In Chapter V, Richard Burton describes his journey from Zayla to Harar, navigating through two routes. The southwestern route involves ten stages, with the first eight passing through the Eesa country and the last two among the Nole Gallas. The Hajj objected to this route due to a blood-feud with the Rer Guleni. Burton’s journey involves bringing five camels to Zayla, who are forced to kneel and growl angrily. Burton, accompanied by the Hajj, his son Mohammed, and a group of Arab matchlockmen, takes the way of the wilderness. Burton describes how travelling makes man banal, as he must find a “friend of the soul” and a “moon-faced beauty” in every corner.
First Footsteps In East Africa
Or, An Exploration Of Harar
By Richard Burton
The First Footsteps in East Africa is a seminal work of Africa recording Burton’s first expedition into Somaliland. His purpose was to explore the forbidden Moslem city of Harar, “a city whose walls no European had ever penetrated,” as well as to gather information about the headwaters of the Nile. He traveled in the same disguise that took him to Mecca, as Haji Mirza Abdullah, an Arab merchant.
It was on this expedition that Burton was first joined by John Speke, at the suggestion of James Outram. Speke originally abetted Burton’s plans in Somaliland, but differences quickly arose between the two, and Speke over the years became Burton’s great nemesis, taking credit for discovering the Nile and deprecating Burton’s efforts in every sphere.
On this journey, despite the success of the primary objective, Lieut. Stroyan died and Burton received the famous spear wound to his face during an attack by Somalis while encamped on the beach at Berbera.
Burton’s intellectual influence is far-reaching. His amazing grasp of languages and culture anticipates the globalism of the future. His geographical discoveries not only made him an interesting historical figure but also allowed for future exploration. The detail with which he wrote and his willingness to examine intimate aspects of daily life were precursors to modern ethnography.
And his understanding and willingness to immerse himself in cultures that are still little understood by those in Western nation-states is enlightening on many levels. He was the first European to enter Mecca, first to explore Somaliland, and first to discover the great lakes of Central Africa.
A prolific writer, he published 43 volumes on exploration and travel, two volumes of poetry, over a hundred articles, and 143 pages of autobiography. He translated sixteen volumes of The Arabian Nights, six volumes of Portuguese literature, two volumes of Latin poetry, and four volumes of folklore (Neapolitan, African, and Hindu). His occupations included; soldier, writer, explorer, foreign emissary, translator and linguist, sword fighter, ethnographer, and archaeologist.
AN IMPORTANT BURTON PRINTING and a very important edition of this primary text, created by Isabel Burton in honor of her husband’s expansive work and extended oeuvre. Ms Burton had hoped to continue on with the project, publishing many more of Burton’s writings, but the seven volumes which she did publish were the only ones ever printed.
This is a fine set of the scarce Memorial issue of one of Burton’s most important books. Not only did the printing include the full text of the original, but also the original illustrations.
|CHAPTER I||Departure from Aden|
|CHAPTER II||Life in Zeila|
|CHAPTER III||Excursions near Zeila|
|CHAPTER IV||The Somal, their Origin and Peculiarities|
|CHAPTER V||From Zeila to the Hills|
|CHAPTER VI||From the Zeila Hills to the Marar Prairie|
|CHAPTER VII||From the Marar Prairie to Harar|
|CHAPTER VIII||Ten Days at Harar|
|CHAPTER IX||A Ride to Berberah|
|CHAPTER X||Berberah and its Environs|
|POSTSCRIPT||[The Attack on Berberah]|
|APPENDIX I||DIARY AND OBSERVATIONS MADE BY LIEUTENANT SPEKE|
|APPENDIX II||GRAMMATICAL OUTLINE AND VOCABULARY HARARI LANGUAGE|
|APPENDIX III||METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS IN THE COLD SEASON OF 1854-5|
|APPENDIX V||A CONDENSED ACCOUNT OF AN ATTEMPT TO REACH HARAR FROM ANKOBAR|
From Zayla To The Hills
Two routes connect Zayla with Harar; the south-western or direct line numbers ten long or twenty short stages: the first eight through the Eesa country, and the last two among the Nole Gallas, who own the rule of “Waday,” a Makad or chief of Christian persuasion. The Hajj objected to this way, on account of his recent blood-feud with the Rer Guleni. He preferred for me the more winding road which passes south, along the coast, through the Eesa Bedouins dependent upon Zayla, to the nearest hills, and thence strikes south-westwards among the Gudabirsi and Girhi Somal, who extend within sight of Harar. I cannot but suspect that in selecting this route the good Sharmarkay served another purpose besides my safety. Petty feuds between the chiefs had long “closed the path,” and perhaps the Somal were not unwilling that British cloth and tobacco should re-open it.
Early in the morning of the 27th of November, 1854, the mules and all the paraphernalia of travel stood ready at the door. The five camels were forced to kneel, growling angrily the while, by repeated jerks at the halter: their forelegs were duly tied or stood upon till they had shifted themselves into a comfortable position, and their noses were held down by the bystanders whenever, grasshopper-like, they attempted to spring up. Whilst spreading the saddle-mats, our women, to charm away remembrance of chafed hump and bruised sides, sang with vigor the “Song of Travel”:
“0 caravan-men, we deceive ye not, we have laden the camels!
Old women on the journey are kenned by their sleeping I
(0 camel) can’st sniff the cock-boat and the sea?
Allah guard thee from the Mikahil and their Midgans!”
As they arose from squat it was always necessary to adjust their little mountains of small packages by violently “heaving up” one side,—an operation never failing to elicit a vicious grunt, a curve of the neck, and an attempt to bite. One camel was especially savage; it is said that on his return to Zayla, he broke a Bedouin girl’s neck. Another, a diminutive but hardy little brute of Dankali breed, conducted himself so uproariously that he at once obtained the name of El Harami or the Ruffian.
At about 3 P.M., accompanied by the Hajj, his amiable son Mohammed, and a party of Arab matchlockmen, who escorted me as a token of especial respect, I issued from the Ashurbara Gate, through the usual staring crowds, and took the way of the wilderness. After half a mile’s march, we exchanged affectionate adieus, received much prudent advice about keeping watch and ward at night, recited the Fatihah with upraised palms, and with many promises to write frequently and to meet soon, shook hands and parted. The soldiers gave me a last volley, to which I replied with the “Father of Six.”
You see, dear L., how traveling maketh man banal. It is the natural consequence of being forced to find, in every corner where Fate drops you for a month, a “friend of the soul,” and a “moon-faced beauty.” With Orientals generally, you must be on extreme terms, as in Hibernia, either an angel of light or, that failing, a goblin damned. In East Africa especially, English phlegm, shyness, or pride, will bar every heart and raise every hand against you, whereas what M. Rochet calls “a certain rondeur of manner” is a specific for winning affection. You should walk up to your man, clasp his fist, pat his back, speak some unintelligible words to him,—if, as is the plan of prudence, you ignore the language,— laugh a loud guffaw, sit by his side, and begin pipes and coffee. He then proceeds to utilize you, to beg in one country for your interest, and in another for your tobacco. You gently but decidedly thrust that subject out of the way, and choose what is most interesting to yourself. As might be expected, he will at times revert to his own concerns; your superior obstinacy will oppose effectual passive resistance to all such efforts; by degrees the episodes diminish in frequency and duration; at last, they cease altogether. The man is now your own.
You will bear in mind if you please, that I am a Moslem merchant, a character not to be confounded with the notable individuals seen on ‘Change. Mercator in the East is a compound of tradesman, divine, and T. G. Usually of gentle birth, he is everywhere welcomed and respected; and he bears in his mind and manner that, if Allah please, he may become prime minister a month after he has sold you a yard of cloth. Commerce appears to be an accident, not an essential, with him; yet he is by no means deficient in acumen. He is a grave and reverend signior, with rosary in hand and Koran on lip, is generally a pilgrim, talks at dreary length about Holy Places, writes a pretty hand, has read and can recite much poetry, is master of his religion, demeans himself with respectability, is perfect in all points of ceremony and politeness, and feels equally at home whether sultan or slave sit upon his counter. He has a wife and children in his own country, where he intends to spend the remnant of his days; but “the world is uncertain”—“Fate descends, and man’s eye seeth it not”—“the earth is a charnel house”; briefly, his many wise old saws give him a kind of theoretical consciousness that his bones may molder in other places but his father-land.
To describe my little caravan. Foremost struts Raghe, our Eesa guide, in all the bravery of Abbanship. He is bareheaded and clothed in Tobe and slippers: a long, heavy, horn-hilted dagger is strapped around his waist, outside his dress; in his right hand he grasps a ponderous wire-bound spear, which he uses as a staff, and the left forearm supports a round targe of battered hide. Being a man of education, he bears on one shoulder a Musalla or prayer carpet of tanned leather, the article used throughout the Somali country; slung over the other is a Wesi or wicker bottle containing water for religious ablution. He is accompanied by some men who carry a little stock of town goods and drive a camel colt, which by the by they manage to lose before midnight.
