Out on the edge of the town, where the houses end and the desert begins, some enterprising Arab, who has “seen Bombay,” has constructed the crudest and most dangerous of Ferris Wheels, and a merry-go-round to match. Here the youthful inhabitants congregate, with their precious coppers, eager for a ride on these wonderful machines. There are big boys and little boys and middle-sized boys. There are little girls with their faces uncovered, and a few older ones with their faces veiled, but most of the larger girls must stay at home, as it would be a shame for them to appear in public. There are the proud sons of the rich Arab merchants, and the children of the wild Bedouins. What better opportunity could one have to study the rising generation?
If a Westerner, wearing a hat, passes through the crowd, he is immediately followed by a mob of impudent, mischievous boys, calling out in Arabic:
“The English, the English!
They don’t pray!
Even the chickens
Are better than they!”
The Moslems say that the chickens are praying when they raise their heads before swallowing water. (Letter from E. T. Calverley.)
The Merry-go-round at an Arab Fair