Part 15 (1/2)

Here is a little boy at the door. His name is Asaad Mishrik, or ”happy sunrise,” and his name is well given, for he comes every morning at sunrise with a basket of fresh ripe figs, sweet and cold, and covered with the sparkling dew. This morning when he came, your brother Harry stood by the door looking at the figs with wistful eyes, and I gave him a large one, which disappeared very suddenly. Asaad is a bright-eyed boy, and helps his mother every day.

When he comes in, he says, Subah koom bil khire, ”Your morning in goodness.” Then a.s.saf, the cook, answers him, ”Yusaid Subahak,” ”May G.o.d make happy your morning.” If I come out when he is here, he runs up to kiss my hand, as the Arab children are trained to be respectful to their superiors. When a little Arab boy comes into a room full of older people, he goes around and kisses the hand of each one and then places it on his forehead. Asaad wears a red tarboosh or cap on his head, a loose jacket, and trowsers which are like a blue bag gathered around the waist, with two small holes for his feet to go through. They are drawn up nearly to his knees, and his legs are bare, as he wears no stockings.

He wears red shoes pointed and turned up at the toes. When he comes in at the door, he leaves his shoes outside, but keeps his cap on his head.

The people never take off their caps or turbans when entering a house, or visiting a friend, but always leave their shoes at the door. The reason is, that their floors are covered with clean mats and rugs, and in the Moslem houses, the man kneels on his rug to pray, and presses his forehead to the floor, so that it would not be decent or respectful to walk in with dirty shoes and soil his sijjady on which he kneels to pray. They have no foot-mats or sc.r.a.pers, and it is much cheaper and simpler to leave the shoes, dirt and all at the door. Sometimes we are much embarra.s.sed in calling on the old style Syrians as they look with horror on our muddy feet, and we find it not quite so easy to remove our European shoes. But it must be done, and it is better to take a little extra trouble, and regard their feelings and customs, than to appear coa.r.s.e and rude.

It is very curious to go to the Syrian school-houses, and see the piles of shoes at the door. There are new bright red shoes, and old tattered shoes, and kob kobs, and black shoes, and sometimes yellow shoes. The kob kobs are wooden clogs made to raise the feet out of the mud and water, having a little strap over the toe to keep it on the foot. You will often see little boys and girls running down steps and paved streets on these dangerous kob kobs. Sometimes they slip and then down they go on their noses, and the kob kobs fly off and go rattling over the stones, and little Ali or Yusef, or whatever his name is, begins to shout, Ya Imme! Ya Imme! ”Oh, my mother!” and cries just like little children in other countries.

But the funniest part of it is to see the boys when they come out of school and try to find their shoes. There will be fifty boys, and of course a hundred shoes, all mixed together in one pile. When school is out, the boys make a rush for the door. Then comes the tug of war. A dozen boys are standing and shuffling on the pile of shoes, looking down, kicking away the other shoes, running their toes into their own, stumbling over the kob kobs, and then making a dash to get out of the crowd. Sometimes s.h.i.+ns will be kicked, and hair pulled, and tarbooshes thrown off, and a great screaming and cursing follow, which will only cease when the Muallim comes with his ”Asa” or stick, and quells the riot. That pile of shoes will have to answer for a good many schoolboy fights and bruised noses and hard feelings in Syria. You would wonder how they can tell their own shoes. So do I. And the boys often wear off each other's shoes by mistake or on purpose, and then you will see Selim running with one shoe on, and one of Ibrahim's in his hand, shouting and cursing Ibrahim's father and grandfather, until he gets back his lost property. Sometimes when men leave their shoes outside the door of a house where they are calling, some one will steal them, and then they are in a sorry plight. Shoes are regarded as very unclean, and when you are talking in polite society, it will never do to speak of them, without asking pardon. You would say, ”the other day some one stole my new shoes, ajellak Allah,” _i.e._, May G.o.d exalt you above such a vile subject! You would use the same words if you were talking with a Moslem, and spoke of a dog, a hog, a donkey, a girl or a woman.

