MOHAMEDS -- ONE AND ALL.
Some people get an Ali, some an Abdul and others a Thabet, however, all our servants, in Little Aden without exception, were Mohameds. I feared that this might present a bit of a problem when we reached the lucrative stage of affording a gardener as well as a cook but my wonderful "Mem" had this idea of calling them No .1 and No. 2 which she assured me had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that our two babies were undergoing potty training at the time!
Our first Mohamed had been rather keen to better himself educationally whilst in our employ and I found that teaching him the rudiments of arithmetic along with reading and writing in English helped me considerably to unwind after stressful shifts at the refinery.
He was particularly fascinated with the atlas and quickly learned the locations of most of the principal countries of the world along with the names of their capital cities. History also intrigued him, though the "Mem" thought I was pushing things a bit when she asked him one morning what he had learned the evening before.
Mohamed regaled her with the story of King Alfred and the burned cakes, also expressing the belief that Ali-fred must have been a bit of a 'Poofter' cook, deserving all he got for dabbling in specialist kitchen work!
When the revolution broke out in Northern Yemen after the death of it's ruler, Imam Ahmed, President Gammal Abdul Nasser of Egypt sent down his elite tank corps to support the Republicans against the Royalist prince opposing them.
Mohamed's brother-in-law had made a name for himself by capturing four Russian T.34 tanks. Apparently, he had achieved this by employing the simple strategy of lying behind a boulder until one went passed, when he would run up behind it, stuff his turban up it's exhaust pipe with his rifle, thus causing it to stall and stop.
The tank commander and his crew would get out, of course, wondering what was wrong with their engine, and Mohamed's relative would casually 'knock them off' with his weapon. Thanks to him and some of his buddies, the prince acquired half a squadron of perfectly good tanks in next to no time, but had nobody capable of handling them. If this situation could have been remedied, he might well have won the war.
About a fortnight after the revolution was over, and the country had more or less settled down under Republican control, word filtered down to Aden that the 'Gypo' soldiery were getting over friendly with the girls, and they weren't particularly fussy whether they were married or not.
There were some stationed in Mohamed's village, so it seemed, and he became very concerned for his wife and sisters. Understanding his predicament, we offered to let him go home for a while, assuring him that his job was secure for at least 3 months.
Alas! That was the last that we ever saw of our dear loyal servant in the flesh, for he wrote to tell us that on arrival, he had been recruited into the embryo regular Yemeni army. We kept the job open a little longer in case he got discharged with flat feet or something like that, but when it was realised that he was literate, numerate and knew about such things as Alfred and the cakes, he was bundled off to Egypt to be trained as an artillery officer.
We soon had a postcard from Cairo informing us that he was doing well and had been put in charge of 25 Pounders. There was a photo of him standing next to a camel in uniform. (Mohamed was wearing the uniform!)
Six months later, we got another card, this time from Kiev in Russia saying that he was now a Captain and would soon be returning to Yemen to take up his military duties. Accordingly, would we be good enough to delete him from the domestic ration strength of our household. That was the last we heard of him.
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About a week after Mohamed left, we were in Steamer Point doing a bit of shopping when we came across his uncle loading a number of large heavy sacks into the back of a land Rover. The little kiosk from which he eaked a meagre living selling pop, cigarettes, soap and sweets appeared to be boarded up, and we asked him what had happened.
I was informed that he was getting ready to go to Saan'a, the capital of Northern Yemen where he hoped to make a small fortune. He opened one of the sacks and I was astonished to see thousands of metal tops from soft drink bottles. They had been painted in a variety of colours, and each had a pin stuck through it's cork or plastic lining.
Apparently, when the Egyptians arrived, they found a country with a 'gorilla' type army which was completely devoid of discipline. Every soldier was at least a Major, and anyone who was anyone was a Brigadier or above! There were no 'squadies.' Proof of this was obvious, as each warrior had several Coke, Stim and Pepsi bottle tops on his lapels and shoulders in imitation of 'pips,' the top guns even having them in double rows on belts around their waists. I suspect they had them all over their shirt fronts and half way down their backs as well by the time Mohamed's uncle had finished with them and were virtually armour plated! Meeting him some time later, he told me that he had quickly sold out, having found a ready market for them at 10/- a pip.
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When it became obvious that Captain Mohamed was not going to return to us, we hired a member of the Yaffai tribe named Mohamed Nasser. He didn't last very long as he wasn't quite refined enough though he was a reasonable cook. The truth was that the "Mem" couldn't stand him padding around her lounge and kitchen barefoot wearing his turban and 'longhi.' (Short arab skirt.)
This Mohamed was disgustingly handsome whilst appearing awesomely fierce. He was a true son of the desert, with a pointed beard and dark eyes painted with kohl. At his belt was a vicious looking gambia without which, he would have felt undressed and some of the "Mem's" friends were absolutely terrified of him but it didn't stop them coming to our house in droves for coffee and thrills!