My other attendants must now be introduced to you, as they are to be for the next two months companions of our journey.
First in the list are the fair Samaweda Yusuf, and Aybla Farih, buxom dames about thirty years old, who presently secured the classical nicknames of Shehrazade and Deenarzade. They look each like three average women rolled into one, and emphatically belong to that race for which the article of feminine attire called, I believe, a “bussle” would be quite superfluous. Wonderful, truly, is their endurance of fatigue! During the march they carry pipe and tobacco, lead and flog the camels, adjust the burdens, and will never be induced to ride, in sickness or in health. At the halt, they unload the cattle, dispose the parcels in a semicircle, pitch over them the Gurgi or mat tent, cook our food, boil tea and coffee, and make themselves generally useful. They bivouack outside our abode, modesty not permitting the sexes to mingle, and in the severest cold wear no clothing but a head fillet and an old Tobe. They have curious soft voices, which contrast agreeably with the harsh organs of the males. At first, they were ashamed to see me, but that feeling soon wore off, and presently they enlivened the way with pleasantries far more naive than refined. To relieve their greatest fatigue, nothing seems necessary but the “Jogsi:” they lie at full length, prone, stand upon each other’s backs trampling and kneading with the toes, and rise like giants much refreshed. Always attendant upon these dames is Yusuf, a Zayla lad who, being one-eyed, was pitilessly named by my companions the “Kalendar;” he prays frequently, is strict in his morals, and has conceived, like Mrs. Brownrigg, so exalted an idea of discipline, that, but for our influence, he certainly would have beaten the two female ‘prentices to death. They hate him, therefore, and he knows it.
Immediately behind Raghe and his party walk Shehrazade and Deenarzade, the former leading the head camel, the latter using my chibouque stick as a staff. She has been at Aden, and sorely suspects me; her little black eyes never meet mine; and frequently, with affected confusion, she turns her sable cheek the clean contrary way. Strung together by their tails, and soundly beaten when disposed to lag, the five camels pace steadily along under their burdens,—bales of Wilayati or American sheeting, Duwwarah or Cutch canvass, with indigo-dyed stuff slung along the animals’ sides, and neatly sewn up in a case of matting to keep off dust and rain,—a cow’s hide, which serves as a couch, covering the whole. They carry a load of “Mushakkar” (bad Mocha dates) for the Somal, with a parcel of better quality for ourselves, and a half hundredweight of coarse Surat tobacco; besides which we have a box of beads, and another of trinkets, mosaic-gold earrings, necklaces, watches, and similar nick-nacks. Our private provisions are represented by about 300 lbs. of rice,—here the traveler’s staff of life,—a large pot full of “Kawurmeh”, dates, salt, clarified butter, tea, coffee, sugar, a box of biscuits in case of famine, “Halwa” or Arab sweetmeats to be used when driving hard bargains, and a little turmeric for seasoning. A simple batterie de cuisine, and sundry skins full of potable water, dangle from chance rope-ends; and last, but not the least important, is a heavy box of ammunition sufficient for a three-month’ sporting tour. In the rear of the caravan trudges a Bedouin woman driving a donkey,—the proper “tail” in these regions, where camels start if followed by a horse or mule. An ill-fated sheep, a parting present from the Hajj, races, and frisks about the Cafilah. It became so tame that the Somal received an order not to “cut” it; one day, however, I found myself dining, and that pet lamb was on the menu.
By the side of the camel ride my three attendants, the pink of Somali fashion. Their frizzled wigs are radiant with grease; their Tobes are splendidly white, with borders dazzlingly red; their new shields are covered with canvass cloth; and their two spears, poised over the right shoulder, are freshly scraped, oiled, blackened, and polished. They have added my spare rifle, and guns to the camel-load; such weapons are well enough at Aden, in Somali-land men would deride the outlandish tool! I told them that in my country women use bows and arrows, moreover that lancers are generally considered a corps of non-combatants; in vain! They adhered as strongly—so mighty a thing is prejudice—to their partiality for bows, arrows, and lances. Their horsemanship is peculiar, they balance themselves upon little Abyssinian saddles, extending the leg and raising the heel in the Louis Quinze style of equitation, and the stirrup is an iron ring admitting only the big toe. I follow them mounting a fine white mule, which, with its gaudily galonne Arab pad and wrapper cloth, has a certain dignity of look; a double-barreled gun lies across my lap; and a rude pair of holsters, the work of Hasan Turki, contains my Colt’s six-shooters.
Marching in this order, which was to serve as a model, we traveled due south along the coast, over a hard, stoneless, and alluvial plain, here dry, there muddy (where the tide reaches), across boggy creeks, broad water-courses, and warty flats of black mold powdered with nitrous salt, and bristling with the salsolaceous vegetation familiar to the Arab voyager. Such is the general formation of the plain between the mountains and the sea, whose breadth, in a direct line, may measure from forty-five to forty-eight miles. Near the first zone of hills, or sub-Ghauts, it produces thicker vegetation; thorns and acacias of different kinds appear in clumps; and ground broken with ridges and ravines announces the junction. After the monsoon, this plain is covered with rich grass. At other seasons it affords but a scanty supply of an “aqueous matter” resembling bilgewater. The land belongs to the Mummasan clan of the Eesa: how these “Kurrah-jog” or “sun-dwellers,” as the Bedouins are called by the burgher Somal, can exist here in summer, is a mystery. My arms were peeled even in the month of December; and my companions, panting with the heat, like the Atlantes of Herodotus, poured forth reproaches upon the rising sun. The townspeople, when forced to hurry across it in the hotter season, cover themselves during the day with Tobes wetted every half hour in seawater; yet they are sometimes killed by the fatal thirst which the Simum engenders. Even the Bedouins are now longing for rain; a few weeks’ drought destroys half their herds.
Early in the afternoon our Abban and a woman halted for a few minutes, performed their ablutions, and prayed with a certain display: satisfied apparently, with the result, they never repeated the exercise. About sunset we passed, on the right, clumps of trees overgrowing water called “Warabod”, the Hyena’s Well; this is the first Marhalah or halting-place usually made by travelers to the interior. Hence there is a direct path leading south-south-west, by six short marches, to the hills. Our Abban, however, was determined that we should not so easily escape his kraal. Half an hour afterwards we passed by the second station, “Hangagarri”, a well near the sea: frequent lights twinkling through the darkening air informed us that we were in the midst of the Eesa. At 8 P.M. we reached “Gagab”, the third Marhalah, where the camels, casting themselves upon the ground, imperatively demanded a halt. Raghe was urgent for an advance, declaring that already he could sight the watchfires of his Rer or tribe; but the animals carried the point against him. They were presently unloaded and turned out to graze, and the lariats of the mules, who are addicted to running away, were fastened to stones for want of pegs. Then, lighting a fire, we sat down to a homely supper of dates.
The air was fresh and clear, and the night breeze was delicious after the steamy breath of day. The weary confinement of walls made the splendid expanse a luxury to the sight, whilst the tumbling of the surf upon the near shore, and the music of the jackal, predisposed to sweet sleep. We now felt that at length the die was cast. Placing my pistols by my side, with my rifle butt for a pillow, and its barrel as a bed-fellow, I sought repose with none of that apprehension which even the most stout-hearted traveler knows before the start. It is the difference between fancy and reality, between anxiety and certainty: to men gifted with any imaginative powers, the anticipation must never be worse than the event. Thus it happens, that he who feels a thrill of fear before engaging in a peril, exchanges it for a throb of exultation when he finds himself hand to hand with the danger.
The “End of Time” volunteered to keep watch that night. When the early dawn glimmered he aroused us, and blew up the smoldering fire, whilst our women proceeded to load the camels. We pursued our way over hard alluvial soil to sand and thence passed into a growth of stiff yellow grass not unlike a stubble in English September. Day broke upon a Somali Arcadia, whose sole flaws were salt water and Simum. Whistling shepherds carried in their arms the younglings of the herds, or, spear in hand, drove to pasture long regular lines of camels, that waved their vulture-like heads, and arched their necks to bite in play their neighbors’ faces, humps, and hind thighs. They were led by a patriarch, to whose throat hung a Kor or wooden bell, the preventive for straggling; and most of them were followed (for winter is the breeding season) by colts in every stage of infancy. Patches of sheep, with snowy skins and jetty faces, flocked the yellow plain; and herds of goats resembling deer were driven by hide-clad children to the bush. Women, in similar attire, accompanied them, some chewing the inner bark of trees, others spinning yarns of a white creeper called Sagsug for ropes and tent-mats. The boys carried shepherds’ crooks, and bore their watering pails, foolscap fashion, upon their heads. Sometimes they led the ram, around whose neck a cord of white leather was bound for luck; at other times they frisked with the dog, an animal by no means contemptible in the eyes of the Bedouins. As they advanced, the graceful little sand antelope bounded away over the bushes; and above them, soaring high in the cloudless skies, were flights of vultures and huge percnopters, unerring indicators of man’s habitation in Somaliland.
