Those who give the festival meet the guests as they arrive, and sit them down in groups. Food is immediately brought them according to their dignity. Some, for example, are given boiled meats and roast meats; others, cakes, and the red wine called Bulbul—The Mother of the Nightingale. When all have eaten, they remain sitting in the shade until the heat of the day has diminished, and the shadows are beginning to lengthen. Then the young girls, in their richest costume, leave the company of the women; and the youth also, dressed out in their best, run to meet them, and they prepare to dance. The girls range themselves in long lines, in front of which lines of equal length are formed by the youths; and the women, to the measured sound of the tambourines, fill the air with their songs. At this signal, all the lines of young girls begin to move and to advance with a slow, deliberate step, shrugging their shoulders in various ways, and crouching down with strange contortions and inflections of their bodies. Thus they reach by degrees the line of youths, which remains motionless opposite, until each comes face to face with her partner, when she begins to shake her head rapidly, and fan and brush his cheeks with her tresses, which have been carefully perfumed beforehand. Then the youths, excited by these blandishments, brandish their lances, and raise them horizontally over the heads of the girls, who begin to retire, still dancing, and are pursued by their partners until they reach the place whence they started. Here the young girls pass between the young men and go dancing back alone. If there happens to be among the spectators any young man whom a young girl wishes to lure into the dance, she singles him out, and goes gently dancing towards him, and waves her hair in his face. Upon this he shouts with joy, and brandishes his lance and follows her. This attention on her part imposes on him the necessity of giving her a banquet.
When the two lines have thus changed places, they begin to move at the same time, and meet in the middle, where the girls cast the whole of their hair upon the breast of their partners, who begin to rakrak, that is to say, to utter peculiar cries of joy. The whole company is now half-intoxicated, but the dance continues until night-time, when the various groups separate and go to supper.
Besides this dance, which is called Delloukah, the Forians have the Gyl, the Lengui, the Chekenderi, the Bendalah, and the Tonzy, which is the dance of the slaves; but the dance peculiarly of Forian origin, and which is special chiefly to the inhabitants of the Marrah mountains, is the Tendina. Some of these dances are peculiar to certain classes. The higher ranks dance the Delloukah; the middle classes, the Gyl; and the inferior classes, the Lengui. In the latter, the dancers utter peculiar cries, or rather grunts, which resemble those emitted by workmen when chopping wood. In the Chekenderi, a young man takes the waist of a young girl, who stands before him with her back turned, in his hands. A young girl behind him places her hands upon his hips; she is followed by a young man, and thus a circle is formed. The dancers, leaning slightly forward, move with very little steps; the girls gently shaking their anklets in measure. This tranquil dance is accompanied by the songs of women who are sitting by. The Bendalah is a dance, or rather a game, peculiar to the slaves, in which they tie a string of large nuts to their right foot, and kick at each other. The Tonzy resembles the Chekenderi; and the Tendina is an exaggerated form of the latter.
Each kind of dance is accompanied by special songs. For example, in the Gyl, the following is used:—“You banei, hei you banein! The night is passing, oh, my Moutgal; my head is turning; the night is going, oh, my Moutgal! yes, my head is turning!” The introductory words have no meaning, and form an arbitrary chorus. One of the singers sings the first and second lines, and then the others join in with, “Ana rasy indur,”—my head is turning. They go on to say: “The night is passing. Darfur (that is, the world, for the world to them is a great Darfur) is full of sorrows. Come and rest thy head upon my bosom.” The complete meaning of another song is as follows:—“Oh thou, whom I love, thou bendest over me like a flexible branch, and passion draws us away and makes us breathe forth sighs! Thou lovest me, thou preferrest me to the daughters of thy hamlet, and thereby thou shalt excite their jealousy against me, and draw their vengeance upon me, for they will believe that thou hast humbled them in my eyes! Oh thou, whose love recalls the perfume of the sandal-wood, thou hast arisen like the odoriferous branches of that tree, and thou leanest over our dwellings, to shade them for ever; and happiness will always remain beneath thy branches!”
After the evening repast, the bride is promenaded, to the sound of the Daloukah, all round the village, and then led to the nuptial hut. Three or four hours after night-fall, the young men collect together and take with them the bridegroom, and, with songs and rakrakhas, conduct him to the hut. They remain without, whilst the bride with her companions remains within. Then the bridegroom nominates one of his friends as Vizier of the wedding, of which he himself is the Sultan; whilst the bride within chooses a she-vizier, under the title of Meirem. The latter is then entreated by the young men to come out and speak to them, but she refuses for an hour or two, and then issues forth, when the Vizier approaches her and presents his compliments, and, in an amiable and polite manner, begs her to allow the bride to present herself.
“Who are you?” then says the Meirem, “Whence do you come, and of what bride do you speak?”
“We are strangers,” answers the Vizier; “we arrive from a distant country, and will be delighted if the Queen would honour us and cheer us with her presence.”
“The Queen is engaged,” then says the Meirem, “and cannot appear; she has begged me to entertain all strangers and travellers who may present themselves. What are your wishes?”
“We all know,” says the Vizier, “that thou art full of graciousness and bounty, that thou art a perfect woman; but we have a word or two to say to the Queen, and can say them to no other than her.”
“Very good,” responds the Meirem; “but what will you give to the Queen, and what will you give to me, if she presents herself? For it is her custom to show herself only to those who give her a present.”