By:
Mohamed Eid
Memory,
now and then, is a safe haven from the agonies of pain. My life
previous to the accident, although short, went through a great
changes and sudden turns. It has been a variety of lives, yet for
all the contrast, I've developed perceptions that allowed me to
adjust - but not melt - quickly to new lifestyles without
compromising manners and morals of my cultural background.
Life
had took me from a simple living of a remote village lost in the
midst of Empty Quarter desert, where people life revolved around the
camels herds and caravans through a coastal town where ship
buildings and seafaring were the dominant concerns of its
inhabitants, to a place of a lifestyle, culture, and values so
contrastive from mine, where people occupied with star war,
microchips, and spaceships; and widely obsessed with TV puzzle
"who killed J.R?" of prime time soap opera series Dallas -
USA - and many others in between.
The
following is an attempt to recall spirit and features of people and
place at early time of my life, relaying on nothing but memory.
However, reviving the past is a recollection that will transform
domain and human to words, it goes without saying that words - no
mater how proficient they are -
never will be adequate to portray the pulse of a life, knowing that,
it was more rich, intense, and copious of details.
Two
ironic perspectives are worth mentioning in this context. First, in
spite of the fact that my health misfortune is a result of a car
collision with a camel, I hold no hatred toward these beasts. On the
contrary, I have a great liking for them. I view the matter as a
sheer coincidence - bad luck. I was either, or both, or neither
victim of a destiny, whether it was guided or free, planned or
aimless. Questioning the nature of such mishap, by raising the never
answered question "What If ..?" would lead to nothing but
rumination of an endless dilemma. That was the first irony. For the
second you must first capture the spirit of people and place to
recognize the significance of that irony.
I
was born in a small village called Wadi Murr (
Valley
of
Myrrh
)
located in the eastern fringe of the awesome sands of Ruba al -Khali
(
Empty
Quarter
)
desert. My appearance to life was not due yet, when I, unexpectedly,
emerged to the world in a morning of a summer day - year 1954, one
day after the death of the firstborn five years old brother. A day
my childbirth cry was lost unheard in chaos of mourning and wailing
of the family, making my birth a mixture of feelings. Not was I
denied the first sound that an infant emanates to announce the
beginning of his existence, but I was granted the nickname Awadh
which means "Replacement" - a tradition among some people
of
Oman
when
a baby is born short after the loss of an earlier child. However, my
ill-fated start did not cohere with me for long, for my mother's
next two deliveries were girls, thus, allowing me to enjoy the
privileges of being the only boy among three girls for quite a
while, before my younger brother showed up.
The
village name, Murr, is the Arabic word for "bitter", and
it is also the name of a Myrrh plant known to grow in
Arabia
,
which gives an aromatic gum resin with bitter taste. It's
inhabitants are called Bedu (the settled type of nomads), which
means in Arabic the dwellers of al-Badiya (desert).
Although,
the everlasting struggle to survive in one of the most harshest
environment known to man had made of the Bedwu tense, keen,
tempered, and rugged individuals, they hold noble qualities still
considered among all Arabs as an ideal they would like to measure up
to.
The
tendency to look up to the
Bedu as the
ideal Arab and considered their ethos as an example was
traced back to
early Arabs before the appearance of the prophet Mohammed (peace and
prayers be upon to him), who
himself was sent
to AlBadiya to be breast fed and raised by
a woman
called Halima AaSaadia.
Sending
young boys to AlBadiya to live with the Bedu of the asilah (noble)
tribes in order to expose to
the living hardship and values of the Bedu, became a tradition since
then, and customary until a couple of decades, among the prominent
families of Arab cities.
Traits,
such as Karam (generosity), Nakhwah (can best be translated as sense
of honor), and Dhiafa (hospitality)
are few among ample noble features of the Bedu. However, generos0ity
of the Bedu is not the lavishing custom of the have to gain a social
status or to claim notability, rather it is the extreme willingness
of the have-not to give up his last meal to unexpected guest, or to
give away his only possession to help a needy.
Hospitality,
on the other hand, is a general value, which varies in its form. It
is an attribute exhibited proudly by it's simplest form of deep
rooted tradition of Qahwah (coffee) serving, which has long been
known to signify the hospitality of the Arab in general, and the
Bedu specifically. To the Bedu, Qahwah serving means more than just
a drink, it is an expression of sincere welcome, where fire hearth
provides the focus for social sittings, under the shade of largest
ghaf tree in the village, to entertain and welcome a guest with
freshly ground coffee. It is also a mean of bringing people together
to discuss business, to settle a dispute, or to exchange news.
