Henry A. Rayne

Hayoun the Jew "At Home"—Hayoun's largesse—Hindus, Parsees and vaccination—Buralli's knowledge of legs.

The Élite of our town is composed almost entirely of Arabs, Indians, and Jews, who mix little with the Somals. Of course, money talks, and Haji Abdi Kheiri, the rich Somal trader, is getting his foot into the higher circles, but as yet he is little at ease amid the gaiety of social gatherings. Yesterday Hayoun the Jew invited all the notabilities, of whom I am one—I must speak up for myself—to a gathering at his house. There were present the Indian customs superintendent, the Hindu assistant-surgeon, the District Clerk, two Parsees, a Goanese clerk, a few Arabs, Haji Abdi Kheiri, and myself. Everyone was courteous and polite, and all were most obsequious to me. As I climbed on to the flat open roof to join the party Haji Abdi Kheiri fired off his gun five times. This in my honour, but being unused to such displays I thought I had been drawn into an ambush placed ready to take my life, and, for a second, I had an instinct to jump back and down the steep steps. One acts hurriedly on such occasions, I mean when one thinks there's danger, but, fortunately for my reputation, I caught a glimpse of Hayoun's face. He was cool and unexcited; so reasoning that he would not look like that were there any trouble, as his date of decease in such a case would not be many seconds later than mine, of which fact he would be well aware, I advanced with a laugh and said, "Good afternoon."

The party—after my arrival—being all present, and correct, and Haji Abdi Kheiri having put away his gun (much to my relief) festivities commenced. I sat at the head of a table where tea was served. The whole town had been ransacked for table-covers, the colours of which gave me a pain in the head. I opened the ball by drinking a bottle of ginger pop. My glass was at once replenished with lemonade. Fruit—out of tins—was served, and this partaken of Hayoun arose from his chair and made a speech, saying how rejoiced the whole community were the great British nation had emerged so successfully from the fiery ordeal of the greatest war in the history of the world, and pointing out that at that table sat men of five different creeds—Hindu, Parsee, Mahomedan, Jewish, and Christian—who were entirely in agreement with the sentiments he had expressed.

Then Haji Abdi went for his gun again.

"God knows," said I to myself, "whether, or not, he is going to rectify the matter according to his lights, and make the party all one religion—his—by disposing of the other four. In any case it is time I took a hand."

"Haji Abdi Kheiri," said I, "put that gun down, sir, or you'll be shooting someone before we break up."

"But Djibouti is firing salutes, and we must also fire," said Hayoun the Jew. "I have especially arranged with Haji that he should do this in honour of the signing of peace. Will not your honour grant permission?"

As we listened we heard the Djibouti gun booming away, and what else was to be done but to allow the salute to be fired. It could not be heard as many hundreds of yards away as the French gun could be heard miles. But at last I insisted on Haji putting away his firearm for keeps, and thanked the party for the nice things their spokesman had said about our nation. I told them how proud I was to find men of five creeds, as far apart as five equal points of the circle, able to meet under one flag, in friendship and unity, and to pay it such a tribute.

After that a long silence, during which I drank another bottle of ginger pop and ate more fruit. Clearly I'd had as much as was good for me, so, jumping to my feet, I prepared to say "Good-bye." But there were other things to be done. All the town's children had collected under the walls of the house, and Hayoun sent for ten rupees worth of pice, making a grand total of six hundred and forty coins to be distributed as largesse. Had I any suggestions to make?

Yes, I had. It was a clear case for a scramble. The coins were tossed from the roof, and you never saw such a confusion of legs and arms as that which followed. Little girls, little boys, all mixed up like fruit in a salad, and, with the usual luck that attends cats, drunken men and little children, no one was seriously hurt.

Describe the men I met at that party? As well set out to describe the ever-changing sea. Something about their worldly affairs. Yes, I could do that if I cared to abuse confidences; also something about their very private affairs. Whose wife is not above reproach; whose daughter is causing him some anxiety; the main causes of sleepless nights. But beneath it all—of the man's heart—I know nothing. What his outlook on life is. What he really thinks about is as a sealed book sewn up in canvas, weighted with lead and thrown into the ocean.

Sometimes I think I know, that I understand, but it is just at such times I am farthest from the truth. When I realise my abysmal ignorance, and trust to blind instinct to guide me along a course inspired by a superficial knowledge, I know I am working on sound lines.

