Voyage By Dhow Read Online Free

that work for that day was finished.
    We were delighted to find ourselves included in the invitation. For one reason, we hoped that the marriage celebrations would afford us an excellent opportunity to get to know our future sailing companions. Of equal importance was our suspicion that, whatever the promises, we might still have several days on our hands before the dhow sailed. We were soon to discover that, as feared, sailing would be postponed due to exceptionally strong head winds. These winds, our new friends told us, were provided by Allah whenever there was a prospect of a good party. It would have been ill-mannered not to agree, and thus we made our way to the main entertainment, held in a large tent that had been put up on a waste space at the back of the town.
    Inside, cushion-covered benches, forms and, above all, packing cases had been arranged in rows. This was the main gathering place for the 200 guests. Shortly before sunset the nakhoda and the crew of the dhow appeared. They lined up facing each other and to the rhythm of pipes and drums performed a sword dancer. They pranced and gesticulated, advancing threateningly and retreating a number of times. Then, as the music and chanting reached a climax, they rushed to meet each other, leaping high in the air. The dances of the Hadrami, like most Arab performances, were violent and warlike. Swords had to be clashed as often as possible and if a party was going well—as in this case—someone would shoot out the lights.
    When the dance was over, night had fallen, and we joined the guests, led by torchbearers, to the house where the bride’s family lived, for the signing of the legal documents. An overflow sat down at tables that had been set out in the street, where they were served by members of the bride’s family with coffee and sweets. Some, perhaps bored—even a little drunk—went to sleep, and these were approached by a soft-footed servant, who sprayed them with perfume. After about an hour had elapsed, the witnesses came out of the house. A basket filled with jasmine blossoms was passed round and when each guest had taken a handful, embraced each other and praised God, the party broke up for the night.
    The wedding party was held next day in the great tent. Inevitably in southern Arabia, it was devoted to the chewing of khat—a drug guaranteed not to provoke argument or improper conduct of any kind. The guests stripped the leaves from their bundles of khat, pulled out their narghiles, refreshed themselves with mouthfuls of water and listened to the musicians. The host’s two younger brothers were with him, as bridegrooms are never left unattended during the ceremonies, theoretically to protect them from evil spirits, but actually to avoid overindulgence.
    The all-powerful barber-surgeon was master of ceremonies, and as each newcomer entered the tent the barber played a few notes on a pipe and announced his name. Guests went up to the dais, placed a gift of money in the bowl set before the bridegroom and gave a small coin to the barber in recognition of his services in arranging the wedding. The low social standing of the barber was curious in view of the essential services that he performed. His most important function was that of surgeon, and however fearsome the wounds he was called in to treat, his services were preferred in this Islamic community to those of physicians with medical degrees—suspected in this society as sorcerers and quacks. The barber in southern Arabia, like the sweeper and the troubadour, was often recruited from the depressed Subis, thought to be descendants of the enslaved remnants of the Persian and Abyssinian invaders of the Yemen. But because the bonds of caste were loosely drawn, it sometimes happened that a barber, escaping his destiny, would rise even to become the governor of a province.
    Morally and philosophically I did not think we had much to offer of advantage to the East. But, generally speaking, the ills of the