He was asked to start a small garden in the virgin desert outside our back door and his first move was to wheel in 8 sacks of goat droppings from the abattoir in Bir Ahmed on his byke as fertilizer. The place stank to the stars when he applied water and it was a blessing that most of our neighbours were away on long furlough.
Soon, to our delight, everything turned a lush green, but imagine our surprise to find a month later that the eagerly awaited flowers, as we thought they were, turned out to be corn, onions and potatoes. We might have known, of course, that there was no place for useless things like roses and periwinkles in the life of a rugged tribesman!
Things came to a head when the "Mem" asked Mohamed to clean the bungalow windows and he said he'd do them whilst she was out shopping. Now, whilst Arabs were not averse to 'nicking' things off Christians, they seldom stole off their own people, and this courtesy was extended to their immediate employers. So, it did not appear particularly unseemly to our boy to pop up the road and remove a brand new hose pipe and sprinkler from the garden of one of my bosses. Coupling up to our outside tap, he proceeded to wash our windows with a copious flow of water followed with drying off by newspaper.
When the "Mem" got home, she found her widows glistening, and delighted with the result, she asked Mohamed if he minded giving the insides the same treatment whilst she went out to a friend's house. Well, he obliged, and employing exactly the same procedure, he succeeded in soaking the lounge carpet, shrivelling the three piece suite and completely wrecking my very expensive Grundig radiogram in the process. The "Mem" was not amused on her return, to find a mini river flowing from under the French window down to the roadway!
Mohamed was gone by the time I got home from work, 'fired' by my furious wife who chased him out of the house with a meat cleaver twice the size of his 'Gambia,' and when we got up the following morning, there was no sign of our garden -- every onion, tomato, potato and ear of corn had disappeared!
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Next came Mohamed 'Rumbletum,' so called by us because he was prone to quite severe flatulence. He had been recommended by a doctor who almost got 'struck off’ the list of friends as a result of landing us with this dud.
The guy was a potato merchant. By this, I mean that he was excellent at making chips, crisps, french fries, boiled potatoes and jacketed spuds, but he was absolutely hopeless at making anything else. Accordingly, our carbohydrate intake increased alarmingly, and the "Mem" had to sew gussets in my shorts.
'Rumbletum' was also very partial to 'Qat,' a narcotic leaf which many Arabs were fond of chewing. He was particular about the grade he bought, purchasing only the best and most potent. Twice a week, he would go missing for a few hours at about the time of arrival at the airport of 'Al Tayara Haq Al Qat Min Habbash,' (The Ethiopian Airlines Dakota from Addis Ababa,) from whence came the very best quality of this juicy plant.
Our 'Tabakh,' as we called our cooks, would have partaken generously of the leaf on the way home, and on arrival, was never quite 'compost mentis' as my brother used to say in his schoolboy latin. Every couple of days, I would have to run him down to the clinic severely constipated because of this practice, so that the 'Mem' worked out that we were only getting 50% work for our money.
After a month of continuous spud bashing, the 'Mem,' quite reasonably informed Mohamed that we had gone off potatoes in all it's forms and would like some meat, rice and curry for a change -- or else. As a result, 'Rumbletum' disappeared overnight without warning, apparently feeling quite incapable of facing up to the trauma of retraining!
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Our last Mohamed was really excellent and stayed with us for several years right up to the time we left the Yemen. He was very protective of the "Mem,' our two children and me, and strangely too for an Arab, was big pals with 'Shanni,' our Corgi, who, true to her breed and connections, was rather fussy with whom she associated.
This Mohamed was a first class cook and was perfectly capable of maintaining a home to the standard of the most discerning "Memsahib." He had been trained by his father who had spent many years in service in Downing Street -- Khormaksar. Some of the cream of the Colonial Service and the Airforce dwelt in this street so that the cooks there were amongst the best available.
One day, Mohamed asked me if I would mind his father coming to stay with him in the servant's quarters for a short time, and I readily agreed. I found the old boy sitting in my kitchen scraping carrots when I returned from the refinery one day, and we were introduced. In English that was good if a trifle quaint, he told me that he was 86 years old and that he had come the 300 miles from his home by walking and cadging lifts. In fact, he'd covered the last 30 miles hanging onto the side of a large mobile earth scraper being delivered to the army in Silent valley!
I was informed that he had been a corporal donkey driver in the British Colonial Army of the Raj when they fought the Turks at the battle of Lahej, and as I left to partake of tea with my wife in the lounge, he stood rigidly to attention and barked: "Long live Victoria and King Georgie!"
The old man rapidly became proficient about our kitchen and we were treated to gastronomical delights that even Mohamed knew nothing about. He was so good, that his number eight son was able to go on vacation up country to see his wife and mother whilst his dad earned money with us beyond his wildest dreams!
Mohamed had married when his wife was only a young girl of ten, and she became a valuable acquisition on the farm whilst her husband sought fame and fortune in Aden. He hadn't seen his spouse for the last four years and was most gratified to find on his arrival home that she had matured considerably in the meantime.