Today, copper coffeepot is used in many hotels and entertainment
business firms across
Arabia
as
a logo symbolizing hospitable receptions and fine services. The
truly Arab will insist on inviting even a casual acquaintance, away
from his home, to stay at his house, and he is expected to take his
hospitality wherever he goes. If he meets a friend, or should they
meet in a restaurant, both strangers in a town, he will pay for his
order.
Nakhwah,
however, is a blend of many traits such as honor, bravery, and
courage. Its a patience in distress, protection of the weak, and
coming to the aid of the oppressed.
Wilfred
Thesiger, the English explorer - who spent five years, in the 1940s,
with the Bedu and lives as they did in one of the most harshest
remote environment in the world, becoming the first European to
cross the Empty Quarter with two young Omanis - speaks with great
admiration and respect of them and their life in his classic book
"Arabian Sands" in which he describes his experience of
living among the Bedu and crossing of Ruba al-Khali desert.
"Those five years I spent with Bedu were the most important
years of my life. They have a quality of nobility that I have met
nowhere else. It is rare in my society but almost universal among
the Bedu," said Thesiger. "Not being a Bedu it used to
exasperate me when visitors were given the last of our food."
He recalled another occasion when, short of food, they were
traveling through the desert and passed by a package of
Oman
's
finest dates lodged in a tree. "It was inconceivable that
anybody would help himself or herself to it," he said.
The
life of the Bedu was revolved on the camels (ship of the desert) and
goats breeding, and their living depends on how careful they manage
the breeding cycles of their livestock with scare water resources
and sparse pastures. These skills of surviving are not only
essential for the Bedu individual to stay a live in AlBadiya, but
also had over the years shaped his existence, social values, and
thereafter their attitudes and relations toward the tribe of which
he is a member. There is no place for egocentric “I” rather,
it’s “Us” is the key to individual’s welfare.
The
social life of the village, be it as it may be harsh and remote
lacking all means of modern life facilities surrounded by apparent
emptiness of vast sand dunes and barren gravel plains, was not as
tedious as one would expect. On the contrary, it is a vigor life
that produced much that was joyful and far be
it from anything that was disgraceful.
Around
the coffee hearth, Bedu folk, would gather at nights to talk and
gossip. Stories and tales of heroism and bravery of early Arabs and
Muslims heroes and legends were told. On alUraq, (the clean white
sand dune) youth, boys and girls alike, would gather on full moon
lights to chant and dance at the beats of drums and voices of
vocalists. I remember the first times, when I was allowed to join
the party and stay late, sitting around watching the rapt faces
around and listening to Salem Maghani, poet and singer, who would
compose verses of elegiac, erotic, lyric, or heroic, whatever
appropriate to fit the mood and the occasion of the village at the
time.
Weeding,
birth, circumcision, the return of long absent relative, and Eids
(festival observed with religious retuals) are occasions for much
celebration. People would show up dressed in their best. Men would
put on khanjars (daggers) around their waists; and bullets belts a
cross their chests; and carry riffles, while women would appear in
the tradition costumes and jewelry and would adorn themselves with
fragrant cream called mhalab (a mixture of oil, saffron, aloes wood,
dry roses, and water. "Henna" (a reddish brown dye
obtained from leave of henna plant.) is an essential part of
grooming for festival. Men use it to dye their beards, while women
make use of it by dappling their hands and feet with breathtaking
designs. Young girls would be dressed in bright, colorful and
elegant dresses, whereas young boys would imitate their fathers and
accompany them to attend the festival's attractions.
Feast
without a camel’s race is no feast. No marriage, Eid or any other
auspicious feasts would be considered without staging display of
camelmanship. The deep-rooted tradition of camels' race is the apex
of any celebration. Camel riders would gather at areas and
neighboring villages to ride their beasts in troops, chanting tariq
(folklore singing) that glorify the remarkable deeds of their tribes
and sharaf (integrity) of their women; and praising the beauty of
the women who are waiting for them - creating a spectacular parades
at their arrival to the race ground.
Sounds
of loud singings, drum's beats, and the luster of swords in the
hands of sword dancers, and gold and silver of women's jewelry;
sights of dancing, camels’ displays and racing, brightly dressed
children, and that of beautiful females smells of fragrance and
perfumes mixed in the air with the rich aroma of local dishes, makes
these delightful ceremonies magnificently fascinating.