A network of paths showed that we were approaching a populous place; and presently men swarmed forth from their hive-shaped tents, testifying their satisfaction at our arrival, the hostile Habr Awal having threatened to “eat them up.” We rode cautiously, as is customary, amongst the yeaning she-camels, who are injured by a sudden start, and about 8 A.M. arrived at our guide’s kraal, the fourth station, called “Gudingaras,” or the low place where the Garas tree grows. The encampment lay southeast (165°) of, and about twenty miles from, Zayla.
Raghe disappeared, and the Bedouins flocked out to gaze upon us as we approached the kraal. Meanwhile, Shehrazade and Deenarzade fetched tent-sticks from the village, disposed our luggage so as to form a wall, rigged out a wigwam, spread our beds in the shade, and called aloud for sweet and sour milk. I heard frequently muttered by the red-headed spearmen, the ominous term “Faranj”; and although there was no danger, it was deemed advisable to make an impression without delay. Presently they began to deride our weapons: the Hammal requested them to put up one of their shields as a mark; they laughed aloud but shirked compliance. At last a large brown, bare-necked vulture settled on the ground at twenty paces’ distance. The Somal hate the “Gurgur”, because he kills the dying and devours the dead on the battlefield: a bullet put through the bird’s body caused a cry of wonder, and some ran after the lead as it span whistling over the ridge. Then loading with swan-shot, which these Bedouins had never seen, I knocked over a second vulture flying. Fresh screams followed the marvelous feat; the women exclaimed “Lo! he bringeth down the birds from heaven;” and one old man, putting his forefinger in his mouth, praised Allah and prayed to be defended from such a calamity. The effect was such that I determined always to cany a barrel loaded with a shot as the best answer for all who might object to “Faranj.”
We spent our day in the hut after the normal manner, with a crowd of woolly-headed Bedouins squatting perseveringly opposite our quarters, spear in hand, with eyes fixed upon every gesture. Before noon the door-mat was let down,—a precaution also adopted whenever a box or package was opened,—we drank milk and ate rice with “a kitchen” of Kawurmah. About midday the crowd retired to sleep; my companions followed their example, and I took the opportunity of sketching and jotting down notes. Early in the afternoon the Bedouins returned and resumed their mute form of pleading for tobacco: each man, as he received a handful, rose slowly from his hams and went his way. The senior who disliked the gun was importunate for a charm to cure his sick camel: having obtained it, he blessed us in a set speech, which lasted at least half an hour and concluded with spitting upon the whole party for good luck. It is always well to encourage these Nestors; they are regarded with the greatest reverence by the tribes, who believe that
“old experience doth attain
To something like prophetic strain;”
and they can either do great good or cause much petty annoyance.
In the evening I took my gun, and, accompanied by the End of Time, went out to search for venison: the plain, however, was full of men and cattle, and its hidden denizens had migrated. During our walk, we visited the tomb of an Eesa brave. It was about ten feet long, heaped up with granite pebbles, bits of black basalt, and stones of calcareous lime: two upright slabs denoted the position of the head and feet, and upon these hung the deceased’s milk-pails, much the worse for sun and wind. Round the grave was a thin fence of thorns: opposite the single narrow entrance, were three blocks of stone planted in line, and showing the number of enemies slain by the brave. Beyond these trophies, a thorn roofing, supported by four bare poles, served to shade the relatives, when they meet to sit, feast, weep, and pray.
The Bedouin funerals and tombs are equally simple. They have no favorite cemeteries as in Sindh and other Moslem and pastoral lands: men are buried where they die, and the rarity of the graves scattered about the country excited my astonishment. The corpse is soon interred. These people, like most barbarians, have a horror of death and all that reminds them of it: on several occasions, I have been begged to throw away a hut-stick, that had been used to dig a grave. The bier is a rude framework of poles bound with ropes of hide. Some tie up the body and plant it in a sitting posture, to save themselves the trouble of excavating deep: this perhaps may account for the circular tombs seen in many parts of the country. Usually, the corpse is thrust into a long hole, covered with wood and matting, and heaped over with earth and thorns, half-protected by an oval mass of loose stones, and abandoned to the jackals and hyenas.
We halted a day at Gudingaras, wishing to see the migration of a tribe. Before dawn, on the 30th of November, the Somali Stentor proclaimed from the ridge-top, “Fetch your camels!—Load your goods!—We march!” About 8 A.M. we started in the rear. The spectacle was novel to me. Some 150 spearmen, assisted by their families, were driving before them divisions which, in total, might amount to 200 cows, 7000 camels, and 11,000 or 12,000 sheep and goats. Only three wore the Bal or feather, which denotes the brave; several, however, had the other decoration—an ivory armlet. Assisted by the boys, whose heads were shaved in a cristated fashion truly ridiculous, and large pariah dogs with bushy tails, they drove the beasts and carried the colts, belabored runaway calves, and held up the hind legs of struggling sheep. The sick, of whom there were many,—dysentery being at the time prevalent,—were carried upon camels with their legs protruding in front from under the hide-cover. Many of the dromedaries showed the Habr Awal brand: laden with hutting materials and domestic furniture, they were led by the maidens: the matrons, followed, bearing their progeny upon their backs, bundled in the shoulder-lappets of cloth or hide. The smaller girls, who, in addition to the boys’ crest, wore a circlet of curly hair round the head, carried the weakling lambs and kids or aided their mammas in transporting the baby. Apparently in great fear of the “All” or Commando, the Bedouins anxiously inquired if I had my “fire” with me, and begged us to take the post of honor—the van. As our little party pricked forward, the camels started in alarm, and we were surprised to find that this tribe did not know the difference between horses and mules. Whenever the boys lost time in sport or quarrel, they were threatened by their fathers with the jaws of that ogre, the white stranger; and the women exclaimed, as they saw us approach, “Here comes the old man who knows knowledge!”
Having skirted the sea for two hours, I rode off with the End of Time to inspect the Dihh Silil, a fiumara which runs from the western hills northeastwards to the sea. Its course is marked by a long line of graceful tamarisks, whose vivid green looked doubly bright set off by tawny stubble and amethyst-blue sky. These freshets are the Edens of Adel. The banks are charmingly wooded with acacias of many varieties, some thorned like the fabled Zakkum, others parachute-shaped, and planted in impenetrable thickets: huge white creepers, snake-shaped, enclasp giant trees, or connect with their cordage the higher boughs, or depend like cables from the lower branches to the ground. Luxuriant parasites abound: here they form domes of flashing green, there they surround with verdure decayed trunks, and not infrequently cluster into sylvan bowers, under which—grateful sight!—appears succulent grass. From the thinner thorns, the bell-shaped nests of the Loxia depend, waving in the breeze, and the wood resounds with the cries of bright-winged choristers. The torrent-beds are of the clearest and finest white sand, glittering with gold-colored mica, and varied with nodules of clear and milky quartz, red porphyry, and granites of many hues. Sometimes the center is occupied by an islet of torn trees and stones rolled in heaps, supporting a clump of thick jujube or tall acacia, whilst the lower parts of the beds are overgrown with long lines of lively green colocynth. Here are usually the wells, surrounded by heaps of thorns, from which the leaves have been browsed off, and dwarf sticks that support the water-hide. When the flocks and herds are absent, troops of gazelles may be seen daintily pacing the yielding surface; snake trails streak the sand, and at night the fiercer kind of animals, lions, leopards, and elephants, take their turn. In Somaliland the well is no place of social meeting; no man lingers to chat near it, no woman visits it, and the traveler fears to pitch hut where torrents descend, and where enemies, human and bestial, meet.
We sat under a tree watching the tribe defile across the water-course: then remounting, after a ride of two miles, we reached a ground called Kuranyali, upon which the wigwams of the Nomads were already rising. The parched and treeless stubble lies about eight miles from and 145o S.E. of Gudingaras; both places are supplied by Angagarri, a well near the sea, which is so distant that cattle, to return before nightfall, must start early in the morning.
My attendants had pitched the Gurgi or hut: the Hammal and Long Guled were, however, sulky on account of my absence, and the Kalendar appeared disposed to be mutinous. The End of Time, who never lost an opportunity to make mischief, whispered in my ear, “Despise thy wife, thy son, and thy servant, or they despise thee!” The old saw was not wanted, however, to procure for them a sound scolding. Nothing is worse for the Eastern traveler than the habit of “sending to Coventry:”—it does away with all manner of discipline.