The visit also proved to be fruitful, and we were delighted to learn a few months later that Nuria was expecting. Eventually, she and the baby came to live in our servant's quarters and we doted on the child almost as much as they did, the "Mem" churning out loads of baby clothes on her sewing machine. These, she was careful to stagger in size, so that there would be little need for Mohamed and Nuria to purchase more for little Ifra for several years to come.
Our small daughter looked on the little mite as a sister and spent hours towing her around the garden in a yellow plastic trolley. Later, she graduated to daughter's pram along with a selection of 'Barbys' and 'Cindys,' a panda and a teddy bear. When daughter invited the baby to tea parties with her friends in the garden, our son, not wanting to be left out of things, obligingly acted as a Punkah Wallah, going round fanning the girls and the animals in turn!
Now Mohamed, like many tribal Arabs, didn't trust banks, and as a result, he kept all his pay in drawers in the kitchen. One day, the "Mem" called me into this 'inner sanctum' to see something.
"Look at this lot, darling." she said, pulling open two drawers. "They're simply stuffed with 'fivvers.' It isn't safe. You really must alter Mohamed's thinking about money. I mean, imagine what could happen at one of our dinner parties when there are as many as three or four cooks from elsewhere in this kitchen, not counting the men serving the food and the drinks! It could all go 'PHUTT!'"
I agreed to have a word with him and did, going to great lengths to explain all about current and deposit accounts and the integrity of the banking system -- and he promised to do something about it.
One morning, he asked the "Mem" for the afternoon off, and when I got home, she told me, adding: "All the money's gone too, darling!" I went to look, and sure enough, there wasn't a note in sight.
"Any idea how much was there?" I asked.
"About twelve thousand shillings (EAS) I think." she replied, looking worried.
There was no sign of Mohamed that night even though we were up late entertaining some friends, and we were concerned in case he had been robbed or worse. Imagine our relief in the morning therefore, when there was the usual knock on our bedroom door, and in he came with the breakfast, our two kids and Corgi in tow, and a big grin on his face.
The "Mem" questioned him carefully, and it transpired that he'd put the notes into two plastic bags along with a lot of loose coins and ridden to Sheikh Othman on his bicycle. He then scoured the large lorry park near the market till he found a truck that would be passing within 50 miles of his father's place. Mohamed didn't know the truck owner, but he asked him to leave the unsealed carriers with an old man who sold water at a track junction from which radiated several wadis 260 miles from our home..
The old man was to be instructed to give them to any camel train driver going up the Wadi Zigla, and when a day and a night had been covered, anyone seen in the area was to be asked for directions to Mohamed's father's farm where the money was to be handed over.
We could scarcely believe what we were hearing, but felt that there was little point now in crying over spilt milk. Imagine our amazement then, when Mohamed's youngest brother turned up some six months later with the news that the money had arrived safely, the only cash missing being the very frugal carriage charges!!
Later, as the political scene in the Colony turned nasty, Mohamed refused to let the "Mem" go near the market which was in the arab quarter, or let me to go near the petrol station, as these locations had provided the "Liberation Front" gunmen with many a victim. Vegetables and fuel were all brought to the house on his trusty bicycle.
The "Mem" really got the wind up one morning when a lance corporal of the Military Police pointed out to her outside Spinney's grocery store that she had run over an anti personnel mine and that it was between the front wheels of the car! Understanding the danger, the kids in the back never uttered a word in distraction as the soldier and his officer slowly pushed the vehicle backwards to safety whilst the "Mem" steered. The military subsequently set it off in situ as a controlled explosion but Spinneys and Grindleys bank lost all their windows and much food had to be thrown away.
Probably as a result of this incident and several others at this time, civilian families were shortly afterwards flown home in an emergency airlift.
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Mohamed and Nuria used to love seeing us going off to the club on Tuesdays and Saturdays as they would be required to baby sit. Not only was this a lucrative duty, but it meant that they could stay in our air-conditioned lounge watching T.V. in comfort. The kiddies themselves presented no problem at all, as they spent such active lives thanks to Miss Groves the LAPA head Mistress and Miss Mary Baratt that they were invariably fast asleep by 7 P.M. Accordingly, servants who's employers had young children were the envy of those who did not.
We discovered very late on that they occasionally invited guests to join them whilst we were out, but we decided to turn a blind eye to this just as long as everything remained shipshape -- which was invariably the case -- and there was a welcoming cup of cocoa ready as we came through the door. The "Mem" often said that she'd love to be a fly on the wall of one of the huts up country as these visitors described how Mohamed and Nuria lived down in Aden!
Eventually, the day came when we would all have to part for good, and it was a pretty tearful occasion for us down at Khormaksar airport. We managed to keep in touch for several years and it was with great pleasure that we learned that they had set up a jewellery shop in Taiz in North Yemen.
The little family ultimately increased to four, but Mohamed assured us that he had not the slightest intention of emulating his revered father, the trusted servant of Queen Victoria and King Georgie. Having had a taste of the good life, he and Nuria preferred to be rich!