They do not think much of girls in Syria. The most of the people are very sorry when a daughter is born. They think it is dreadful, and the poor mother will cry as if her heart would break. And the neighbors come in and tell her how sorry they are, and condole with her, just as if they had come to a funeral. In Kesrawan, a district of Mount Lebanon near Beirut, the Arab women have a proverb, ”The threshold weeps forty days when a girl is born.”

There is a great change going on now in Syria in the feelings of the people in regard to girls, but in the interior towns and villages where the light of the Gospel has not shone as yet, and there are no schools, they have the ancient ideas about them up to this very hour.

I knew an old Syrian grandmother in Tripoli who would not kiss her granddaughter for six months after she was born, because she was born a girl! But I know another family in that city of Tripoli that do not treat girls in that style. The father is Mr. Antonius Yanni, a good Christian man, and a member of the Mission Church. He is American Vice Consul, and on the top of his house is a tall flag-staff, on which floats the stars and stripes, on Fourth of July, and the Sultan's birthday, Queen Victoria's birthday, and other great feast days. One day when the Tripoli women heard that ”Sitt Karimeh, Yanni's wife, had another ”_bint_,” (girl) they came in crowds to comfort her in her great affliction! When Yanni heard of it, he could not restrain himself. He loved his older daughter Theodora very dearly, and was thankful to G.o.d for another sweet baby girl, so he told the women that he would have none of this heathenish mourning in his house. He then shouted to his janizary or Cawa.s.s, a white bearded old Moslem named Amr, ”Amr, haul up the Bandaira el Americaniyeh, (American flag) to show the world how glad I am that I have another daughter.” ”On my head, on my head, sir,” said Amr, and away he went and hauled up the stars and stripes. Now the Pasha's palace is not far away, and soon the Turkish guards saw the flag, and hastened to the Pasha with the news that the American Consul had some great feast day, as his flag was raised. The Pasha, supposing it to be some important national feast day of the American Government which he was so stupid as not to know about, sent his Chief Secretary at once to Mr. Yanni to ask what feast it might be? Yanni received him politely and ordered a narghileh and coffee and sherbet, and after saying ”good-morning,” and ”may you live forever,” and ”G.o.d prolong your days!” over and over and over again, and wis.h.i.+ng that Doulet America might ever flourish, the Secretary asked which of the great American festivals he was celebrating that day. Yanni laughed and said, ”Effendum, you know how many of the ignorant in Syria are so foolish as to mourn and lament when G.o.d sends them a daughter, but I believe that all G.o.d's gifts are good, and that daughters are to be valued as much as sons, and to rebuke this foolish notion among the people, I put up my flag as a token of joy and grat.i.tude.” ”Sebhan Allah! you have done right, sir,” ... was the Secretary's reply, and away he went to the Pasha. What the Pasha said, I do not know, but there was probably more cursing than usual that day in the grand palace of Tripoli, for the Mohammedans think the birth of a daughter a special judgment from G.o.d.

When a boy is born, there is great rejoicing. Presents are sent to him, and the people call to congratulate the father, and the whole house is gay and joyous. After a few days a dainty dish called ”Mughly” is made and sent around as a present to all of the relatives. It is made of pounded rice, and flavored with rich spices and sugar and put into little bowls, and almonds and other nuts sprinkled over the top. One of these little bowls is sent to each of the friends. But when a girl is born, there is no rejoicing, no giving of presents, and no making of the delicious ”mughly.”

Here come two little girls bringing earthen pots of milk. They are poor girls, daughters of two of our neighbors who are fellaheen or farmers.