We halted that day at Kuranyali, preparing water and milk for two long marches over the desert to the hills. Being near the shore, the air was cloudy, although men prayed for a shower in vain: about midday, the pleasant Seabreeze fanned our cheeks, and the plain was thronged with tall pillars of white sand.
The heat forbade egress, and our Wigwam was crowded with hungry visitors. Raghe, urged thereto by his tribe, became importunate, now for tobacco, then for rice, now for dates, then for provisions in general. No wonder that the Prophet made his Paradise for the Poor a mere place of eating and drinking. The half-famished Bedouins, Somal or Arab, think of nothing beyond the stomach,—their dreams know no higher vision of bliss than mere repletion. A single article of diet, milk or flesh, palling upon man’s palate, they will greedily suck the stones of eaten dates: yet, Abyssinian-like, they are squeamish and fastidious as regards food. They despise the excellent fish with which Nature has so plentifully stocked their seas. “Speak not to me with that mouth which eateth fish!” is a favorite insult amongst the Bedouins. If you touch a bird or a fowl of any description, you will be despised even by the starving beggar. You must not eat marrow or the flesh about the sheep’s thigh-bone, especially when traveling, and the kidneys are called a woman’s dish. None but the Northern Somal will touch the hares which abound in the country, and many refuse the sand antelope and other kinds of game, not asserting that the meat is unlawful, but simply alleging disgust. Those who chew coffee berries are careful not to place an even number in their mouths, and camel’s milk is never heated, for fear of bewitching the animal. The Somali, however, differs in one point from his kinsman the Arab: the latter prides himself upon his temperance; the former, like the North American Indian, measures manhood by appetite. A “Son of the Somal” is taught, as soon as his teeth are cut, to devour two pounds of the toughest mutton, and ask for more: if his powers of deglutition fail, he is derided as degenerate.
On the next day (Friday, 1st Dec.) we informed the Abban that we intended starting early in the afternoon, and therefore warned him to hold himself and his escort, together with the water and milk necessary for our march, in readiness. He promised compliance and disappeared. About 3 P.M. the Bedouins, armed as usual with spear and shield, began to gather around the hut, and—nothing in this country can be done without that terrible “palaver!”—the speechifying presently commenced. Raghe, in a lengthy harangue, hoped that the tribe would afford us all the necessary supplies and assist us in the arduous undertaking. His words elicited no hear! hear!—there was an evident unwillingness on the part of the wild men to let us, or rather our cloth and tobacco, depart. One remarked, with surly emphasis, that he had “seen no good and eaten no Bori from that caravan, why should he aid it?” When we asked the applauding hearers what they had done for us, they rejoined by inquiring whose the land was? Another, smitten by the fair Shehrazade’s bulky charms, had proposed matrimony, and offered as dowry a milch camel: she “temporized,” not daring to return a positive refusal, and the suitor betrayed a certain Hibernian velleite to consider consent an unimportant part of the ceremony. The mules had been sent to the well, with orders to return before noon: at 4 P.M. they were not visible. I then left the hut, and, sitting on a cow’s-hide in the sun, ordered my men to begin loading, despite the remonstrances of the Abban and the interference of about fifty Bedouins. As we persisted, they waxed surlier, and declared that all which was ours became theirs, to whom the land belonged: we did not deny the claim, but simply threatened sorcery-death, by wild beasts and foraging parties, to their “camels, children, and women.” This brought them to their senses, the usual effect of such threats; and presently arose the senior who had spat upon us for luck’s sake. With his toothless jaws he mumbled a vehement speech, and warned the tribe that it was not good to detain such strangers: they lent ready ears to the words of Nestor, saying, “Let us obey him, he is near his end!” The mules arrived, but when I looked for the escort, none was forthcoming. At Zayla it was agreed that twenty men should protect us across the desert, which is the very passage of plunder; now, however, five or six paupers offered to accompany us for a few miles. We politely declined troubling them, but insisted upon the attendance of our Abban and three of his kindred: as some of the Bedouins still opposed us, our aged friend once more arose, and by copious abuse finally silenced them. We took leave of him with many thanks and handfuls of tobacco, in return for which he blessed us with fervor. Then, mounting our mules, we set out, followed for at least a mile by a long tail of howling boys, who, ignorant of clothing, except a string of white beads around the neck, but armed with dwarf spears, bows, and arrows, showed all the impudence of baboons. They derided the End of Time’s equitation till I feared a scene;—sailor-like, he prided himself upon graceful horsemanship, and the imps were touching his tenderest point.
Hitherto, for the Abban’s convenience, we had skirted the sea, far out of the direct road: now we were to strike southwestwards into the interior. At 6 P. M. we started across a “Goban” which eternal summer gilds with a dull ochreish yellow, towards a thin blue strip of hill on the far horizon. The Somal have no superstitious dread of night and its horrors, like Arabs and Abyssinians: our Abban, however, showed a wholesome mundane fear of plundering parties, scorpions, and snakes. I had been careful to fasten round my ankles the twists of black wool called by the Arabs Zaal, and universally used in Yemen; a stock of garlic and opium, here held to be specifics, fortified the courage of the party, whose fears were not wholly ideal, for, in the course of the night, Shehrazade nearly trod upon a viper.
At first, the plain was a network of holes, the habitations of the Jir Ad, a field rat with ruddy back and white belly, the Mullah or Parson, a smooth-skinned lizard, and the Dabagalla, a ground squirrel with a brilliant and glossy coat. As it became dark arose a cheerful moon, exciting the howlings of the hyenas, the barkings of their attendant jackals, and the chattered oaths of the Hidinhitu bird. Dotted here and there over the misty landscape, appeared dark clumps of a tree called “Kullan,” a thorn with an edible berry not unlike the jujube, and banks of silvery mist veiled the far horizon from the sight.
We marched rapidly and in silence, stopping every quarter of an hour to raise the camels’ loads as they slipped on one side. I had now an opportunity of seeing how feeble a race is the Somal. My companions on the line of march wondered at my being able to carry a gun; they could scarcely support, even whilst riding, the weight of their spears, and preferred sitting upon them to spare their shoulders. At times they were obliged to walk because the saddles cut them, then they remounted because their legs were tired; briefly, an English boy of fourteen would have shown more bottom than the sturdiest. This cannot arise from poor diet, for the citizens, who live generously, are yet weaker than the Bedouins; it is a peculiarity of race. When fatigued they become reckless and impatient of thirst: on this occasion, though want of water stared us in the face, one skin of the three was allowed to fall upon the road and burst, and the second’s contents were drunk before we halted.
At 11 P.M., after marching twelve miles in direct line, we bivouacked upon the plain. The night breeze from the hills had set in, and my attendants chattered with cold: Long Guled in particular became stiff as a mummy. Raghe was clamorous against a fire, which might betray our whereabouts in the “Bush Inn.” But after such a march the pipe was a necessity, and the point was carried against him.
After a sound sleep under the moon, we rose at 5 A.M. and loaded the camels. It was a raw morning. A large nimbus rising from the east obscured the sun, the line of blue sea was raised like a ridge by refraction, and the hills, towards which we were journeying, now showed distinct falls and folds. Troops of Dera or gazelles, herding like goats, stood, stared at us, turned their white tails, faced away, broke into a long trot, and bounded over the plain as we approached. A few ostriches appeared, but they were too shy even for bullets. At 8 P.M. we crossed one of the numerous drains which intersect this desert—“Biya Hablod,” or the Girls’ Water, a fiumara running from southwest to east and northeast. Although dry, it abounded in the Marer, a tree bearing yellowish-red berries full of viscous juice like green gum,—edible but not nice,—and the brighter vegetation showed that water was near the surface. About two hours afterwards, as the sun became oppressive, we unloaded in a water-course, called by my companions Adad or the Acacia Gum: the distance was about twenty-five miles, and the direction S. W. 225° of Kuranyali.
We spread our couches of cowhide in the midst of a green mass of tamarisk under a tall Kud tree, a bright-leaved thorn, with balls of golden gum clinging to its boughs, dry berries scattered in its shade, and armies of ants marching to and from its trunk. All slept upon the soft white sand, with arms under their hands, for our spoor across the desert was now unmistakable. At midday, rice was boiled for us by the indefatigable women, and at 3 P.M. we resumed our march towards the hills, which had exchanged their shadowy blue for a coat of pronounced brown. Journeying onwards, we reached the Barragid fiumara and presently exchanged the plain for rolling ground covered with the remains of an extinct race, and probably alluded to by El Makrizi when he records that the Moslems of Adel had erected, throughout the country, a vast number of mosques and oratories for Friday and festival prayers. Places of worship appeared in the shape of parallelograms, unhewed stones piled upon the ground, with a semicircular niche in the direction of Meccah. The tombs, different from the heaped form now in fashion, closely resembled the older erections in the island of Saad El Din, near Zayla—oblong slabs planted deep in the soil. We also observed frequent hollow rings of rough blocks, circles measuring about a cubit in diameter: I had not time to excavate them, and the End of Time could only inform me that they belonged to the “Awwalin,” or olden inhabitants.
