A Trip Hard to Forget - Visiting the Marsh Arabs
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Author: Anneliese Tedeschi
Released 18 April 2008
The Marsh Arabs by Wilfred Thesiger on Amazon.
Ever since I read the book The Marsh Arabs by Wilfred Thesiger, a yearning to visit them myself lodged itself in the back of my mind. One day, after the Iraq/Iran War had ended, a Kuwaiti travel agent casually mentioned that the Marshes were open for tourists. Soon I began organizing a trip through the DOGs, not knowing what hurdles I had to overcome in a short preparation time. Bureaucracy almost overwhelmed me to the point of giving up.
But when all the travel-happy Aramcons wanted to join me, I persevered. By end of January 1990, thirty of us flew to Kuwait to meet our guide and bus driver to take us, their first tour group, to southern Iraq. We were ready to wing it.
The worst part of the trip happened first. It was the crossing of the border into Iraq. For some unknown reasons, too many Arabs had the same idea of visiting their neighboring country at the same time. We waited for hours and hours – I waved 30 passports in a room filled with men to gain clearance while our group sat patiently on the bus.
We finally checked into the luxurious Sheraton Hotel across from the Shat el Arab waterway in Basra as the only guests. From my room, I looked down on a row of ten to twelve life-sized bronze statues, soldiers who were all pointing a finger into the direction of Iran. Were these the still remnants of a bloody war, besides a few bullet holes in the hotel wall?
Poling a traditional mashoof through the marshes.
Photo from Wikipedia by Hassan Janali.
The town itself, also called the Venice of the East, came as a pleasant surprise. We walked along narrow canals with an occasional arched bridge connecting the other side, and passed old stone houses with beautifully carved Arab windows and balconies. We peeked into tiny courtyards where the locals welcomed us with curious smiles. We ended our tour in an old fashioned suq of everything, including a dentist.
The next day brought us to the highlight of our itinerary. We were disappointed with the weather in the morning – overcast with a slight drizzle that stayed with us on and off all day. Nevertheless, after entering a huge flat expanse of marshes intersected by many natural waterways and lakes, we ignored the rain and the hardship of clearing several check points. From the bus, we excitedly spotted arched reed houses built on floating islands and water buffalos grazing around them. Wooden boats called “mushhuf” were poled in shallow water standing up by men and women. It was their means of transportation. In fact, it made us chuckle to see a parking lot of mushhufs next to our dirt road.
So far not much has changed since Thesiger described the area in his book 50 years earlier. We headed for a reed building on land that stood out in size and decoration. It was a “mudhif”, a special guest house for visitors and community gatherings. The owner, Sheik Amara, gave us a special welcome in this cavernous building, the interior of which was the size of a long narrow cathedral. The dirt floor was covered with a long oriental carpet and cushions along the reed wall. A third way into the room, we were invited to sit down on the carpet around the small hearth that heated water in several Arab coffee pots. As the first gesture of true Arab hospitality, we were served a tiny china cup of cardamom coffee, just like it is practiced in Saudi Arabia.
Inside a mudhif.
Photo from Wikipedia by Hassan Janali.
Sheik Amara, who was a general in the Iraq/Iran War, proudly told us stories of his military experience while constantly running prayer beads through his fingers. By then, young boys and a few men had joined our crowd all awaiting the next step. That was a sumptuous meal of mutton, rice, fresh salads and fruits using our right hand as silverware. All this time Sheik Amara tried to avoid contact with me, a woman. When it came to say goodbye, however, he quickly pressed his prayer beads into my hands and uttered a big “shukran.” I was speechless for a moment. What a noble gesture to prove his trust in me!
Today, 18 years later, I wonder what has happened to the Marshes with its unique people. Have they been dried up by damming the Euphrates and Tigris, and were the Marsh dwellers driven out? How much has been turned into a battle ground? Has the Sheik’s “mudhif” been spared from destruction? Luckily my wonderful memories of the all too brief visit cannot be erased. But only those who experienced the marshes with me can add a few more. I certainly would enjoy reading your comments.
If you took this trip, you are welcome to share your memories with us. Just keep it short and e-mail it to anneliese.tedeschi@aramcoexpats.com.