Last night, my boss and myself were invited to a majlis with four colleagues from Paris working on our project. The Arab Gulf social order is very much segmented by gender and the majlis is the revered space for men to gather for many purposes. The urban majlis is filled with large formal armchairs and brightly lit with rugs. The head of the majlis has a group of family members, neighbors and others linked by business or other ties that meet regularly to drink coffee and tea and smoke while discussing any number of topics. In Islamic architecture, the entrance of a home is the majlis for the men and the upstairs is the harem for the women with ornate screens that does not permit one to view who is in the harem and what is taking place there.
This particular majlis belongs to a local who breeds and races camels and who also collects salukis (the Arabian hound) and falcons. The majlis is a 3-sided tent with rugs and back-rest lining the space with a special corner allocated for the falcons on their posts. There's a pit at the entrance with a fire keeping coffee and tea hot in brass and aluminum kettles. We arrived after an 80-minute drive after dusk due to some logistics complications in town and were shown the pens with the camels. The females are separated from the males. Camel breeders keep a majority of females so there and a half-dozen or less males as the stud factory. We met a new mother whose udder was wrapped to prevent her baby from eating all day and night. We met a pregnant camel who is due in a month in a separate pen. The males are kept in compartmentalized pens about 20 meters away from the females and they are just getting into their prime mating season with the onset of winter. They want nothing to do with that activity in the long summers.
We viewed the camels by flashlight so no photos this time. We were then invited into the majlis and served traditional coffee and dates. We met the head of the majlis' brother and his two sons and other men and their children. We asked the young boys about the women and girls in the family and where they were and the standard response was; "not allowed." We knew this but it was fun to hear an 11-year old's response and to discern his entitlement to his uncle's space, hobbies and weekend activities with the livestock. The boys are in training with their falcons - teaching it to be released and fly back and to hunt. They participate in competitions and learn their craft as cultural heritage passed on by their elders. These are some snaps of our beautiful evening.
This is one of about 8 falcons in the majlis, wearing a hood (falcon burqa) and tied to its perch. This is Mohammed, who is 8 years old and handles his falcons with stealth and command and was wearing a khaki thobe from Syria as opposed to the white the others wore. In the first snap, Mohammed has taken his falcon's hood off which demonstrates how calm the bird feels in his control.
This is Khaled, Mohammed's 11-year old brother, who engaged with us as a raconteur, telling us about lunch at his grandmother's every Friday, training his falcon, attending English school and plans to have only one wife because it's entirely too much work to have more than one. I can't help but wonder what he hears in the majlis or when all his siblings are together since his father has more than one wife.
We were treated to fresh camel milk. Fleeting concerns about pasteurization were not to be entertained as Mohammed handed me my bowl and showed me how to scrape the foam up with a date and pop it all into my mouth. When I expressed that I liked it, he was jubilant, like some sort of national triumph for an American to have enjoyed such a treat in his family's majlis. The milk was light but very tasty and slightly salty. I will try it again and again if it elicits the same response. Here it is next to the coffee and tea pots:
After the milk, two men brought out a huge round platter wrapped tightly with foil. It was set on the majlis floor on top of plastic and surrounded by drinks. The foil was lifted and an entire roasted baby lamb was surrounded by the head, kidney and liver tidbits, and golden raisins adorning the saffron-scented rice. Plates and cutlery were brought for the guests but all the men ate with their right hand, deftly clumping the saffron-scented rice into bespoke portions. They pulled the meat off with their fingers and tossed it unto our plates. After a few minutes they all seemed to be done and retired while most of us westerners kept picking at the serving plate. The boys were quiet on the other side of the majlis, waiting for the adults to finish before they got their turn, a custom that teaches respect for elders at a very young age.
The snap of the head is quite gruesome and I didn't eat from it. In a more formal setting with a sheikh, the person of honor will be offered the eyeball and it is very ungracious to refuse it. Luckily, I didn't rank last night! We were invited to come back with some daylight to enjoy seeing the camels and to meet the salukis, who were at an exhibition this weekend.
The top is down on my Jeep. It's going to be a good winter.
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