At 7 P.M., as evening was closing in, we came upon the fresh trail of a large Habr Awal cavalcade. The celebrated footprint seen by Robinson Crusoe affected him not more powerfully than did this “daaseh” my companions. The voice of the song suddenly became mute. The women drove the camels hurriedly, and all huddled together, except Raghe, who kept well to the front ready for a run. Whistling with anger, I asked my attendants what had slain them: the End of Time, in a hollow voice, replied, “Verily, 0 pilgrim, whoso seeth the track, seeth the foe!” and he quoted in tones of terror those dreary lines—
“Man is but a handful of dust,
And life is a violent storm.”
We certainly were a small party to contend against 200 horsemen,—nine men and two women: moreover, all except the Hammal and Long Guled would infallibly have fled at the first charge.
Presently we sighted the trails of sheep and goats, showing the proximity of a village: their freshness was ascertained by my companions after an eager scrutiny in the moon’s bright beams. About half an hour afterwards, rough ravines with sharp and thorny descents warned us that we had exchanged the dangerous plain for a place of safety where horsemen rarely venture. Raghe, not admiring the “open,” hurried us onward, in the hope of reaching some kraal. At 8 P.M., however, seeing the poor women lamed with thorns, and the camels casting themselves upon the ground, I resolved to halt. Despite all objections, we lighted a fire, finished our store of bad milk—the water had long ago been exhausted—and lay down in the cold, clear air, covering ourselves with hides and holding our weapons.
At 6 A.M. we resumed our ride over rough stony ground, the thorns tearing our feet and naked legs, and the camels slipping over the rounded waste of drift pebbles. The Bedouins, with ears applied to the earth, listened for a village but heard none. Suddenly we saw two strangers, and presently we came upon an Eesa kraal. It was situated in a deep ravine, called Damal, backed by a broad and hollow Fiumara at the foot of the hills, running from west to east, and surrounded by lofty trees, upon which brown kites, black vultures, and percnopters like flakes of snow were mewing. We had marched over a winding path about eleven miles from and in a southwest direction (205°) of, Adad. Painful thoughts suggested themselves: in consequence of wandering southwards, only six had been taken off thirty stages by the labors of seven days.
As usual in Eastern Africa, we did not enter the kraal uninvited but unloosed and pitched the wigwam under a tree outside. Presently the elders appeared bringing, with soft speeches, sweet water, new milk, fat sheep and goats, for which they demanded a Tobe of Cutch canvass. We passed with them a quiet luxurious day of coffee and pipes, fresh cream and roasted mutton: after the plain-heats we enjoyed the cool breeze of the hills, the cloudy sky, and the verdure of the glades, made doubly green by comparison with the parched stubbles below.
The Eesa, here mixed with the Gudabirsi, have little power: we found them poor and proportionally importunate. The men, wild-looking as open mouths, staring eyes, and tangled hair could make them, gazed with extreme eagerness upon my scarlet blanket: for very shame, they did not beg it, but the inviting texture was pulled and fingered by the greasy multitude. We closed the hut whenever a valuable was produced, but eager eyes peeped through every cranny, till the End of Time ejaculated “Praised be Allah!” and quoted the Arab saying, “Show not the Somal thy door, and if he finds it, block it up!” The women and children were clad in chocolate-colored hides, fringed at the tops: to gratify them I shot a few hawks, and was rewarded with loud exclamations,—“Allah preserves thy hand!”—“May thy skill never fail thee before the foe!” A crone seeing me smoke, inquired if the fire did not burn: I handed my pipe, which nearly choked her, and she ran away from a steaming kettle, thinking it a weapon. As my companions observed, there was not a “Miskal of sense in a Maund of heads:” yet the people looked upon my sunburnt skin with a favor they denied to the “lime-white face.”
I was anxious to proceed in the afternoon, but Raghe had arrived at the frontier of his tribe: he had blood to settle amongst the Gudabirsi, and without a protector, he could not enter their lands. At night we slept armed on account of the lions that infest the hills, and our huts were surrounded with a thorn fence—a precaution here first adopted, and never afterwards neglected. Early on the morning of the 4th of December heavy clouds rolled down from the mountains, and a Scotch mist deepened into a shower: our new Abban had not arrived, and the hut-mats, saturated with rain, had become too heavy for the camels to carry.
In the forenoon the Eesa kraal, loading their Asses, set out towards the plain. This migration presented no new features, except that several sick and decrepid were barbarously left behind, for lions and hyenas to devour. To deceive “warhawks” who might be on the lookout, the migrators set fire to logs of wood and masses of sheep’s earth, which, even in rain, will smoke and smolder for weeks.
About midday arrived the two Gudabirsi who intended escorting us to the village of our Abbans. The elder, Rirash, was a black-skinned, wild-looking fellow, with a shock head of hair and a deep scowl which belied his good temper and warm heart: the other was a dun-faced youth betrothed to Raghe’s daughter. They both belonged to the Mahadasan clan and commenced operations by an obstinate attempt to lead us far out of our way eastwards. The pretext was the defenseless state of their flocks and herds, the real reason an itching for cloth and tobacco. We resisted manfully this time, nerved by the memory of wasted days, and, despite their declarations of Absi, we determined upon making westward for the hills.
At 2 P.M. the caravan started along the Fiumara course in the rear of the deserted kraal, and after an hour’s ascent, Rirash informed us that a well was near. The Hammal and I, taking two water skins, urged our mules over stones and thorny ground: presently we arrived at a rocky ravine, where, surrounded by brambles, rude walls, and tough frameworks, lay the wells— three or four holes sunk ten feet deep in the limestone. Whilst we bathed in the sulphureous spring, which at once discolored my silver ring, Rirash, baling up the water in his shield, filled the bags and bound them to the saddles. In haste we rejoined the caravan, which we found about sunset, halted by the vain fears of the guides. The ridge upon which they stood was a mass of old mosques and groves, showing that in former days a thick population tenanted these hills: from the summit appeared distant herds of kine and white flocks scattered like patches of mountain quartz. Riding in advance, we traversed the stony ridge, fell into another ravine, and soon saw signs of human life. A shepherd descried us from afar and ran away reckless of property; causing the End of Time to roll his head with dignity, and to ejaculate, “Of a truth said the Prophet of Allah, ‘fear is divided.’” Presently we fell in with a village, from which the people rushed out, some exclaiming, “Lo! let us look at the kings!” others, “Come, see the white man, he is governor of Zayla!” I objected to such dignity, principally on account of its price: my companions, however, were inexorable; they would be Salatin—kings—and my color was against claims to low degree. This fairness, and the Arab dress, made me at different times the ruler of Aden, the chief of Zayla, the Hajj’s son, a boy, an old woman, a man painted white, a warrior in silver armor, a merchant, a pilgrim, a hedgepriest, Ahmed the Indian, a Turk, an Egyptian, a Frenchman, a Banyan, a sherif, and lastly a Calamity sent down from heaven to weary out the lives of the Somal: every kraal had some conjecture of its own, and each fresh theory was received by my companions with roars of laughter.
As the Gudabirsi pursued us with shouts for tobacco and cries of wonder, I dispersed them with a gun-shot: the women and children fled precipitately from the horrid sound, and the men, covering their heads with their shields, threw themselves face foremost upon the ground. Pursuing the Fiumara course, we passed a number of kraals, whose inhabitants were equally vociferous: out of one came a Zayla man, who informed us that the Gudabirsi Abbans, to whom we bore Sharmarkay’s letter of introduction, were encamped within three days’ march. It was reported, however, that a quarrel had broken out between them and the Gerad Adan, their brother-in-law; no pleasant news!—in Africa, under such circumstances, it is customary for friends to detain, and for foes to oppose, the traveller. We rode stoutly on, till the air darkened and the moon tipped the distant hill peaks with a dim mysterious light. I then called a halt: we unloaded on the banks of the Darkaynlay fiumara, so called from a tree which contains a fiery milk, fenced ourselves in,—taking care to avoid being trampled upon by startled camels during our sleep, by securing them in a separate but neighboring inclosure,—spread our couches, ate our frugal suppers, and lost no time in falling asleep. We had traveled five hours that day, but the path was winding, and our progress in a straight line was at most eight miles.
And now, dear L., being about to quit the land of the Eesa, I will sketch the tribe.
