EDITORIAL
STORYLINES the magazine of the Society for Storytelling August !"#$ % volume V issue &
Tales from the Ummah Storytelling in the Muslim world from Morocco to Syria
Screening Stories DVDs and apps in early years teaching
The Song Collectors Song traditions and the new wave of )eld research Plus regular features Price to non%members: '!($"
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Joseph Green
Tet*+s Tales Storytelling in Syria
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Storytelling in Syria has long been well established in public and private settings( Although rarer nowadays than formerly, the hakawati, or public storyteller, is still a generally recognised )gure in Syria, as he is across the Arab world( Storytelling in domestic and family settings was more open to women( So with hindsight, Syrian%American writer and teacher Muna Imady was probably always meant to be a storyteller( -My mother says I was a storyteller ever since I could talk % I was called the .radio+ in our house % the radio no one could switch o/!0 It helped that she grew up in a storytelling family % which meant, as one might expect, that she grew up with a storytelling grandmother( Family storytelling was augmented by reading( -I was born in Damascus to an American mother and a Syrian father which exposed me to two cultures at a very young age and enriched my life( Listening to my tet*.s 1grandmother+s2 stories, and being read to by my mother, made me fall in love with stories( One of my fondest memories as a child is sitting on !4
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tet*.s bed in her little red bedroom and listening to her telling me a story( As she told her story, her wrinkled face, warm smile, and twinkling blue eyes not only illuminated the room but my soul as well! Those special evenings were the seeds of my love of stories % to this day, I can close my eyes and see tet* sitting on her bed in her white nightgown, matching her white wavy hair, telling one of her stories in her so5, but animated voice( She was more than a good storyteller % she was good at living % she would si5 away bad memories and concentrate on the good things in life! -Later on, once I was old enough to hold a pencil I put my thoughts in drawings and words( So my interest in folktales started when I was a young child and I always dreamed of writing a book of all the folktales I heard and remembered(0 The dream took a back seat as Muna established a career as an English%language teacher and educational writer( She was also publishing children+s stories in Arabic before her interest in folktales resurfaced in the !6
course of her teaching( -I wrote many English text books and short stories for my reading course that were published in Syria; also many Arabic stories for children that were published in Arabic magazines ((( I designed a beginners+ English reading course for children, using my own written text books and stories for teaching English as a second language( In an attempt to bring folktales % which had meant so much to me as a child % into my students+ lives, I encouraged them to collect a folktale from their province and share them with their fellow students in English conversation classes % and in time, my students grew fond of folktales and became proud of their rich Syrian heritage!0 This research fed directly into Syrian Folktales, Muna+s )rst English%language story collection( Reviewed elsewhere in this edition of Storylines, it is a tantalisingly brief but relatively rare glimpse for general English%language readers into a rich and fascinating oral tradition which is still evidently clinging on in Syrian family circles in a rapidly changing world( It concentrates on the domestic rather than the
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public tradition and methodically covers all fourteen provinces of Syria; it makes a point of the domestic context of its subject matter by including recipes with the stories( -My students helped me a lot in searching for folktales from their region and sharing them with me % unfortunately, they o5en had to go back to the oldest woman in the family to get a folktale( Everywhere I went, and every place I travelled to % on buses, on boats, in the street % I would interview people from all walks of life and carefully collect their folktales % and special dishes(0
The book+s closeness to oral tradition is key to its interest( One story, -The Three Spinners,0 comes from Muna+s own grandmother, and The Woodcutter and the Lion also derives from the author+s own extended family( Her book does not exhaust her research: Muna has three years+ worth of notes for future publications of tales from her own grandmother and other Syrian storytellers, including the country+s Armenian, Circassian, Uzbek, Turkmen and Albanian minority communities( Much to look forward to(
Joseph Green is a folklorist and storyteller(
The hakawati in full flow. Note the book and sword, and framed pictures of the epic lovers Antar and Abla. (Muna Imady) 3