One has no shoes, and neither have stockings. They wear plain blue gowns, made of coa.r.s.e cotton cloth, dyed with indigo, and rusty looking tarbooshes on their heads, and a little piece of dirty white muslin thrown over their heads as a veil to cover their faces with, when men come in sight. One is named Lebeeby and the other Lokunda, which means _Hotel_. They behave very well when they come here, as they have the fear of the big Khowadja before their eyes, but when they are at home running about, they often use dreadful language. Little boys and girls in Syria have some awful oaths which they constantly use. I suppose the poor things do not know the meaning of half the bad words they use. One of the most common is ”Yilan Abook,” ”curse your father!” It is used everywhere and on every side by bad people, and the children use it constantly in their play. When the little girls come into our Schools and Seminaries, it is a long time before they will give up ”abook”-ing.

One of our friends in America is educating a nice little girl in the Beirut Seminary, and we asked the teacher about her a few days ago. The answer was, ”She still lies and swears dreadfully, but she has greatly improved during the past two years, and we are encouraged about her.”

Sometimes a boy will say to another Yilan abook, ”Curse your father,”

and another will answer, Wa jiddak, ”and your grandfather,” and then they will call back and forth like cats and dogs. I saw a Moslem boy near my house standing by the corner to s.h.i.+eld himself from the stones another boy was throwing, and shouting wa jid, jid, jid, jid, jidak, ”and your great-great-great-great-grandfather,” and away went the other boy, shouting as he ran, ”and your great-great-great-great gr-e-at,” and I heard no more. And then there are a great many very naughty and vile words which the children use, which I cannot write, and yet we hear them every day. It is very hard to keep our children from learning them, as they talk Arabic better than we do, and often learn expressions which they do not know the meaning of. One of the most common habits is using the name of G.o.d in vain. The name of G.o.d is Allah, and ”O G.o.d,”

_Yullah_. Then there is _Wullah_ and _Bismillah_, ”In the name of G.o.d,”

_Hamdlillah_, ”Praise to G.o.d,” _Inshullah_, ”If G.o.d will.” The most awful oaths are Wullah and Billah. The people use _Yullah_ at all times and on all occasions. The donkey-drivers and muleteers say _Yullah_ when they drive their animals. Some years ago a good man from America, who fears G.o.d and would not take his name in vain was travelling in the Holy Land, and came on to Beirut. When he reached there, some one asked him if he had learned any Arabic during his journey. He said yes, he had learned _Bakhs.h.i.+sh_ for ”a present,” and _Yullah_ for ”go ahead.” His friend asked him if he had used the latter word much on the way. He said certainly, he had used it all the way. His friend answered, Professor, you have been swearing all the way through the Holy Land. Of course he did not know it and meant no wrong. But it shows that such words are used so commonly in Syria that strangers do not think them bad language, and it also shows that travellers ought to be careful in using the words they learn of muleteers and sailors in Arab land.

In some parts of the country the little boys and girls swear so dreadfully that you can hardly bear to be with them. Especially among the Nusairiyeh, they think that nothing will be believed unless they add an oath. Dr. Post once rebuked an old Sheikh for using the word ”Wullah”

so often, and argued so earnestly about it that the man promised never to use it again. The old man a moment after repeated it. The doctor said, ”will you now pledge me that you will not say 'Wullah' again?” He replied, ”Wullah, I will.”

Sometimes a donkey-driver will get out of patience with his long-eared beast. The donkey will lie down with his load in a deep mud-hole, or among the sharp rocks. For a time the man will kick and strike him and throw stones at him, and finally when nothing else succeeds he will stand back, with his eyes glaring and his fist raised in the air, and scream out, ”May Allah curse the beard of your grandfather!” I believe that the donkey always gets up after that,--that is, if the muleteer first takes off his load and then helps him, by pulling stoutly at his tail.

I told you that one of the girls who bring us milk, is named ”_Lokunda_,” or _Hotel_. She is a small specimen of a hotel, but provides us purer and sweeter cow's milk than many a six-storied hotel on Broadway would do. You will say that is a queer name for a girl, but if you stop and think about many of our English names you would think them queer too. Here in Syria, we have the house of Wolf, the house of ”Stuffed Cabbage,” Khowadji Leopard, the lady ”Wolves,” and one of our fellow villagers in Abeih where we spend the summer is Eman ed Deen ”faith-of-religion,” although he has neither faith nor religion.

