June 18, 2001
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There has been an anti-smoking campaign in Dubai, but it hasn't had much effect from the looks of it. Almost every table in the Lebanese restaurant sports a sheesha. A sheesha (also called a hookah, a narghile, etc.) consists of an oriental waterpipe standing about 3 feet high, containing rolled tobacco leaf mixed with fruit, such as dried apple. Hot burning charcoal from the wood of a citrus tree is dropped on top of the mixture, and the smoke is inhaled through a long, flexible embroidered hose attached to the center of the waterpipe. I don't normally use tobacco (about four good Cuban cigars a year is my usual quota), and I am getting a good buzz off the aromatic smoke. It is too much for Inga, the Ukranian ballet dancer. Having passed on the sheesha, she now pulls out a pack of Marlboros and lights up. Inga is wearing a very short skirt, and it has been a pleasure helping her exit Ahmed's tight-fitting Jeep. Ahmed, although Lebanese, doesn't smoke, but he smiles at our evident enjoyment. "All we need now are the 4 Cats," I comment. "Who are the 4 Cats?" Inga wants to know. "Do you know who the Spice Girls are?" Inga nods. "Well, the 4 Cats are kind of like the Arabic Spice Girls." The 4 Cats would hate that description, of course, and perhaps it is not entirely fair. The 4 Cats (arba' majanin wa bas—just four crazy girls) are four Lebanese beauties discovered by Ghassan al-Rahbani, the Lebanese lyricist and composer. They were all models, one of them—Dalida Chammai—having been crowned Miss Lebanon of 1997. They sing traditional Arabic and Lebanese numbers in a contemporary pop style. I like their music, but they are unknown outside the Middle East, where their first album, "Aachra, Hdacch, Tnacch" (Ten, Eleven, Twelve) made them local stars. Their most popular song is "Ya Nassini" (You, Who Forget Me). I inhale long and deep on the mouthpiece, sucking in more of this smoke baptized in water. The air intake makes the charcoal on top of the waterpipe turn a fierce glowing red. Having finished with the hommus and mixed grill, we are sipping arak (arrack). Inga, however, has eaten only a little salad. She is afraid if she eats more, the weight will tilt her off-balance during tomorrow's dancing, and she will fall flat on her face. To me, inspecting her physique, it seems quite unlikely. Inga dances and sings Arabic songs in a group that performs for tourists. She doesn't understand the Arabic words. "The band will start very soon," Ahmed says. And so it does. Two musicians with, well, sort of a guitar and a drum. More precisely, they perform with two ancient musical instruments, the oud and the tabla. The Oud was created by Lamech, descendant of Adam through Cain. When Lamech's son died, Lamech hung his remains in a tree, and the dessicated skeleton suggested the form of the oud. Or maybe not. In any case, the oud was the favorite instrument of the Sumerians and the Assyro-Babylonians, and also appeared in Pharaonic Egypt where it was known as the nefer. Later the oud was spread and developed by the Manicheans, who encouraged music as part of their religion. (Manicheanism was a Persian religion which influenced Augustine, who later became a heretic, a Catholic.) The oud was brought to Western Europe by the Knights Templar, returning from Jerusalem, and by the Troubadours from Provence. The oud (Arabic for "wood," referring to the wooden belly, as opposed to the skin belly of earlier instruments) has a pear-shaped body, fretless keyboard, and short neck. The duo play traditional Lebanese numbers: "Arabion Ana," "Adala Ya Kaydhm," "Nare Naren." Inga begins swaying in her chair to the music. The tabla was brought to the Middle East by the Muslim invaders of India. The tabla developed from the mrdangm and the puskara (depictions of the latter appearing in 6th century temples in Bombay). The name "tabla" is believed to be derived from the generic Arabic word for a drum, tabl, influenced by the Turkish word dawal. I look around the room, while the duo play "Oudak Aliya Ali" and "Katarna Ala Balak". As many women as men are toking on sheeshas. The Lebanese are mostly in business attire, casual clothes, or sexy dresses. The local arabs wear white headdresses and traditional costume. Here and there is a red headdress (koufiyaa)—a Saudi tourist. Saudis come to Dubai to drink. Alcohol is forbidden in Saudi Arabia, but is available everywhere in Dubai. Saudis have acquired a local reputation for drunkenness, since some of them take advantage of their stay in Dubai to stay permanently intoxicated. Inge looks at me and rolls her eyes. I look across the table and down. A local arab is leering at her. She doesn't appreciate the attention. Like many women, she only enjoys attention from those she desires attention from. A waiter with a brazier comes by and drops more hot coals in the top of my sheesha. "How long would it take to drive to Beirut from here, from Dubai?" I ask Ahmed. "In a car, about 36 hours." I am astonished. "Only 36 hours?" "About that." The road takes you through the Emirates and Saudi Arabia, then through Jordan northward into Syria, then back toward the Mediterranean and into Lebanon and on to Beirut. I think about it. I inhale on the sheesha and look at the neat semicircle of lipstick that Inga has left on her water glass. Life is good and seems filled with infinite possibilities. from The Laissez Faire City Times, Vol 5, No 25, June 18, 2001 |