Radio
at that time was the only available source of news and modern
entertainment in the village; and we were the only house that had a
radio. My father, for he was, first, from a town and, second, due to
his experience as a traveling merchant between Arabian Gulf and
India, played the role of conference interpreter between the radio
and the village folk - The image of audience in a circle around a
big wooden box connected to other smaller but heavier one (the
battery), listening to voices coming from far away, still vividly
lodged in my mind.
A
particular speaker, people were keened to listen to with
concentration and intense interest, although they were unable to
understand some of what he was talking enthusiastically about. Gamal
abdul Nasir he was, the president of
United
Arab Republic
(
Egypt
).
The most admired, respected worldwide, and followed by a sizable
sector of people across Arab world for his revolutionary Arab
nationalism ideology. For me, the startled child, the excitement
would bring me benefit of variant sort, where I used to sneak around
tasting the food dishes, at the engagement of the people to the
radio, that men bring with them to share with others at the end of
the gathering.
When
I was allowed to step outside the house and separate from the
family's circle, I felt a yearn for venturing away. Out there,
things started to provoke my perception, and awakened my interests
to explore the worlds of unknown - of things and people, a world
that it's sounds and echoes had filled my imagination.
In
view of my father frequent absence, my uncle (from my mother side)
who was then in his early twenties, was my first guide who undertook
the responsibility of leading me through my late childhood years. It
was through him that I gained first an insight into, and gradually a
familiarity with, the challenges of the desert, which demand very
specific set of values, structures, and dynamic. He introduces me to
life of al-Badiya, and taught me the Bedu’s ways of living.
I
was not yet eight years old, when he first took me along to graze
camel herds. We were out for days roaming the arid gravel plains,
woodlands, and sand dunes in search for fresh pastures. Drinking
water from a skin bag, and eating only dates, scarce small games,
and of what the feeding camel mother would spare of her new born
milk, until our return to the village days after.
It
must have been at about the same time when he gave me his donkey new
born. My excitement and liking for the small beast had led me to
name him after the popular radio station in the village Sowt al-Arab
(Voice of Arabs). Later, when the animal was old enough to be
ridden, I became the only student who comes to school on a ride.
Mariam, the neighbor's girl, who her delight for the little ass
exceeded mine, asked me to let her ride it - a request I rejected
not on her account but his. Persuaded by tears and a bowl of a warm
camel's milk, I was tempted to change my mind, and since then he was
available for rent. A business project which was, later, expanded by
a bicycle my father brought from
India
to
furnish other choice for my clients, either the donkey back or the
bicycle seat -a business venture I was not successful to pursuit!
It
was there, where I was brought up. There, I've learned to recite the
holy Koran, graze the herds, and chant the songs of the Bedu. There,
I was trained to race a camel; to hold, aim, and trigger a riffle;
and to join the Bedu riding out with their Solougi hounds to hunt
gazelles and hares in the vast plains of the desert. There, I was
raised to fear no wolfs; and to defend my family and our livestock
in the absence of my father.
There,
I've felt, experienced, and hunted by, the guilt of wrong doing when
I shot, accidentally, a dog leaving him crippled, dragging his back
legs until his remains were found weeks later, after being attacked
by the desert's predators.
Wadi
Murr was the place I had opened my eyes to it's vast dunes, barren
plains, and empty spaces. There I had learned from the Bedu their
highly valued manners (in Arabic adab, literally, good manners or
politeness), and costumes ( adat). It was the images, tales, events
that had happened to/or around me, environment, traditions, people
and their way of living, were the main elements that had shaped my
personality and thereafter my existence.
There,
I've grew up and matured, before the due time, to understand - among
other things - the responsibility of the duty and the facts of life.
When I was about twelve years old, my family left the life of the
Bedu to seek a new one in a coastal town to face and challenge a
variant lifestyle and diverse ways of living that I knew nothing of
and have no choice but to adapt quickly to!
Wadi
Murr was a symbol of desert's virginity. It was a place, where
living was easy and simple; it was people, where everybody knows
everybody; it was a time, where the pace of life was not so hurried.
It is that place and that way of living I've missed considerably. It
was a place I will remember forever, and never will I forget! This
is a spirit of people and place - an essence of a childhood.
The
second irony is that of a camel too, but of a different sort. As it
was emphasized above, the Bedu life were focused around the camels -
economically and socially - yet, Bedu, in fulfilling the duties of
hospitality, will not hesitate for a moment to slaughter the last
animal in their possession to serve it's meet to guests - an irony..
Isn’t it!
Your
opinions are vital to me, please write to:
mdaraimi@hotmail.com
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