Among the boys' names are Selim, Ibrahim, Moosa, Yakob, Ishoc, Mustafa, Hanna, Yusef, Ali, Saieed, a.s.saf, Giurgius, Faoor, and Abbas. I once met a boy at the Cedars of Lebanon, who was named Jidry, or ”Small-Pox,”

because that disease was raging in the village when he was born. It is very common to name babies from what is happening in the world when they are born. A friend of mine in Tripoli had a daughter born when an American s.h.i.+p was in the harbor, so he called her America. When another daughter was born there was a Russian s.h.i.+p in port, so he called her Russia. There is a young woman in Suk el Ghurb named Fetneh or Civil War, and her sister is Hada, or Peace. An old lady lately died in Beirut named Feinus or Lantern. In the Beirut school are and have been girls named Pearl, Diamond, Morning Dawn, Dew, Rose, Only one, and Mary Flea.

That girl America's full name was America Wolves, a curious name for a Syrian lamb!

Sometimes children are named, and if after a few years they are sick, the parents change their names and give them new ones, thinking that the first name did not agree with them. A Druze told me that he named his son in infancy _Asaad_ (or happier) but he was sickly, so they changed his name to _Ahmed_ (Praised) and after that he grew better! He has now become a Christian, and has resumed his first name Asaad.

I once visited a man in the village of Brummana who had six daughters, whom he named _Sun_, _Morning_, _Zephyr breeze_, _Jewelry_, _Agate_, and _Emerald_. I know girls named Star, Beauty, Sugar, One Eyed, and Christian Barbarian. Some of the names are beautiful, as Leila, Zarifeh, Lulu, Selma, Luciya, Miriam and Fereedy.

All of the men are called Aboo-somebody; _i.e._ the father of somebody or something. Old Sheikh Ha.s.sein, whose house I am living in, is called Aboo Abbas, _i.e._ the father of Abbas, because his eldest son's name is Abbas. A young lad in the village, who is just about entering the Freshman cla.s.s in the Beirut College, has been for years called Aboo Habeeb, or the father of Habeeb, when he has no children at all. Elias, the deacon of the church in Beirut was called Aboo Nasif for more than fifty years, and finally in his old age he married and had a son, whom he named Nasif, so that he got his name right after all. They often give young men such names, and if they have no children they call them by the name of the son they might have had. But they will not call a man Aboo Lulu or Aboo Leila. If a man has a dozen daughters he will never be called from them. They are ”nothing but girls.” A queer old man in Ghurzuz once tried to name himself from his daughter Seleemeh, but whenever any one called him Aboo Seleemeh, all the fellaheen would laugh as if they would explode, and the boys would shout at him ”there goes old Aboo Seleemeh,” as if it were a grand joke.

The Moslems and Druzes generally give their children the old unmixed Arabic names, but the Maronites, the Greeks, and the Protestants often use European names. A young lady named Miss Mason was once a teacher in the Sidon Seminary, and spent the summer in the mountain village of Deir Mimas. One of the women of the village liked her name, and named her daughter ”Miss Mason,” and if you should go there you would hear the little urchins of Deir Mimas shouting Miss Mason! to a little blue-gowned and tarbooshed Arab girl.

What noise is that we hear down in the village, under the great jowz (walnut) trees by the fountain? It rolls and gurgles and growls and bellows enough to frighten a whole village full of children. But the little Arab boys and girls are playing around, and the women are filling their jars at the fountain just as if nothing had happened. But it is a frightful noise for all that. It is the bellowing of the camels as their heavy loads are being put on. They are kneeling on the ground, with their long necks swaying and stretching around like boa constrictors.

These camels are very useful animals, but I always like to see them at a distance, especially in the month of February, for at that time they get to be as ”mad as a March hare.” They are what the Arabs call ”taish,”

and often bite men severely. In Hums one bit the whole top of a man's head off, and in Tripoli another bit a man's hand off. I once saw a camel ”taish” in Beirut, and he was driving the whole town before him.