When a new Section of Camel Corps arrived at Siwa one of the first events that occurred was the “taking over” of wives. In most cases the men who were leaving handed on their wives to the new men, in the same way as the stores, barracks, camels, etc., were officially handed over by the officer who was going away to his relief. On the day before the new Section rode in all the ladies retired from the camp en masse to the houses of their relations in the town; the new men then entered into negotiations with the retiring Section for the taking over of the wives. A few of the men sought fresh pastures, but most of them took on the wife of a man they knew well in the other Section. On the day that the departing Section left Siwa all the ladies assembled on the road that they would pass, carrying their boxes and belongings, and when the camels came by they shrieked and wept, throwing dust on their heads, beating their breasts, pretending to tear their clothes, and showing signs of the most frantic sorrow at the departure of the men. As soon as the camels were round the corner out of sight they brushed off the dust, put on their bracelets, tidied themselves up and hurried merrily across to the “harimat” outside the barracks, followed by boys carrying their boxes, to their new husbands who were waiting for them. This performance happened regularly whenever there was an exchange of Sections. I used to watch the little tragi-comedy from my terrace. The harimat of Siwa consisted of a number of rush huts below the rock on which the fort was built. If any of the wives caused trouble, and they often did, they were ejected and never allowed to marry a soldier again. Polygamy was forbidden, and each lady, before she married, was required to produce a certificate stating that she was a respectable person, signed by several sheikhs and notables of the town. The Siwans had no objection to these alliances between Sudanese soldiers and Siwan women, as women in Siwa outnumber the men at the rate of three to one.
The daily routine at Siwa did not vary very much. In the summer I was generally called at 5.30, in time to run down from the house and have one plunge in the cool deep bathing pool in the palm grove below the rock before dressing. Clothes were a very minor matter; one wore simply shirt, shorts, shoes and stockings, all of the thinnest material. Then I used to walk over to the C.C. barracks and take the parade, sometimes mounted drill, sometimes dismounted. We did mounted drill on a stretch of firm white sand among the dunes south of the barracks. Breakfast was at about eight—eggs, coffee, bread and jam, the eggs being even smaller than Egyptian ones, about the size of bantam’s eggs, so one needed a lot for a meal. After breakfast I went across to the barracks again, and then rode down through the town on my pony to the Markaz.
The path to the town passed over a disused cemetery where the pony was very liable to stick its foot through the thin layer of soil above the graves, under an archway and into the street that divides the Eastern and Western quarters. The street itself was hard rock and very steep in parts, but owing to the height of the tall houses on each side it was generally cool and shady and a favourite resting-place of the inhabitants, many of whom lay stretched full length across the street taking their siesta. But the clattering hoofs of my pony generally roused them, and they scrambled out of the way when I came. The Siwans are well mannered, a virtue that one never sees in Egypt nowadays, and even in the Sudan it is on the wane. When I rode or walked in the town everybody would stand up as I passed, and if I met people riding they would dismount until I had gone on. I have heard people at home say what a scandal it is that in some places the poor downtrodden natives have to stand up and move off the path for an Englishman, but after all they would do exactly the same for their own Pashas, and apart from being an Englishman one was entitled to respect as being the representative of the Egyptian Government in Siwa. Once I was badly “had” over this. I was riding through the market with some policemen following me on my way to make an inspection. There was a group of Siwans sitting talking on the ground, and as I passed they all stood up—except one man who remained comfortably seated in the shade right in the middle of the path. I ordered one of the policemen to see who he was and to bring him along to the Markaz to answer for his bad manners. A few minutes later the man from the market was led into the office. He was stone blind!
The Markaz is a large building outside the town with square courtyard surrounded by prisons, stores and offices. It has a permanent guard of locally enlisted police; they are quite smart men, but of little use when there is trouble in the town, and always at enmity with the Sudanese Camel Corps. At the Markaz I would usually find a number of petitions to be read and examined, some cases to be tried, and probably people applying for permits to cross the frontier who would have to be questioned and seen. Then the sheikhs would arrive and there would be discussions about various things—taxes, labour, work on the drains or Government buildings, new regulations and orders, and then perhaps the merchants would be summoned, and a heated controversy would follow about the price of sugar, or the butchers would come to complain of the cost of meat. It was like a daily meeting of a town council, and complicated by innumerable interests, rivalries and intrigues. All these matters, though they sound very small, were of considerable importance to the Siwans.
There were six sheikhs recognized by the Administration, three of them eastern, and three western. Sheikh Saleh Said was the most influential and the most unbiassed by personal considerations. He was a big handsome man with a dark moustache and features that might have been copied from the bust of a Roman consul. He always wore a long blue robe, and was the most dignified and impressive of the sheikhs. I never saw him in a hurry or at all excited. Sheikh Thomi was a little dark fellow, and reputed to be the richest man in Siwa. He had a queer, quick way of speaking, was intensely obstinate, a staunch Westerner, but honest—as far as I ever knew. I once offended him very grievously. One day he sent me a basket of grapes, the first that had ripened in his vineyards. I gave the servant boy a piastre for bringing them. The boy returned and presented the piastre to Sheikh Thomi, who was very hurt at being sent 2½d. when he had made me a gift of fruit. Sheikh Thomi was a man of means and worth several thousand pounds. I heard about the piastre incident and explained it to him. To offer to pay for what is meant as a present is a real breach of good manners, much worse than refusing it.
Sheikh Mohammed Abdel Rahman was a venerable white-bearded individual who had been to Mecca and apparently lived on his reputation of excessive sanctity; he always agreed with everything I said, and then if I veered round and deliberately contradicted myself he did the same—it was not helpful!
Abdulla Hemeid was a sly, fat, greedy man with a pale face and blue eyes. He was very stingy and always complaining against taxation or anything that affected his pocket. He never gave an entertainment, but I always noticed him eating heartily in other people’s houses. His family were much esteemed and he had succeeded his father, who had been a very famous man in Siwa.
Mohammed Ragah was a thin, dark, hawk-like man, more like an Arab than a Siwan. He was very badly off for a sheikh, but keen and clever, and not above doing a bit of hard work with his own hands. He was the only man in Siwa at whose house one was given good coffee. He had shown great courage during the Senussi occupation in protecting some Egyptian officials who were in Siwa.
Mahdi Abdel Nebi, Sheikh of Aghourmi, was the youngest of the sheikhs, and the most reasonable and intelligent, though he had never been out of Siwa. He was a cheerful, pleasant fellow, but cordially disliked by the rest of the sheikhs. These six were the men who to a certain extent controlled the destinies of Siwa.
About once every week when I arrived at the Markaz I would find the doctor, or the mamur, or the clerk waiting for me in a state of tearful hysterics, begging me to forward his resignation to the Governor, as he could exist no longer in the company of his colleagues—the two other officials. Then would follow a long infantile complaint. If I could not smooth him down I had to bring in the other two, who would also dissolve into tears, and try and get to the bottom of the affair, which was always absolutely childish and ridiculous. On one occasion the mamur had refused to allow the doctor to have a watchman to escort him home past a certain graveyard which alarmed him, or the clerk accused the mamur of inveigling his cook into his service, or something equally small. Unfortunately the clerk was a Copt, the doctor a Syrian, and the mamur was a Cairene. It went on unceasingly, the most preposterous things served to bring one of them weeping to my office. And when they were relieved their successors were just the same. Yet they were good men at their work; the clerk had a heavy amount of office work and did it well; the doctor was quite clever and had been trained in America; and the mamur was good at his job. Exactly the same thing occurred among the native officials on the coast, so it was not only the effect of Siwan solitude.