I was also introduced to one Habib Badria, a Mosul Christian, a man of extraordinary appearance for a man of Arab race. Fair and freckled of skin, his hair was that particular hue called “carroty,” and his moustache the same. His blue eyes and generally Scotch appearance made him appear most incongruous in his Arab dress and fez. And as if this had had an effect upon his nature, he evinced the most progressive ideas. Immediately he heard that I had been to Europe, he asked me to write for a snapshot camera, scented soap, a French dictionary, and some other Ferangi articles. He professed disgust with the clothing custom forced him to wear, and sighed for the delights of collar and cuffs. Despite these affectations, however, he turned out later to be an excellent and sincere friend.
My way back to the caravanserai of Ghafur Agha lay through a large part of the bazaars, and I could not help noticing the deserted appearance caused by rows and rows of shops left empty by proprietors disgusted and disheartened by the evil and oppression of Sulaimania. As I entered the serai I was greeted by the merchant-owner, whose office was in the entrance. His habit was to sit outside his room in the verandah, upon a bench whence he could look out down the arcaded entry to the street outside and note everyone who passed in. He invited me to a seat upon a bench, and when I had mounted there, asked if he could assist me in any way by the loan of household utensils or furniture till I settled down. I informed him that I was going to Halabja, and he at once displayed unusual interest. I could only give him perfectly logical reasons for wishing to visit the place, for he knew Uthman Pasha of Halabja quite well, and had done business there himself. So I talked of seeing the Pasha’s lady with reference to the cultivation of silk (which I knew she wished to undertake), and to gain her influence in order to buy the products of the mountains in her territory. Learning this, he told me that the Pasha himself was in Sulaimania and would be coming to pay him a visit in the afternoon, when he advised me to be present.
At about three that afternoon he arrived and took his place of honour upon the carpeted bench. My friend, the merchant, introduced me as a trader of Persia desirous of visiting Halabja, to which place the Pasha invited me in excellent Persian, and then relapsed into a silence which I afterwards found to be typical of the Jaf chiefs.
I had thus good opportunity to examine a man whose name is respected throughout a great part of Kurdistan, and who is chief of a large part of the great Jaf tribe, and governor of Halabja and Shahr-i-Zur.
His dress was that of his tribe, but of the best quality. Except his white waist-band, no garment was not of silk. The long tunic of striped honey colour, the zouave jacket embroidered with gold thread, and the white undershirt, were all of the finest silk. A richly ornamented dagger was thrust in his belt, and a little Browning pistol hung by its side in a red-leather case. His feet were thrust into Kurdish top-boots of scarlet leather, with upturned points; and his head was enveloped in many silk handkerchiefs, rolled into a turban bigger at the top than at the bottom.
A KURDISH PASHA
He had the narrow, hooked nose and bony face of the true northern Kurd, and his little eyes looked out from under bushy brows going grey. An enormous moustache hid his mouth, but not the firm lines of jaw and chin. His normal expression was fierce and cruel, and when he spoke, it was in short sentences, in the roughest of the dialect of his tribe.
Several ruffians attended him: two grooms, twenty riflemen, a pipe-bearer, and various other servants, all armed, all fierce in looks and nature, picked men of a tribe noted for bravery and savage warfare.
These stood, not very respectfully, in the courtyard, and did not hesitate to join in the conversation whenever it seemed good to them to do so, nor were their interruptions at all resented by the pasha. This old man has kept up the time-honoured traditions of the Kurds. While rich and powerful, he does not separate himself in any way from the lives of his people, nor count himself socially greater than they. As a consequence he is in closest touch with their sentiments, and what is more, aware of their every action. While we sat there, a rider arrived from Halabja in haste, and producing from a saddle-bag a basket, presented it to the pasha. He had ridden hard all the way from Halabja to deliver the first cucumbers of the season! Immediately one of his own riders was despatched to Halabja to bear his thanks to his wife, who had caused these delicacies to be sent to him.
After this he took his leave, and I also retired to my room, where I was joined shortly after by old Mustafa Beg, my neighbour.