The population is divided into two classes, the one consisting of the sheikhs, merchants and landowners, the other of the servants and labourers. The former class is an all-powerful minority. There is no middle class. There is also a religious division; the Senussi predominate in numbers, but the Medinia sect is the richest. The latter sect is said to be the successor of the Wahhabi confraternity; it is connected with the Dirkawi, which was founded by Sheikh Arabi el Dirkawi. It was established about one hundred years ago by Sheikh Zafer el Medani, who was born at Medina in Arabia. His doctrines found favour in Tripoli and were adopted by the Siwans some time before the arrival of the Senussi, and Sheikh Zafer himself visited Siwa on several occasions. The two sects are very similar. The Medinia have still several religious centres in Egypt and Tripoli, but they lost ground considerably on the advent of Senussiism. In spite of their similarities the two sects are by no means well disposed to each other. Membership is hereditary, and no one has been known to change from one party to the other. They have their own mosques, sheikhs and funds, and on religious festivals they hold their meetings in different parts of the town. I used always to make a point of visiting the gatherings of each sect. There are two other less important religious bodies known as the “Arusia” and the “Sudania,” but they only consist of a few dozen old men who perform strange dances on festivals in honour of their particular saints. The Siwans are very religious, more so than the average Arab, but this is probably owing to the fact that their mosques are conveniently near, and if one is absent from mosque the neighbours notice, and talk about it! One has heard of such things at home.
The prosperity of the people depends almost entirely on the date harvest. The date groves, which form the wealth of the oasis, are watered by some two hundred fresh-water springs. The water rises through natural fissures, or artificial bore-holes, from a sandstone bed about 400 feet below the surface. The largest springs, such as the “Fountain of the Sun,” measure as much as 50 yards in diameter, with a depth of about 40 feet. Each basin is fed by a group of little water-holes, and the water comes up from the ground sometimes in continuous streams of bubbles, and sometimes with sudden bursts, so the surface seems constantly moving. There is a theory that an underground river flows east towards the Nile and its water comes to the surface in the various oases between Egypt and Tripoli. The fact that Siwa lies considerably below the level of the desert plateau, and even below sea-level, supports this theory. Or possibly the water comes from the high desert plateau north of Siwa, where there is a heavy rainfall; but the water supply never varies, and has never been known to run dry. The water in the springs differs considerably. In some it is very brackish, in others it is quite sweet, and some springs are flavoured with sulphur; again, some springs are warm, and others are several degrees colder, so one can chose a bathing-place, hot or cold, according to inclination. Many springs, often the sweetest ones, rise a few feet away from the salt marshes, and one spring, which used to be salt, has now become sweet. The largest springs are edged to a certain depth with squared stones and blocks of masonry, which looks as if it might have been finished yesterday, though it was probably built almost a thousand years ago. The basins are generally round, shaded by a ring of palm trees, beyond which lie the gardens.
The sides of the basins have been gradually built higher and higher, so that the surface of the water is now several feet above the level ground, and little brooks run down from the spring heads into the gardens in all directions. They are regulated by rough sluice gates, made generally of a large flat stone, which is removed to allow the water to flow, and replaced, with a plaster of mud, when the water is no longer needed. Each spring forms the nucleus of a garden which belongs to a number of different people. The gardens are divided into little beds of a uniform size, about 8 feet square, lying an inch or two lower than the level of the ground. These beds are known as “hods.” When the water is flowing the labourer goes in turn to each “hod” and scoops a passage with his hands connecting the “hod” with the water channel, which is on a higher level, then he makes a rough dam across the channel so that the water flows into the “hod” and fills it; afterwards he closes the entrance of the “hod” with a handful of mud, pushes aside the mud dam, and the stream flows on to the next “hod,” where the same thing occurs. I have seen little boys at the seaside doing just the same sort of thing. In some cases two water channels cross, and then one of them flows through a hollowed palm trunk.
The cultivation round every spring is made up of a number of gardens owned by different men, some of them consisting of no more than half a dozen palm trees and a couple of “hods.” All the ground is watered by the central spring, so a careful water system has been evolved by which the water is divided and portioned out to each piece of garden. For each spring there is a ponderous tome called “Daftar el Ain”—the Book of the Spring, which records the exact quantity of water, or rather the time of water, that each garden is allowed. This is followed with the greatest care by the Keeper of the Spring, who regulates the irrigation, and is paid by the owners of the adjoining garden in proportion to the number of trees that they own. Each day is divided into two halves, from sunrise to sunset, and sunset to sunrise; this again is subdivided into eighths, and each subdivision is called a “wagabah.” Thus if Osman Daud’s garden receives an allowance of four “wagabah” every other day, it means that he receives the full strength of the water from the springs for twelve hours on consecutive days.
