416 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1953 



Tlie villagers are extremely hospitable. Even one so poor that, as 

 the interpreter points out, "he has only two chairs" (and these were 

 stools), will proffer you whatever he happens to have in the house, 

 which is what is in season at the time — cucumbers, or apricots, or 

 raw green broad beans, or grapes, or figs, and so on. The relatively 

 well-to-do villager will probably serve the visitor a sample of most of 

 the dishes eaten : first some fresh white cheese with unleavened bread 

 and a nip of aroJc^ the licorice-flavored "firewater" to wash it down, 

 followed by cold soft-boiled eggs in a saucer, into which one is to dip 

 his bread; then some ripe shanklish rolled in herbs, and a bowl of 

 freshly cooked wheat or hourghol with a great deal of sugar in it. 

 These snacks are topped off with Turkish coffee. 



The Sunday morning on which I went to the village for the last 

 time, to say my goodbys, everyone was as generous and as hospitable 

 as ever and seemed genuinely sorry to bid me farewell. The old 

 moukhtar seemed especially sad to say goodby, insisting that he would 

 never see me again and that he wanted to wish me well on my journey. 

 Once I entered his home, he quickly unlocked the chest in which the 

 huge glass jar of arak was kept and filled two large glass tumblers. 

 My host picked up his glass and drank hearty draughts while I sipped 

 the fiery liquid slowly, cautiously. After half an hour or so, however, 

 I began to realize that the arak was taking effect in no uncertain terms, 

 and I intimated to my host that I had better ask some more questions 

 before it was too late. His eyes danced as he replied, "Let's keep right 

 on drinking. That way I'll find it easier to think up the answers." 



Meals are not eaten regularly, and cases of undernourishment and 

 malnutrition are not unknown, with the result that resistance to dis- 

 ease is low. Malaria is prevalent and the incidence was reported as 

 being highest in October and November, when the rains begin. These 

 are also the months when the young men who have been working in the 

 malaria-infested coastal plain return to the village, and it could be 

 that in some cases thej^ return infected and the fever "comes out" at 

 elevation. Influenza and colds are the bane of existence during the 

 long winter months, with their short days and heavy rains, when peo- 

 ple are closely confined to their poorly lighted and poorly ventilated 

 houses, which are cold and damp. Cases of a persistent cough, or 

 "asthma," are by no means rare, which lower the resistance of the 

 victims to such lung afflictions as pneumonia and tuberculosis. The 

 round of daily living becomes somewhat monotonous and the villagers 

 eagerly await the more clement weather of spring, and particularly 

 of summer when it is possible to sleep on the flat roofs of the houses 

 or on the new straw on the threshing floor. The unfavorable features 

 of the location of Dahr are somewhat compensated for by its elevation 

 of 2,500 feet above the humid akkar coastal plain, and the presence 

 nearby of a never-failing spring with excellent water. 