Haji Abdi Kheiri, the pure-blooded Somal, who has to-day fired off his gun in my honour, and who sat with me at table looking as harmless as a school miss about to partake of Holy Communion for the first time, is not the same man who came alone to my bungalow, puffed up with pride and prosperity, to donate twenty rupees to the poor fund, as a small boy might who takes one sugar plum from a full bag to present it to a street urchin, the while an admiring mamma looks on. Neither is he the same Haji Abdi Kheiri who yesterday, at the "Peace" sports, behaved like a maniac because the town team was beaten at its first pull by the police in the tug-o'-war. I had counted the men myself ere giving the signal, "Go," and was satisfied that it was a fair pull. But he insisted otherwise. He is no sportsman, and there were few of his breed at that sports meeting who could lay claim to be so called. The second pull I stopped. The spectators were surreptitiously giving a hand to whichever side they fancied, and Haji himself I caught in the act. Finally, when I gave the pull to the police, there was a scene I can liken to nothing else so much as a pack of mad dogs barking and snarling at one another, yet afraid to bite.

It is this sort of thing almost makes one lose heart. On this occasion I said to myself, "If I had a machine gun and turned it on to these canaille, no matter how guilty I might appear in the eyes of man, God, Who understands human nature as He meant it to be, and Who knows, would forgive and understand the act." At other times I say to myself, "I know these people are devils, but they are fascinating devils. I like them, and shall make allowances for their devilries."

Then, there is always Mahomed Fara, and he is not quite an uncommon type in Somaliland. To have met and known him makes one look for the good side in his tribal brethren.

But even I, who owe much to Somals and have always championed them, admit it is exasperating to have to watch them—hiding that better side away. But such they are; in some cases men who will spend their day praying, and then rise from their knees to smash in a poor woman's skull—a woman who is within a month of giving birth to a child, and because she refuses to hand over the skin of water she has carried three miles on her back that her small children may drink. Such men are almost past redemption.

My pen has run away with me. Since I sat down to write such an incident as that of which I speak has been reported and so creeps into the page. As for Hayoun the Jew, the Hindus, the Parsees and myself, we have one point in common. We are strangers in a strange land, so perforce try to understand one another, and work together. Even then there are barriers between us.

A few days ago the assistant-surgeon came to my office and reported smallpox in the town. I have already described Zeila so it is unnecessary to point out how serious this outbreak might become.

"Of course everyone must be vaccinated," I said. "Call the town-crier and let him tom-tom such an order through the town!"

"Women as well as men?" asked the surgeon.

"Women as well as men," I replied.

"We'll have trouble with the Indian and Arab purdah women," said the surgeon, who is a Brahmin.

"Yes," I said, "but surely there is some way of overcoming that difficulty."

"Let the doctor go in and vaccinate them all," said the helpful Buralli. "If they are not afraid to show their bare legs, there's no harm in showing their arms, and they need not unveil their faces to show their arms rather than their legs."

"And pray what do you know about their legs, Buralli?"

"Just this," said he, "that you can see for yourself, any day you like, that an Arab woman thinks nothing of tucking up her skirt above the knees; and as she wears no stockings you can't help seeing her legs if you have eyes in your head. And, given half a chance, if you are a good-looking young fellow, she does not mind showing her face; and what harm does it do her or anyone else? Let the doctor go in and vaccinate them."

The District Clerk, a highly educated Indian Mahomedan, then said, "I prefer to go to prison before I allow the surgeon to vaccinate my wife."

"Here is a good subject to reason with," I reflected, and I produced every conceivable argument I could think of to prove how stupid he was to take up such a position. I might have been the Pope of Rome trying to convince an Ulsterman that "Home Rule" was the best thing that could happen to Ireland. It was left to me to solve the problem by suggesting an old woman should be trained to vaccinate, and sent in to the purdah women to operate on them. And this old lady is now hard at work. God alone knows what diseases she is spreading through the town with her dirty needles, for, of one thing I am convinced, once she is out of sight of the surgeon she will never trouble to clean them.

As for the clerk's wife, quite unknown to him, and possibly to her, I have seen her unveiled and have not heard she has suffered in consequence. I am not hankering to see her face again, for of whatever charms she may be possessed this is most certainly not one. It is the sort of face that can only be improved upon by being covered up. She should therefore be encouraged to keep it well covered.