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In Search of a Hakawati Muna Imady The old city of Damascus never fails to enchant me with its sweet scent of jasmine and its ancient streets and buildings( As I pass by the Umayyad Mosque, the Muzzein+s call dri5s across the air, calling for the noon prayer( People crowd at the mosque door, and I manage to slip through them and into the twisting alleyways towards the al%Nofara, one of the oldest caf*s in Damascus( I am on a mission % to investigate whether storytellers still exist( The caf* is empty now of the lively tourist trade that once )lled the place with laughter( Now only older men and women sit and smoke nargileh 1water%pipes2 or sip tea( It is lunchtime, and the only people in the caf* are the waiters who are not able to answer the questions I ask( So I move around the empty chairs, and remember the last time I visited the place with my late aunt( I was not able to stay for a long time because my little son was getting into everything and imitating the hakawati( 8"
That was the )rst and last time I saw the famous hakawati Rashid Hallak( He was sitting on a high chair, dressed in his traditional striped Damascene shirt, baggy pants, and red fez, and holding an old book, eloquently describing the scenes of the tale of the pre% Islamic hero Antar, son of the black slave woman( Antar was famed as a poet and a courageous )ghter, who fought for his beloved, beautiful princess Abla( Sadly, I learn that Rashid Hallak had died last year( His place was taken by another storyteller, Ahmad Laham, in !"#!( On my way out of the caf*, I suddenly hear someone call me( Looking around, I see a middle% aged woman sitting with an elderly man and another woman( -Muna,0 she says, -you still look the same as you did in your teens!0 I bite my lower lip and feel too ashamed to ask her for her name( I assume she is an old school friend( -I heard you asking for information about the hakawati,0 she says cheerfully( -My father lived in this neighbourhood, and he used to
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come with his father to this caf* to hear the storyteller( If you want he can share his memories with you(0 My face brightens and I just can+t believe my good luck( -That would be so kind of you,0 I say, addressing her father as I pull up a chair and sit at their table( Her father smiles and introduces himself, then begins: -Two centuries ago, the hakawatis were found in every Syrian co/ee shop( Only men went to hear stories a5er evening prayers; women might gather around an elderly wise woman at home and listen to a story as well( Then when television invaded the co/ee shops in the #79"s, the hakawatis began to disappear( -The hakawati sat on a high place surrounded with men drinking co/ee and tea and told a hikaya, a story: romances of the chivalrous Antar, the heroic warrior%poet and nomad of pre% Islamic times, or the epic adventures of Baybars, a Mamluk Sultan who ruled Egypt and Syria in the thirteenth century; or the )erce battles and adventures of the Banu Hilal, an ancient tribe of North Arabia( Syrians adored 3
the story of Antar because he represented the great Arab hero, the Arabic ideal(0 The father takes a sip of his dark tea and continues: -The hakawati began his story with his customary phrase: .My dear gentlemen, pray for our generous Prophet(+ The audience would respond: .Peace be upon our Prophet Mohammad( May he be embraced with grace and peace(+ Then he would hold his old worn out book, and start reading the poetic and stylish words, raising and lowering his voice according to the events taking place in the story and the heroic act he was describing( Eventually the caf* echoed with joyful cheers( -The hakawati had a great ability to both narrate and act( He told his story in an expressive way, using his sword and cane to act out the story and recite beautiful poetry to charm his audience( He was also a master of plotting, who knew how to draw his audience in to him from the beginning to the end( Both the hakawati and the audience were interactive parties in the events of the story(0 8#
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The father pauses and takes a long pu/ from his nargileh, then grins as he remembers: -As the story was told, the audience in the co/ee shop were divided into two parties, each supported a character in the story and got into verbal )ghts which sometimes escalated into a physical )ght % especially when the story was about Antar( -The hakawati always contrived a way to end his story at an event where the hero was in trouble( If the chapter of the story ended with Antar locked behind bars, the caf* would turn upside down and sometimes the two parties would break the chairs and tables( Others might go and knock the hakawati.s door demanding that he read the next chapter and free Antar( People who supported Antar would decorate the neighborhood when the hakawati reached the part of the story where Antar got married(0 Suddenly the ground shakes violently( I look around and wonder whether the caf* customers of the past have come back to life and are taking 8!
