THE 'ADDADA.

Waikato Times, Volume 104, Issue 17586, 15 December 1928, Page 13 (Supplement)

THE 'ADDADA.

A KEENINQ IN BAGHDAD. (London Times.) A great man had died at a good old age. The news had gone forth, not only to his own people, but to Moslems in India, Afghanistan, and other countries, for he bore a name which Islam reveres. On the fourth day of mourning, knowing that perhaps never again should I see a death lamentation in the grand manner, I went to pay a ceremonial visit of condolence to the harem. The courtyard was full of women, some sitting in double and treble rows upon the paving under the arches and some standing, whilst slaves and servants moved about with cigarettes, coffee, and water-pipes. All wore the black, sweeping habiliments of the orthodox Moslem, and there was no perceptible difference between slaves, freedwomen, guests, and women of the family. We were conveyed by a tall, nun-like dependent to an upper cham- : ber to pay our respects to the chief mourner, the dead patriarch's young wife. The lady came in, her face immovable and sad, and we uttered our condolences: "We grieve with you I What remains be added to your life I" meaning: "The years that should have been his be added to your life I" Coffee and ciragettes were brought, but the widow did not drink or smoke. She might well be mournful, for her husband, well over 90, had left many children by other wives and concubines, and her four, come after the rest would have most probably to fight for their share of the property, for the intrigues which follow the death of any big man had begun already. Suddenly the murmur increased. There was the grief cry, shrill, poignant and thrilling, the rhythmic chant of the 'addada, and then a

Wonderful Sound of Breast-beating.

which increased in volume as the excitement grew. We listened, lingering in the chief mourner's presence; we did not wish to go outside until the sorrow had reached a higher pitch.

The 'addada are women hired to lead and organise all this woe and mourning—they are professionals in the s ari of exciting tears. At last, hearing wilder sounds without, we took our leave of the solitary widow and went out on to the gallery which runs round the open courtyard. Below, the women were all standing now, serried masses of black figures —black in many cases to their innermost garments. In the middle stocd the 'addada, one hand raised in oratorical fashion, her body jerking in rhythm to her own words. In her other hand she held on open note-book, in which was scribbled the doggerel lament, to each recited line of which the assembled women shouted "Ha!" or

"Haul" standing about her in a circle, Swaying their bodies forward to the rhythm' of the chant and bringing their hands down Hat on their breasts! To the centre, near the 'addada, stood the daughters-in-law of the dead man, their loosened hair flowing in waving masses down below the waist—two or three of them have beautiful golden hair —another near relative had unbound her grey tresses, which flew in confusion. The younger women were vigorous in their grief; they looked 1 strange combination of Maenad and Magdalene. They jerked their bodies forward with a rhythmical, violent movement, and brought their palms down on their partly-exposed breasts with such force that the white skin was bruised and red. "The steed is bridled with silver; he stands at the gate," chanted the 'addada.

"Haul Hau!" went the women. "His master cannot mount him; in vain must he wait!" "Haul Hau!" "In the halls of the council distracted men stand." "Hau! Haul" "The leader has perished; bereft is the land!" "Hau! Hau!"

So it went on, a crescendo of poignant allusion to the dead man. Sometimes the chant was on one note; sometimes H resembled the primitive Gregorian-sounding melodies to which the couplets sung in Moharren processions are set. Tears'ran down man> faces, and from time to time, above the regular thud of the breast-beating and chorus of exclamation, there rose the high, quavering

Not© of the Grief Cry.

On the outskirts of the keening multitude, in the doorways, and above in the gallery, other black-clad, hoodiecrow women stood. Some patted their chests gently with one hand to show sympathy with the wild crowd below, but were not actually of it. Later they might go dnwn and join in. On the gallery, at one corner, several women had deposited their babies while they were keening. A very new baby was tightly swaddled like a mummy from neck to foot. It was a chrysalis rather than a human atom. Its eyes, ringed round with powdered antimony, were all that it could move. It uttered no cry, though flies constantly crept on its face. It was the future head of the family, for its father, a man of over 60, who had just been presented with this infant son by a young wife, was to step into the dead man's shoes. Downstairs in another room more mourners, some 32 women, sat crosslegged on flat, white cushions laid along the walls. A few were smoking hubble-bubble pipes, or cigarettes, others sat in stricken silence, some with tears stealing down their faces. There was no talking, the very greetings were dumb. Here and there a woman patted her breast with one hand in time to the wailing without, or sobbed. A tall, dignified old woman who sat erect in one corner was the dead man's sister, and the day of his death she was most Maenad of all the Maenad mourners, naked to the waist, her withered breasts displayed, beating her thin chest- in a very Fury of Abandonment. Now she sat with her hair braided into two long plaits like the rest, on» falling on each side of her black-bound head. Into the assembly, after an interval, came a woman, visibly fatigued, and took her seat, as one of low origin, by the door. It was the 'addada, whose place had been taken by a sister of the profession. She drank coffee and put down her book of doggerel; she would have to take her turn again presently. "How," I asked a native woman, "will the mourning be ended?" She replied that it ended on the seventh day by the eating of a meal. But a little while ago the mourning was "broken" by bringing a horse into the courtyard and turning him around the circle of wailers, or by a woman

iContinued in next columa.J

who took a naked sword and went into the middle of the circle. But even the keening is now tending to disappear. There may never be again such keening, for the dead man belonged to an older and conservative generation, fast dying out, and the younger people .grow ashamed of their Oriental practices.