The Eesa, probably the most powerful branch of the Somali nation, extends northwards to the Wayma family of the Dankali; southwards to the Gudabirsi, and midway between Zayla and Berberah; eastwards it is bounded by the sea, and westwards by the Gallas around Harar. It derives itself from Dirr and Aydur, without, however, knowing aught beyond the ancestral names, and is twitted with paganism by its enemies. This tribe, said to number 100,000 shields, is divided into numerous clans: these again split up into minor septs which plunder, and sometimes murder, one another in time of peace.
A fierce and turbulent race of republicans, the Eesa own nominal allegiance to a Ugaz or chief residing in the Hadagali hills. He is generally called “Roblay”—Prince Rainy,—the name or rather title being one of good omen, for a drought here, like a dinner in Europe, justifies the change of a dynasty. Every kraal has its Oddai (shaikh or head man,) after whose name the settlement, as in Sindh and other pastoral lands, is called. He is obeyed only when his orders suit the taste of King Demos, is always superior to his fellows in wealth of cattle, sometimes in talent and eloquence, and in deliberations he is assisted by the Wail or Akill— the Peetzo-council of Southern Africa—Elders obeyed on account of their age. Despite, however, this apparatus of rule, the Bedouins have lost none of the characteristics recorded in the Periplus: they are still “uncivilized and under no restraint.” Every freeborn man holds himself equal to his ruler and allows no royalties or prerogatives to abridge his birthright of liberty. Yet I have observed, that with all their passion for independence, the Somal, when subject to strict rule as at Zayla and Harar, are both apt to discipline and subservient to command.
In character, the Eesa are childish and docile, cunning, and deficient in judgment, kind and fickle, good-humored and irascible, warm-hearted, and infamous for cruelty and treachery. Even the protector will slay his protege, and citizens married to Eesa girls send their wives to buy goats and sheep from, but will not trust themselves amongst, their connexions. “Traitorous as an Eesa,” is a proverb at Zayla, where the people tell you that these Bedouins with the left hand offer a bowl of milk, and stab with the right. “Conscience,” I may observe, does not exist in Eastern Africa, and “Repentance” expresses regret for missed opportunities of mortal crime. Robbery constitutes an honorable man: murder—the more atrocious the midnight crime the better—makes the hero. Honor consists in taking human life: hyena-like, the Bedouins cannot be trusted where blood may be shed: Glory is the having done all manner of harm. Yet the Eesa have their good points: they are not noted liars, and will rarely perjure themselves: they look down upon petty pilfering without violence, and they are generous and hospitable compared with the other Somal. Personally, I had no reason to complain of them. They were importunate beggars, but a pinch of snuff or a handful of tobacco always made us friends: they begged me to settle amongst them, they offered me sundry wives and,—the Somali Bedouin, unlike the Arab, readily affiliates strangers to his tribe—they declared that after a few days’ residence, I should become one of themselves.
In appearance, the Eesa are distinguished from other Somal by blackness, ugliness of features, and premature baldness of the temples; they also shave or rather scrape off with their daggers, the hair high up the nape of the neck. The locks are dyed dun, frizzled, and greased; the Widads or learned men remove them, and none but paupers leave them in their natural state; the mustachios are clipped close, the straggling whisker is carefully plucked, and the pile—erroneously considered impure—is removed either by vellication or bypassing the limbs through the fire. The eyes of the Bedouins, also, are less prominent than those of the citizens: the brow projects in pent-house fashion, and the organ, exposed to bright light, and accustomed to gaze at distant objects, acquires more concentration and power. I have seen amongst them handsome profiles, and some of the girls have fine figures with piquant if not pretty features.
Flocks and herds form the true wealth of the Eesa. According to them, sheep and goats are of silver, and the cow of gold: they compare camels to the rock, and believe, like most Moslems, the horse to have been created from the wind. Their diet depends upon the season. In hot weather, when forage and milk dry up, the flocks are slaughtered, and supply excellent mutton; during the monsoon, men become fat, by drinking all day long the produce of their cattle. In the latter article of diet, the Eesa are delicate and curious: they prefer cow’s milk, then the goat’s, and lastly the ewe’s, which the Arab loves best: the first is drunk fresh, and the two latter clotted, whilst the camel’s is slightly soured. The townspeople use camel’s milk medicinally: according to the Bedouins, he who lives on this beverage, and eats the meat for forty-four consecutive days, acquires the animal’s strength. It has perhaps less “body” than any other milk, and is deliciously sweet shortly after foaling: presently it loses flavor, and nothing can be more nauseous than the produce of an old camel. The Somal have a name for cream—“Laben”—but they make no use of the article, churning it with the rest of the milk. They have no buffaloes, shudder at the Tartar idea of mare’s-milk, like the Arabs hold the name Labban a disgrace, and make it a point of honor not to draw supplies from their cattle during the day.
The life led by these wild people is necessarily monotonous. They rest but little—from 11 P.M. till dawn—and never sleep in the bush, for fear of plundering parties, Few begin the day with prayer as Moslems should: for the most part they apply themselves to counting and milking their cattle. The animals, all of which have names, come when called to the pail, and supply the family with a morning meal. Then the warriors, grasping their spears, and sometimes the young women armed only with staves, drive their herds to pasture: the matrons and children, spinning or rope-making, tend the flocks, and the kraal is abandoned to the very young, the old, and the sick. The herdsmen wander about, watching the cattle and tasting nothing but the pure element or a pinch of coarse tobacco. Sometimes they play at Shahh, Shantarah, and other games, of which they are passionately fond: with a board formed of lines traced in the sand, and bits of dry wood or camel’s earth acting pieces, they spend hour after hour, every looker-on vociferating his opinion, and catching at the men, till apparently the two players are those least interested in the game. Or, to drive off sleep, they sit whistling to their flocks, or they perform upon the Forimo, a reed pipe generally made at Harar, which has a plaintive sound uncommonly pleasing. In the evening, the kraal again resounds with lowing and bleating: the camel’s milk is all drunk, the cow’s and goat’s reserved for butter and ghee, which the women prepare; the numbers are once more counted, and the animals are carefully penned up for the night. This simple life is varied by an occasional birth and marriage, dance and foray, disease and murder. Their maladies are few and simple; death generally comes by the spear, and the Bedouin is naturally long-lived. I have seen Macrobians hale and strong, preserving their powers and faculties in spite of eighty and ninety years.
 By this route the Mukattib or courier travels on foot from Zayla to Harar in five days at the most. The Somal reckon their journeys by the Gedi or march, the Arab “Hamleh,” which varies from four to five hours. They begin before dawn and halt at about 11 A.M., the time of the morning meal. When a second march is made they load at 3 P.M. and advance till dark; thus fifteen miles would be the average of fast traveling. In places of danger they will cover twenty-six or twenty-seven miles of ground without halting to eat or rest: nothing less, however, than regard for “dear life” can engender such activity. Generally, two or three hours’ work per diem is considered sufficient; and, where provisions abound, halts are long and frequent.
 The Mikahil is a clan of the Habr Awal tribe living near Berberah, and celebrated for their bloodthirsty and butchering propensities. Many of the Midgan or serviles (a term explained in Chap. II.) are domesticated amongst them.
 So the Abyssinian chief informed M. Krapf that he loved the French, but could not endure us—simply the effect of manner.
 The first is the name of the individual; the second is that of her father.
 This delicate operation is called by the Arabs Daasah (whence the “Dosch ceremony” at Cairo). It is used over most parts of the Eastern world as a remedy for sickness and fatigue, and is generally preferred to Takbis or Dugmo, the common style of shampooing, which, say many Easterns, loosens the skin.
 The Somal, from habit, enjoy no other variety; they even showed disgust at my Latakia. Tobacco is grown in some places by the Gudabirsi and other tribes; bat it is rare and bad. Without this article it would be impossible to progress in East Africa; every man asks for a handful, and many will not return milk for what they expect to receive as a gift. Their importunity reminds the traveler of the Galloway beggars some generations ago:—“They are for the most part great chewers of tobacco, and are so addicted to it, that they will ask for a piece thereof from a stranger as he is riding on his way; and therefore let not a traveler want an ounce or two of roll tobacco in his pocket, and for an inch or two thereof he need not fear the want of a guide by day or night.”
 Flesh boiled in large slices, sun-dried, broken to pieces and fried in ghee.
 The Bahr Assal or Salt Lake, near Tajurrah, annually sends into the interior thousands of little matted parcels containing this necessary. Inland, the Bedouins will rub a piece upon the tongue before eating, or pass about a lump, as the Dutch did with sugar in the last war; at Harar a donkey-load is the price of a slave; and the Abyssinians say of a millionaire “he eateth salt.”
