Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Basim

My entrance into the qawha brotherhood began with a short conversation in the failing light of a spring night in Nizwa Souq. On my third day of observing the happenings of the souq I struck up a short conversation with an ancient looking man named Basim. His worn face somewhat resembled the mummy of Tutankhamun; dark and wrinkled, with a white tuft of beard on his chin. His dress was similar to the rest of the men in the souq, a white dishdasha and mussar. His mussar was white with a simple green vine design running through it. I had noticed him over the past few days as a regular and was determined to start a conversation with him. A few other old men had just walked away, leaving him alone on the stone bench. He stared out at the scene in front of him: fruit trucks to his left and fish to his right. The fish souq produced a strong odor and thousands of flies. They seemed to descend on most every living thing, myself included, though Basim seemed not to mind them. I stood up and walked from my observation point to his bench.

“Salaam aleykum,” I said, taking a seat beside him.

“Wa aleykum salaam,” he said in a hard to understand, deep growl of a voice. He seemed friendly enough, though.

“Kaif halleck? Shay ackbar? Shay alum?” I returned.

A crooked smile lit up his face as I continued speaking in Arabic. With a slight chuckle he responded in the usual manner, “Ma shay ackbar, ma shay alum,” before repeating the question to me.

As I was replying another man sauntered by, stopping to talk with Basim. He held a cucumber in his hand, flicking some chunks of it into the street as they engaged in an incomprehensible conversation. The conversation ceases and still cucumber chunks flew into the street. This short old man holds the cucumber close to his face, examining it. Finally satisfied with it, he bites off a chunk with a sharp crack and walks on leaving Basim and I alone on the bench. We sit quietly, with nothing to say. People pass us and Basim speaks to them, though they rarely acknowledge him. Finally I had enough of the awkward silence.

“Messmook?”

“Mmmm?” he replies in confusion. I repeat my question and he points to himself.

“Aowa, enta,” I say.

“Esme Basim. Messmook?”

“Esme Batrik,” I said, using the Arabicized version of my name to make it easier to pronounce. It didn’t help.

“Babblit?” he said confused.

“Batrick,” I said clearly.

“Babbik?”

“Batrick,” I say once again, laughing. He begins to chuckle as well. He takes another try at my name.

“Babrik?”

“Ehhh, nefsashay,” I say, not knowing the Arabic for “close enough” I tell him it’s the same thing. He’s probably never had to pronounce a name like mine. The laughter from this situation seemed to diffuse any tension between us and I pushed on with more conversation. I told him about myself, where I was from, where I studied, what I studied, and what I was doing in the souq. I decided to try my luck with more of the local dialect.

“Kaif al housch wa bousch?”

His reply was a chuckle and shrug of the shoulders. Shortly thereafter he rises and without a word walks off, across the street, stopping to chat with other various groups of men before disappearing from sight.

New Journal For New Explorations

I've never been very good with blogs, but I'm hoping to be somewhat semi-serious about keeping this one during my time in the Middle East. As many of you know, I lived in the Sultanate of Oman from January-May 2010. This summer I'll be back in the Middle East wandering and doing research for my thesis. The Fairbanks Foundation at Butler University has deemed by project worthy of funding and has awarded me a scholarship to pay for the costs of this research. I'm still in the planning phases of this trip, but I do know I'll be in Oman for several weeks. Where else I go, who knows...

Hopefully I will use this blog to post stories from my fieldwork, keep you updated on my whereabouts, and to confirm I've not permanently disappeared into the sands. Until I head overseas again, though, I intend to post pictures and stories from the narrative ethnography I wrote during my previous stay in Oman.

I hope you find yourself in the stories I write. The Middle East may look different on the surface, however under perceived images of this part of the world is a people and culture not so different from our own.