When one buys a garden the water rights are included, but men often sell part of their water right to a neighbour, this, of course, being recorded in the Book of the Spring, which is kept by one of the sheikhs. The “Ghaffir el Ain,” or Guardian of the Spring, takes his time from the call of the muezzin, or in distant gardens by the sun and the stars. At night a special muezzin calls from one of the mosques for the benefit of the watchmen on the springs out in the gardens. The system has been in force for so many centuries that there are very rarely any disputes on the subject. All questions are referred to the books, which serve also as records of ownership of the gardens.
Each Siwan, however poor, keeps a book of his own in which he enters, or rather pays a scribe to record, an account of his property. It states the boundaries, number of trees and water rights of his garden. When a man buys a garden he writes down the particulars in his “daftar,” and this is signed by the person who sold the garden, and witnessed by several responsible sheikhs or “nas tayebin”—respectable people. This entry serves as a title-deed for the purchase. When I was at Siwa there was a lengthy and involved law case about the ownership of some property, in which one party, in order to prove inheritance, forged an entry in his “daftar.” But cases of forgery were not frequent—fortunately, as they added considerable complications to an already difficult case.
There is more water in Siwa than is required for irrigating the gardens, and in many cases sweet water flows to waste among the salt marshes. The Siwans are unenterprising. They only cultivate just sufficient for their own needs, and not always that: they only work in the gardens where the soil, after centuries of watering and manuring, has become very rich. They grow a very little wheat and barley, but not enough to supply the population, who depend on imported barley from the coast, yet there are many fertile plots of land which would raise corn, and which could easily be irrigated. Lack of labour and implements is their excuse when one questions them, but in the spring numbers of Siwans go up to the coast and hire themselves out to the bedouins as labourers, preferring to work on the coast instead of increasing the cultivation in their oasis.
The palm groves of Siwa are very beautiful. It seems a veritable Garden of Hesperides when one arrives there after a long trek on the waterless desert which surrounds the oasis. One appreciates the slumberous shade of the luxuriant gardens, long, lazy bathes in the deep cool springs, and feasts of fruit on the banks of little rushing streams. Perhaps it is not surprising that the Siwans are lazy and indolent, for their country is in many ways a land of Lotus Eaters. The natives have a happy-go-lucky Omar Khayyámish outlook on life which is accentuated by the place they inhabit.
The gardens consist mainly of date groves with some olive orchards. But among the date palms there are many other trees—figs, pomegranates, pears, peaches, plums, apricots, apples, prickly pears, limes and sweet lemons. The numerous vineyards produce quantities of exceptionally fine grapes, which last for several months and are so plentiful that large quantities rot on the branches. The natives are not very fond of them and no wine is made in Siwa, except “araki,” which is distilled from ripe dates. Dates and a little olive oil are the only exports, and it is on the produce of the date palms that the life of the people depends. The poorer Siwans live almost entirely on dates; the beams and the doors of the houses are made from palm trunks; mats, baskets and fences are made from palm fronds; saddle crossbars are made from the wood; saddle packing consists of the thick fibre, the branches are used for fuel; the young white heart of the budding leaves is eaten as a special delicacy, and the sap of the palm makes “lubki,” a drink which is much liked by natives. The wealth of the whole community is derived from the sale of dates, so it is not surprising that they watch anxiously in springtime to see if the crop will be a good one. Generally, on alternate years, there is a good crop, then a fair crop, and when dates are plentiful olives are few. Nature seems to have made this careful arrangement.
The cultivation of dates is by no means as simple as it would appear. The trees need careful watering, manuring and trimming, and one notices very clearly the difference in crops from well or badly cared for gardens. In the early spring the work of artificial pollination is carried out by special men who are skilled in the process. A branch is cut from the male date tree, which bears no fruit, sharpened, and thrust into the trunk of the female tree. Unless this is done to every tree the fruit becomes small and worthless. There are about 170,000 trees, each of which bears, after the fifth year, an average of three hundred pounds of fruit. Little attention is paid to the other fruits which deteriorate from lack of pruning, but with a little trouble and proper methods they would improve. Formerly the oasis produced rice, oranges, bananas and sugar canes, but these no longer grow as they needed more trouble to cultivate. Only dates and olives are sold, and it is considered very shameful for a man to sell other fruit; the same idea applies to milk. Siwans either eat fruit themselves, give it to their friends, or let it rot; only the very poor natives sell any. I had considerable difficulty in getting a regular supply, but eventually I accepted “gifts” daily from certain men, and repaid them with sugar, which they liked, though if I had offered them money they would have considered themselves grievously insulted.