken. These years of outlawry seem to have had an effect upon their physiognomy. While not possessing the fine features of the Kurdish race, they have an alertness in their sharp dark eyes that comes of their mode of life, and a hostile manner that even among friends they cannot always control. We learned gradually, by the news that filtered from the tree where they were gathered round Shefiq Effendi, that they had received our messengers, and would see us as far as their chief’s tent in Bazian plain, but we must take the chances of his decision. They could not guarantee that he would not resent the appearance of so many soldiers, nor be able to refrain from molesting them. It was suggested by the local chief that the soldiers should pack their arms upon mules and go back to Kirkuk, when we were assured that the chief would welcome us as followers of Shefiq Effendi. The Hamavands were very frank and very honourable. They refused to accept any food from the effendi, for they might be called upon to fall upon him and his soldiers that night; but after he had exempted them of all responsibility, they consented to partake of his tea.

However, they insisted upon certain conditions in the case of the soldiers. The bugle which had been used in the Shuan country was handed to the Hamavand leader, and one of his men at once tried to blow a call, a melancholy failure that provoked the sarcasm of his fellows, not only at hire, but of the fools that had to be led by a braying brass pipe and could not understand the hill calls. The soldiers were to march wherever the riders directed, before or behind the caravan, and at night must camp where told, and be prepared to be shot at if they moved about at night. The conditions were of course agreed to, despite the disgust of the commanding “bimbashi,” a Turk who had to have Kurdish translated, and who began to realise at last what Kurds might be.

BAZIAN

These conditions arranged, a number of the troop left us to advise the chief, and taking a steep mountain path were soon out of sight. We loaded up slowly and resumed our way through some of the prettiest country I have ever seen in Kurdistan. Water and trees were abundant, valley after valley was carpeted with flowers and deep in grass. Sheep and cattle grazed in every place, guarded by small boys and girls, young Hamavands as yet not enlisted in the fighting forces—I include girls under this heading, for the women fight when necessary.

Towards sunset we topped a ridge and saw before us the long and narrow valley of Bazian, the centre of the Hamavand country. It is specially favoured with water, an abundance of which flows down from both sides. The two ranges appear to pour out all the moisture they possess upon the Bazian valley, for the plains that run up to their feet outside are waterless, and each range while presenting, upon their inward or Bazian faces, green, if steep slopes, show to the outer world precipitous faces of bare rock.

Consequently Bazian valley, for the whole of its narrow length—it is only two miles across—is a green field, wherein herds of sheep and cows, like our Guernsey breed, graze all the year round. The Hamavands had also an eye to self-defence in selecting this secluded spot, for, shut in at both north and south ends, its eastern and western walls have no break in them except the Bazian break in the western range, and a depression in the same range lower down at Sagirma. These two passes are admirably commanded from the steep spurs above them, and have never yet given way to an invading force.[49]

In a corner of the eastern range we came at sunset to a large black tent, the spring residence of the chief of the Hamavands, Hama Beg. From it emerged a number of men, who springing upon their horses came to meet us, and pilot us to our camping ground—for piloting was necessary. The leader of a tribe in rebellion must, even in his own country, be wary, and this chief had placed his tent in such a position that, while at his back was a precipice, on the other three sides a deep bog stretched, passable only by one narrow and slushy path. In the midst of this bog was the firm island upon which he lived and had allotted to us a camping place. The ground, to a stranger, appeared all firm, for a uniform covering of long grass stretched from the rocks’ foot right across the plain.