 The element found upon the maritime plain is salt or brackish. There is nothing concerning which the African traveler should be so particular as water; bitter with nitre, and full of organic matter, it causes all those dysenteric diseases which have made research in this part of the world a Upas tree to the discoverer. Pocket filters are invaluable. The water of wells should be boiled and passed through charcoal; and even then it might be mixed to a good purpose with a few drops of proof spirit. The Somal generally carry their store in large wickerwork pails. I preferred skins, as more portable and less likely to taint the water.
 Here, as in Arabia, boxes should be avoided, the Bedouins always believe them to contain treasures. Day after day I have been obliged to display the contents to crowds of savages, who amused themselves by lifting up the case with loud cries of “hoo! hoo!! hoo!!!” (the popular exclamation of astonishment), and by speculating upon the probable amount of dollars contained therein.
 The following list of my expenses may perhaps be useful to future travelers. It must be observed that, had the whole outfit been purchased at Aden, a considerable saving would have resulted:—
|Passage money from Aden to Zayla||33|
|Presents at Zayla||100|
|Price of four mules with saddles and bridles||225|
|Price of four camels||88|
|Provisions (tobacco, rice, dates &c.) for three months||428|
|Price of 150 Tobes||357|
|Nine pieces of indigo-dyed cotton||16|
|Minor expenses (cowhides for camels, mats for tents,
presents to Arabs, a box of beads, three handsome
Abyssinian Tobes bought for chiefs)
|Expenses at Berberah, and passage back to Aden||77|
|Total Cos. Rs.||1490||= £149|
 I shall frequently use Somali terms, not to display my scanty knowledge of the dialect, but because they perchance may prove serviceable to my successors.
 The Somal always “side-line” their horses and mules with stout stiff leathern thongs provided with loops and wooden buttons; we found them upon the whole safer than lariats or tethers.
 Arabs hate “El Sifr” or whistling, which they hold to be the chit-chat of the Jinns. Some say that the musician’s mouth is not to be purified for forty days; others that Satan, touching a man’s person, causes him to produce the offensive sound. The Hejazis objected to Burckhardt that he could not help talking to devils and walking about the room like an unquiet spirit. The Somali has no such prejudice. Like the Kafir of the Cape, he passes his day whistling to his flocks and herds; moreover, he makes signals by changing the note, and is skillful in imitating the song of birds.
 In this country camels foal either in the Gugi (monsoon), or during the cold season immediately after the autumnal rains.
 The shepherd’s staff is a straight stick about six feet long, with a crook at one end, and at the other a fork to act as a rake.
 These utensils will be described in a future chapter.
 The settled Somal have a holy horror of dogs, and, Wahhabi-like, treat man’s faithful slave most cruelly. The wild people are more humane; they pay two ewes for a good colley, and demand a two-year-old sheep as “diyat” or blood-money for the animal if killed.
 Vultures and percnopters lie upon the wing waiting for the garbage of the kraals; consequently, they are rare near the cow-villages, where animals are not often killed.
 They apply this term to all but themselves; an Indian trader who had traveled to Harar, complained to me that he had always been called a Frank by the Bedouins in consequence of his wearing Shalwar or drawers.
 Generally, it is not dangerous to write before these Bedouins, as they only suspect account-keeping, and none but the educated recognize a sketch. The traveler, however, must be on his guard: in the remotest villages, he will meet Somal who have returned to savage life after visiting the Sea-board, Arabia, and possibly India or Egypt.
 I have often observed this ceremony performed upon a new turban or other article of attire; possibly it may be intended as a mark of contempt, assumed to blind the evil eye.
 Such is the general form of the Somali grave. Sometimes two stumps of wood take the place of the upright stones at the head and foot, and around one grave I counted twenty trophies.
 Some braves wear above the right elbow an ivory armlet called Fol or Aj: in the south, this denotes the elephant-slayer. Other Eesa clans assert their warriorhood by small disks of white stone, fashioned like rings, and fitted upon the little finger of the left hand. Others bind a bit of red cloth around the brow.
 It is sufficient for a Bedouin to look at the general appearance of an animal; he at once recognizes the breed. Each clan, however, in this part of Eastern Africa has its own mark.
 They found no better word than “fire” to denote my gun.
 “Oddai”, an old man, corresponds with the Arab Shaykh in etymology. The Somal, however, give the name to men of all ages after marriage.
 The “Dihh” is the Arab “Wady”,—a fiumara or freshet. “Webbe” (Obbay, Abbai, &c.) is a large river; “Durdur”, a running stream.
 I saw these Dihhs only in the dry season; at times the torrent must be violent, cutting ten or twelve feet deep into the plain.
 The name is derived from Kuranyo, an ant: it means the “place of ants,” and is so called from the abundance of a tree which attracts them.
 The Arabs call these pillars “Devils,” the Somal “Sigo.”
 The Cape Kafirs have the same prejudice against fish, comparing its flesh, to that of serpents. In some points, their squeamishness resembles that of the Somal: he, for instance, who tastes the Rhinoceros Simus is at once dubbed “Om Fogazan” or outcast.
 This superstition may have arisen from the peculiarity that the camel’s milk, however fresh, if placed upon the fire, breaks like some cows’ milk.
 “Bori” in Southern Arabia popularly means a water-pipe: here it is used for tobacco.
 “Goban” is the low maritime plain lying below the “Bor” or Ghauts, and opposed to Ogu, the table-land above. “Ban” is an elevated grassy prairie, where few trees grow; “Dir,” a small jungle, called Haija by the Arabs; and Khain is a forest or thick bush. “Bor,” is a mountain, rock, or hill: a stony precipice is called “Jar,” and the high clay banks of a ravine “Gebi.”
 Snakes are rare in the cities, but abound in the wilds of Eastern Africa, and are dangerous to night travelers, though seldom seen by day. To kill a serpent is considered by the Bedouins almost as meritorious as to slay an Infidel. The Somal have many names for the reptile tribe. The Subhanyo, a kind of whipsnake, and a large yellow rock snake called Got, are little feared. The Abesi (in Arabic el Hayyeh,—the Cobra) is so venomous that it kills the camel; the Mas or Hanash, and a long black snake called Jilbis, are considered equally dangerous. Serpents are in Somali-land the subject of many superstitions. One horn of the Cerastes, for instance, contains a deadly poison: the other, pounded and drawn across the eye, makes man a seer and reveals to him the treasures of the earth. There is a flying snake which hoards precious stones, and is attended by a hundred guards: a Somali horseman once, it is said, carried away a jewel; he was pursued by a reptile army, and although he escaped to his tribe, the importunity of the former proprietors was so great that the plunder was eventually restored to them. Centipedes are little feared; their venom leads to inconveniences more ridiculous than dangerous. Scorpions, especially the large yellow variety, are formidable in hot weather: I can speak of the sting from experience. The first symptom is a sensation of nausea, and the pain shoots up after a few minutes to the groin, causing a swelling accompanied by burning and throbbing, which lasts about twelve hours. The Somal bandage above the wound and wait patiently till the effect subsides.
 These are tightened in case of accident and act as superior ligatures. I should, however, advise every traveler in these regions to provide himself with a pneumatic pump, and not to place his trust in Zaal, garlic, or opium.
 The grey rat is called by the Somal “Baradublay:” in Eastern Africa, it is a minor plague, after India and Arabia, where, neglecting to sleep in boots, I have sometimes been lamed for a week by their venomous bites.
 In this country the jackal attends not upon the lion, but the Waraba. His morning cry is taken as an omen of good or evil according to the note.
 Of this bird, a red and long-legged plover, the Somal tell the following legend. Originally her diet was meat, and her society birds of prey: one night, however, her companions having devoured all the provisions whilst she slept, she swore never to fly with friends, never to eat flesh, and never to rest during the hours of darkness. When she sees anything in the dark she repeat her oaths, and, according to the Somal, keeps careful watch all night. There is a larger variety of this bird, which, purblind daring daytime, rises from under the traveler’s feet with loud cries. The Somal have superstitions similar to that above noticed about several kinds of birds. When the cry of the “Galu” (so called from his note Gal! Gal! come in! come in!) is heard over a kraal, the people say, “Let us leave this place, the Galu hath spoken!” At night they listen for the Fin, also an ill-omened bird: when a man declares “the Fin did not sleep last night,” it is considered advisable to shift ground.
 Throughout this country ostriches are exceedingly wild: the Rev. Mr. Erhardt, of the Mombas Mission, informs me that they are equally so farther south. The Somal stalk them during the day with camels and kill them with poisoned arrows. It is said that at about 3 P.M. the birds leave their feeding places, and traverse long distances to roost: the people assert that they are blind at night, and rise up under the pursuer’s feet.
 Several Acacias afford gums, which the Bedouins eat greedily to strengthen themselves. The town’s people declare that the food produces nothing but flatulence.
 “Subhan’ Allah!” an exclamation of pettishness or displeasure.