revenge for their hero and destroying the place ‌ My friend laughs nervously and says, -And the music continues to play (((0 Again, I hear the siren of an ambulance from a distance and I return back to reality ‌ -I guess I must leave,0 I say as I thank my friend and her parents( My friend gives me a warm goodbye and I leave, feeling guilty, still wondering about her name(
The al Nofara CafĂŠ, Damascus. (Muna Imady)
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Day a5er day, the sun shone triumphantly in the sky, cancelling any hope for rain( With no rain, the trees, crops and plants of the land withered and died( People were desperate and grew poorer and poorer( Even Deir%al%Zor, where the Euphrates river runs through its land, forming fertile islands called huweja, was hit by the heavy drought(
Muna Imady
The Woodcutter and the Lion A folktale from Deir%al%Zor
In a small mud brick house, at the foot of a hill, lived a woodcutter and his nine children( Every day the woodcutter went out looking for trees to cut, with no luck( At sunset, his children would wait hopefully for his return( Unfortunately he had nothing to o/er them( -You must )nd a way to earn your living,0 said his wife( -But this has been my job all my life( I+m not cut out to do anything else!0 argued the woodcutter( Now it happened that there was a huweja further o/ which was crowded with trees and had plenty of grass and plants, but no%one dared to approach it( A 88
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great lion lived in it and forbade anyone to come near it( When things got really bad, the woodcutter decided to go to the lion+s island( -I have no solution but to try and go to the lion+s huweja,0 he said to his wife( -It+s so dangerous % please don+t go!0 begged his wife( -I will die whether I stay here or go to the lion+s huweja( Let me try my luck!0 The next morning, the woodcutter rowed his old boat towards the lion+s island( When he reached the huweja, he was so taken by the fantastic trees that covered the area that he forgot all about the lion( Suddenly, a great lion leaped in front of him, snarling and growling( -How dare you come to my island! Don+t you know what happens to whomever comes to my island?0 roared the lion( The woodcutter fell down to his knees and started to cry: -Please, your majesty the lion! I+m so poor that my nine children haven+t had anything 8&
to eat for days( I beg for your mercy, to pity me, and let me cut just a little wood to sell at the market and buy my starving children something to eat! I+m sure you have such a big heart!0 The lion felt sorry for the poor woodcutter( -Okay,0 roared the lion, -you may come here once a week and cut down all the trees you want!0 -Oh, thank you!0 said the woodcutter, as the tears rolled down his face( Then he got up to his feet and picked up his axe, and cut some wood, and carried it to his old boat, and rowed it back to town to sell it( His wife and children couldn+t believe their eyes when they saw him return with plenty of food( That night, the woodcutter, his wife and nine children ate and drank like they never had in their lives( A5er that day, the woodcutter returned once a week and chopped as much wood as he could carry in his old boat, and went to town to sell it( The price of wood went up, since no%one but the woodcutter could go to the lion+s island(
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Little by little, the woodcutter became richer, and his children turned plump, and their faces became rosy and round(
dear friend! I have come to honour you by my presence( May Allah grant you wealth and health!0
Then the day came when the woodcutter became a very wealthy man, whose riches were countless( His home was no longer a small mud brick house, but a palace, much like the palaces that kings and queens live in( He no longer went to chop wood, but sent his men to carry the wood in large boats(
As the lion uttered these words, he opened up his mouth wide and snapped his sharp yellow teeth( A bad smell came out of his mouth and )lled the air( This was the closest the woodcutter had ever been to the lion(
One day, the woodcutter set up a big party, and invited all his friends except for the lion( From a distance, the lion heard the sound of music and laughter( He smelt the smell of meat being roasted( -My friend the woodcutter is having a great invitation today( I must honour him and allow him to be my host!0 roared the lion, with great pride( When the lion arrived at the woodcutter+s palace, everyone froze in their place in fear of him( The lion quietly stepped in and sat down next to his friend the woodcutter, and said: -A hundred thousand hellos to my
-Oh, you really stink!0 said the woodcutter( -If I were you I wouldn+t sit too close to my friends for fear that I might lose them!0 The lion couldn+t believe his ears( How could his friend utter these harsh words a5er all he had done for him? Without a word, the lion le5 the party and went o/ towards his huweja( The next day, when the woodcutter+s men arrived at the lion+s huweja, the lion roared at them )ercely and warned them not to come back again( The woodcutter was surprised to hear what the lion did to his men, and went to talk to the lion(
