The Noobian Fish aid Noobian Boatmen of the Noobian Nile: 0 Magic Word, Noobia!

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 140, 3 September 1927, Page 24

The Noobian Fish aid Noobian Boatmen of the Noobian Nile: 0 Magic Word, Noobia!

GEORGE was a Nubian, and, like * all his race, proud of the fact. H© was not black like a Sudanese, nor yellowy brown like the huskier fellah further down the Nile. He was midway between, thin, courteous, and tinged with melancholy. His eyes were big with impressiveness as he served the fish, a piece of giant samos from the Nile. “Dat Noobian fish, sar, Noobian!” emphasising the magic word with a nod of his turbanned head. “And is Nubian fish good?” “Yairs!” he exclaimed with a pleased grin, “Vairy good.” “How do you catch them?” This was rather a poser for George, as it called for more English than he had at the moment. Rut with the aid of pantomime he explained that the fisherman took long pieces of w>od upon which he tied hundreds of hooks, each upon a. cord a tew inches long. This “stroke-hauling” apparatus was then put “downstairs in de rihber, in de Nile.* “But where is the sauce?” “’s cornin’, sir,” said George, no whit chagrined. He never was when he forgot things. He simply said, “*s cornin’, sir.” and slid of? silently, his redgirdled white robe flapping open and revealing brilliant socks and suspenders. “I goin* home to-night, sir,” he volunteered when he came back, “to ray billage.” George had no “v” in his alphabet. This remark was a gentle hint that his weekly tip was late. “That will be very nice for you. Your family will be glad to see you.” “Yairs,” agreed George, and then added portentously: “I married. Only one wife.” Careful of possible western prejudices. “Have you any children?” “*s cornin’, sir,” said he, grinning all over his brown face, and slipping his tip into his belt. Now Tommy had a different method of gaining his livelihood. He had been in the British army as an officer’s servant and felt that he knew a thing or two. Perhaps he did. When everybody had gone in to dinner, Tommy collected all the cushions from the chairs in the lounge and hid them where the soft-voiced liftman could keep an eye on them for him. When the people came back to the lounge, Tommy would stroll casually by, and then noticing suddenly that one of his most important guests (financially) was without a cushion, would dash ofT and return with several under his arm. thereby gaining applause, largesse, and envious looks from the junior hall-boys, who did not dare touch the cushions. Tommy’s passion in life was to hav e a few piastres on the weekly camel, pony, and donkey races. On e glance at his face on those evenings was enough to show the result of his punting. But George thought more about the yacht races. “All the boatmen on the Nile Noobian!” he used to say. “All the boatmen come from Haifa Noobian. All the sailor Cooka Boata —Noobian. All the Captain Cooka Boata, Noobian!” This was saying something, because | *’°oks aim at perfection with th3ir I Nile steamers and have the same k crews season after season. I “Well who is going to win the boat I iac* at the regatta?”

(Written for THE SUN by E. H. HARSTON.)

“Number 1 or number 3?” he murmured confidentially.

This was probably a good forecast. Number three balanced better as a boat, but Ibrahim, the slim, silent, orientally impassive lad who was number one’s helmsman could make her go like a witch. Sailing was a passion with him. While the other boatmen sailed peaceably along with somnolent indifference, Ibrahim continually watched his sheet, or, coaxing her about, worked her up to windward like an artist, enjoying himself silently the whole time.

From the hotel on its granite rock, terraces filled with gaily-dressed spectators led down to the river’s edge, to a flagstaff ana to a small brass cannon, to the manager in his sombrero and to the topeed guest with the longest whiskers—the judge. His small launch flying a well-known burgee, and all shipshape and Bristol fashion, waited below in case of need. The cashier was there too. His function transpired later. After an important report from the cannon, the small town boats detached themselves from the crowd of 50 or so lateen-sailed feluccas and rowing-

boats and made for the start. Another report and they were off to round Elephantine and Kitchener’s Islands and finish in front of the hotel.

Hardly had they left, and, their lateen sails heeling gracefully in unison. passed the old Nileometer of which Strabo wrote, when th e eight smart hotel 18-footers with their redjerseved boatmen prepared to follow. I looked for George, and it seemed that his whole being was passing through his eyes into the tense red back of the skilful Ibrahim. The highly ornamental boats from Shellal followed, their awnings furled away and their burly rowers grunting on their thwarts as they lifted their lumpish craft along, and then cheering madly as they dashed for their prizes. Every boat claimed a prize, and, strangely enough, seemed to get one. That was the cashier’s duty. The big Aswan feluccas followed. Their registration plates spell the word “flookah,” but the French form is more in keeping with their graceful appearance. We watched —yes, it would be—the “Nubia” in which we had spent many a halcyon day, fighting hard for the lead, and we wondered if the old patched sail, I over which th« skipper had spent so

many anxious hours with it stretched out on the beach, would survive the final gybe when the heavy boom came over with a bang and she rounded the last point.

The Baksheesh Boats followed. Naked young imps, squatting in boats built out of kerosene tins for the pur pose of collecting baksheesh and pro pelled by a tin lid held in either hand. cam e across' the river at a splendid pace. One young scamp gained steadily, and the whites of his eyes testified to his pleasure. A glance back at his slower brothers proved his undoing, and over he went. With shrill howls he grabbed his boat before it sank for ever, and, towing it, swam like one possessed for th e post; but too late. Nevertheless he seemed to collect a prize too. Th e lads, entranced with the success of their efforts, then retired to a corner and had several more races by themselves, while their elders gesticulated wildly in their efforts to reach the end of th e greasy pole, and then swam to the j umpire for a prize. In the meantime the first race ended. | The winner was so pleased at his success, and at the behaviour of his

brand new jraft, that after wringing his crew by the hand, h e leapt for the boom, and pulling himself up and down in gigantic jumps, shouted: “Hep-hep-hurry! Hep - hep - Hurry! Sank you! Sank you! Vairy good. Vairy nice!” Old “Nubia” came in second in her race, and after passing the post, the skipper turned and told the winner something, quite quietly, but forcibly. Everybody got prizes. Everybody was happy and well behaved. And George? When it became obvious that the flying felucca that rounded the island, gybed, and ran for the jetty and Dundreary’s cannon was none other than Ibrahim’s No. i : George’s grin threatened to do his ears irreparable injury. So I think he must have had some money on. “In the summer, when the hotel closes, do you sail a boat, too?” “Summertime”—George looked a little shamefaced—“too belati hot. I don’t do anything on the farm of my fader.” “Why?” “Too belati hot,” said George, who was a perfect gentleman, and proud of his mastery of the English tongue. Cairo.