 The hills not abounding in camels, like the maritime regions, asses become the principal means of transport.
 This barbarous practice is generally carried out in cases of smallpox where contagion is feared.
 Fear—danger; it is a word which haunts the traveler in Somaliland.
 The Somali Tol or Tul corresponds with the Arabic Kabilah, a tribe: under it is the Kola or Jilib (Ar. Fakhizah), a clan. “Gob,” is synonymous with the Arabic Kabail, “men of family,” opposed to “Gum,” the caste-less. In the following pages, I shall speak of the Somali nation, the Eesa tribe, the Rer Musa clan, and the Rer Galan sept, though by no means sure that such verbal gradation is generally recognized.
 The Eesa, for instance, are divided into—
- Rer Wardik (the royal clan).
- Rer Abdullah.
- Rer Musa.
- Rer Mummasan.
- Rer Guleni.
- Rer Hurroni.
- Rer Urwena.
- Rer Furlabah.
- Rer Gada.
- Rer Ali Addah.
These are again subdivided: the Rer Musa (numbering half the Eesa), split up, for instance, into—
- Rer Galan.
- Rer Harlah.
- Rer Gadishah.
- Rer Dubbah.
- Rer Kul.
- Rer Gedi.
 Traces of this turbulent equality may be found amongst the slavish Kafirs in general meetings of the tribe, on the occasion of harvest home, when the chief who at other times destroys hundreds by a gesture, is abused and treated with contempt by the youngest warrior.
 For instance, Anfarr, the “Spotted;” Tarren, “Wheat-flour;” &c. &c.
 It is used by the northern people, the Abyssinians, Gallas, Adail, Eesa and Gudabirsi; the southern Somal ignore it.
 The most dangerous disease is smallpox, which history traces to Eastern Abyssinia, where it still becomes at times a violent epidemic, sweeping off its thousands. The patient, if a man of note, is placed upon the sand, and fed with rice or millet bread till he recovers or dies. The chicken-pox kills many infants; they are treated by bathing in the fresh blood of a sheep, covered with the skin, and exposed to the sun. Smoke and glare, dirt and flies, cold winds and naked extremities, cause ophthalmia, especially in the hills; this disease rarely blinds any save the citizens, and no remedy is known. Dysentery is cured by rice and sour milk, patients also drink clarified cows’ butter; and in bad cases the stomach is cauterized, fire and disease, according to the Somal, never coexisting. Haemorroids, when dry, are reduced by a stick used as a bougie and allowed to remain in loco all night. Sometimes the part affected is cupped with a horn and knife, or a leech performs excision. The diet is camels’ or goats’ flesh and milk; clarified butter and Bussorab dates—rice and mutton are carefully avoided. For a certain local disease, they use senna or colocynth, anoint the body with sulphur boiled in ghee, and expose it to the sun, or they leave the patient all night in the dew;—abstinence and perspiration generally affect a cure. For the minor form, the afflicted drink the melted fat of a sheep’s tail. Consumption is a family complaint, and therefore considered incurable; to use the Somali expression, they address the patient with “Allah, have mercy upon thee!” not with “Allah cure thee!”
There are leeches who have secret simples for curing wounds. Generally, the blood is squeezed out, the place is washed with water, the lips are sewn up and a dressing of astringent leaves is applied. They have splints for fractures, and they can reduce dislocations. A medical friend at Aden partially dislocated his knee, which half-a-dozen of the faculty insisted upon treating as a sprain. Of all his tortures none was more severe than that inflicted by my Somali visitors. They would look at him, distinguish the complaint, ask him how long he had been invalided, and hearing the reply—four months—would break into exclamations of wonder. “In our country,” they cried, “when a man falls, two pull his body and two his legs, then they tie sticks round it, give him plenty of camel’s milk, and he is well in a month;” a speech which made friend S. groan in spirit.
Firing and clarified butter are the farrier’s panaceas. Camels are cured by sheep’s head broth, asses by chopping one ear, mules by cutting off the tail, and horses by ghee or a drench of melted fat.
Chapter VI will follow
About Richard Francis Burton
Sir Richard Francis Burton (19 March 1821 – 20 October 1890) was a British explorer, writer, orientalist scholar, and soldier. He was famed for his travels and explorations in Asia, Africa, and the Americas, as well as his extraordinary knowledge of languages and cultures. According to one count, he spoke twenty-nine languages.
Burton’s best-known achievements include a well-documented journey to Mecca in disguise, at a time when non-Muslims were forbidden access on pain of death; an unexpurgated translation of One Thousand and One Nights (commonly called The Arabian Nights in English after early translations of Antoine Galland’s French version); the publication of the Kama Sutra in English; a translation of The Perfumed Garden, the “Arab Kama Sutra”; and a journey with John Hanning Speke as the first Europeans to visit the Great Lakes of Africa in search of the source of the Nile.
His works and letters extensively criticized the colonial policies of the British Empire, even to the detriment of his career. Although he aborted his university studies, he became a prolific and erudite author and wrote numerous books and scholarly articles about subjects including human behavior, travel, falconry, fencing, sexual practices, and ethnography. A characteristic feature of his books is the copious footnotes and appendices containing remarkable observations and information. William Henry Wilkins wrote: “So far as I can gather from all I have learned, the chief value of Burton’s version of The Scented Garden lay not so much in his translation of the text, though that, of course, was admirably done, as in the copious notes and explanations which he had gathered together for the purpose of annotating the book. He had made this subject a study of years. For the notes of the book alone, he had been collecting material for thirty years, though his actual translation of it only took him eighteen months.”
Burton was a captain in the army of the East India Company, serving in India, and later briefly in the Crimean War. Following this, he was engaged by the Royal Geographical Society to explore the east coast of Africa, where he led an expedition guided by locals and was the first European known to have seen Lake Tanganyika. In later life, he served as British consul in Fernando Pó (now Bioko, Equatorial Guinea), Santos in Brazil, Damascus (now Syria), and finally in Trieste (now Italy). He was a Fellow of the Royal Geographical Society and was awarded a knighthood in 1886.
In May 1854, Burton traveled to Aden in preparation for his Somaliland Expedition, supported by the Royal Geographical Society. Other members included G.E. Herne, William Stroyan, and John Hanning Speke. Burton undertook the expedition to Harar, Speke investigated the Wady Nogal, while Herne and Stroyan stayed on at Berbera. According to Burton, “A tradition exists that with the entrance of the first [white] Christian Harar will fall.” With Burton’s entry, the “Guardian Spell” was broken.
This Somaliland Expedition lasted from 29 October 1854 to 9 February 1855, with much of the time spent in the port of Zeila, where Burton was a guest of the town’s Governor al-Haji Sharmakay bin Ali Salih. Burton, “assuming the disguise of an Arab merchant” called Hajji Mirza Abdullah, awaited word that the road to Harar was safe. On 29 December, Burton met with Gerard Adan in the village of Sagharrah, when Burton openly proclaimed himself an English officer with a letter for the Amīr of Harar. On 3 January 1855, Burton made it to Harar and was graciously met by the Amir. Burton stayed in the city for ten days, officially a guest of the Amir but in reality his prisoner. The journey back was plagued by lack of supplies, and Burton wrote that he would have died of thirst had he not seen desert birds and realized they would be near water. Burton made it back to Berbera on 31 January 1855.
Following this adventure, Burton prepared to set out in search of the source of the Nile, accompanied by Lieutenant Speke, Lieutenant G. E. Herne, and Lieutenant William Stroyan, and a number of Africans employed as bearers and expedition guides. The schooner HCS Mahi delivered them to Berbera on 7 April 1855. While the expedition was camped near Berbera, his party was attacked by a group of Somali waranle (“warriors”) belonging to the Isaaq clan. The officers estimated the number of attackers at 200. In the ensuing fight, Stroyan was killed and Speke was captured and wounded in eleven places before he managed to escape. Burton was impaled with a javelin, the point entering one cheek and exiting the other. This wound left a notable scar that can be easily seen in portraits and photographs. He was forced to make his escape with the weapon still transfixing his head. It was no surprise then that he found the Somalis to be a “fierce and turbulent race”. However, the failure of this expedition was viewed harshly by the authorities, and a two-year investigation was set up to determine to what extent Burton was culpable for this disaster. While he was largely cleared of any blame, this did not help his career. He describes the harrowing attack in this edition of First Footsteps in East Africa (1856).
After recovering from his wounds in London, Burton traveled to Constantinople during the Crimean War, seeking a commission. He received one from General W.F. Beatson, as the chief of staff for “Beatson’s Horse”, popularly called the Bashi-bazouks, and based in Gallipoli. Burton returned after an incident which disgraced Beatson, and implicated Burton as the instigator of a “mutiny”, damaging his reputation. More
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