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-What has come to your mind, to throw my men o/ your huweja?0 -I made a big mistake considering you my friend( I treated you with kindness, but you returned my kindness with your ungratefulness!0 said the lion( The woodcutter tried to explain himself, but the lion interrupted him and called out: -Raise your axe and kill me! I don+t deserve to live a5er I lost my dignity!0 The ungrateful woodcutter raised his axe and thought to himself: -The best thing I could do is to strike him on his head and get rid of him for once and for all!0 As he viciously approached the lion, the lion moved, and the axe struck him on his stomach( The lion roared with pain, and then ran away behind the bushes( No%one saw the lion a5er that day, and everyone believed he was dead( The woodcutter considered himself the owner of the huweja( He cut down as many trees as he wanted, at any time( 89
One day, as the woodcutter was walking around the huweja, he heard a faint growl( To his surprise, the lion suddenly leaped to his hind legs and started to roar: -This is my huweja! How dare you come here and chop my trees without my permission!0 -But % but % The woodcutter unsuccessfully tried to put his thoughts into words( -This is the last talk we have together!0 said the lion( -I don+t want to see you here again % or I+ll eat you!0 -W%what do you mean?0 stammered the woodcutter( -Aren+t we friends?0 -No!0 roared the lion( -Wounds heal in time, but hurtful words cause scars that never heal!0
Muna Imady is a Syrian%American English language teacher and educational writer, based in Damascus( The tale of The Woodcutter and the Lion :pp( 7" % 7&; is taken from Syrian Folktales :MSI Press, !"##;, reviewed elsewhere in this issue of Storylines(
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-Questings,0 a checklist of instructions and questions designed to make the aspiring writer think and reassess how they approach their cra5( These are useful tools one could use and one wonders why more was not made of the ideas shown here in the body of the text( Part three, -The Dragon+s Hoard < Other Essays0 re=ects on the work of a number of writers, not just of fantasy but of poetry and modern )ction( While interesting to the academic or serious student of the art of writing this section adds little to the overall impact of the book( This is not really a book for the traditional oral storyteller( It is a serious attempt to analyse and explain what lies behind the art of good fantasy writing( As such, it may be of interest to students of fantasy writing, but this avid reader of fantasy )ction )nds it wanting in many areas( Carl Merry
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REVIEW Muna Imady
Syrian Folktales MSI Press, !"## ISBN 746#788&$$"77 PB 3 3 '6($7 Kindle 3 '!(!" I don+t know very much at all about storytelling in the Arab word, and I didn+t know anything at all about storytelling in Syria( In the #76"s Andrea Rugh+s translated Samir Tahhan+s extraordinary two%volume Folktales of Syria( But there seems to be little else in English( It was largely the curiosity of ignorance that inspired me to order the present slender volume, containing tales, riddles, sayings and recipes from each of the country+s fourteen provinces( The author is a Syrian%American English language teacher and writer, and although she has published stories in Arabic for children this is her )rst collection of English%language stories, and a )rst venture in publishing tales from oral tradition(
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The author+s grandmother :-tet*0; was a storyteller in the domestic and family tradition, and the author+s work with her own students has given her access through them to the storytelling traditions of other families across the whole country( The result is a tantalising snapshot of a storytelling culture which :as so o5en; seems to be in retreat, or at least subject to change % but still vibrant( Some of the stories :-The Three Spinners0; have the air of nursery tales for small children; others will remind English readers of Tom Thumb :-Nuss% Insais0;, Cinderella or Mother Holle :-The Wicked Stepmother0;, or other wonder% tales( There are animal%fables :the eponymous Sly Fox invites some gullible hens to join him on an ostensible pilgrimage to Mecca % with predictably carnivorous results; and some wry humour at the expense of unhappily married husbands :-Tunnay and Runnay0; and garrulous wives :-The Sky Is Raining Meat0;( Across several tales the shadow falls of the terrible gouleh, the witch> demon or -fabulous female monster from the Djinn world(0 3
The recipes range from instructions for frying kibbeh, the ground%beef patties which form a mainstay of Syrian cuisine % to instructions for roasting a camel whole, on embers buried in hot desert sand( The English is readable but not idiomatic and the whole book would have bene)tted from a good edit and proof%read( More substantively, I would have liked to know more about the individual tellers of these stories % we learn that they were women, and that they learned the stories from mothers and female relatives, but it would be good to have known a little more about the artists, the better to appreciate the art( On balance, however, the intrinsic interest and authenticity of the subject matter wins out( Muna Imady -feels strongly that a record should be made of these oral traditions before they are completely forgotten(0 I agree( Her book is not a dry or detached scholarly monograph % still less a travesty%rewrite by a 87
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condescendingly literary stranger( It is something better than these % an engaged voice from within the traditional community( I shall be making a point of clicking on more random Facebook links if they open up prospects such as these(
Simon Heywood
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