"THE FLOWER OF PARADISE" 



179 



camel-loads of khat which reach Aden in 

 the course of a year is of this variety. 

 Other varieties are : mathani, so called 

 from the word meaning" double ; mubar- 

 rah, which, unlike any other variety, 

 bears its leaves widely separated ; gaa- 

 shani, which puts forth leaves only at the 

 top of the naked stem ; mooli and baladi, 

 the latter being any variety which grows 

 wild on inhabited mountains, the word 

 meaning "my place" or "my country." 



Khat cultivation is simple. The plant 

 bears neither flowers nor seeds, but is 

 grown from cuttings. After the farmer 

 has flooded his field till the soil has ab- 

 sorbed its utmost of water, he covers it 

 with goat droppings and allows it to 

 "ripen" for a few days. Then he buries 

 the cuttings in shallow holes from 4 to 6 

 feet apart, with space enough between 

 the rows for pickers to pass. But the 

 Yemen cow and the sad-eyed camel, 

 whose maw is never filled, have a nice 

 taste in khat cuttings, and to discourage 

 these marauders the farmer covers each 

 hill with thorn twigs and spiny cactus 

 leaves. Sometimes he trains one of the 

 half-wild dogs which infest the village to 

 guard that particular field. Thereafter 

 that dog has but two ambitions in life — 

 to catch some trespasser by the nose and 

 to steal the rest of his khana (food) 

 wherever he can. 



At the end of a year the young shrubs 

 are two feet high with a thickly spread 

 green foliage 18 inches in diameter. Be- 

 hold now the farmer going out into the 

 dawn of each morning to gaze at his field 

 and the sky in the hope of seeing the 

 portents of harvest time. On a morning 

 the air is thick with bulbuls, sparrows, 

 weaver birds, shrilly clamoring. They 

 rise and fall upon his plants, picking at 

 the tenderest leaves. "Allah be praised!" 

 cries the simple farmer, "the leaves are 

 sweet and ripe for the market." 



And now he calls his women and the 

 wives of his neighbors to the crop-pick- 

 ing. Under a bower of jasmine vines, 

 with plumes of the sweet-smelling rehan 

 in their turbans, the farmer and his cro- 

 nies gather to drink kishar from tiny 

 cups and smoke the hubbuk, while the 

 womenfolk bring them armfuls of the 

 freshly cut khat leaves. What a joyous 



time it is for all the village; for always 

 the farmer distributes the whole of his 

 first crop among his neighbors, in the 

 name of God, that Allah's blessings may 

 thus be secured on all the succeeding 

 ones. 



The khat plant grows from 5 to 12 feet 

 in height and then it stops. As the foli- 

 age thickens, the larger branches are 

 pruned out to prevent crowding, and 

 when the plant is 16 years old the top 

 usually dies. It is cut off about a foot 

 above the ground, and from the stump 

 new shoots spring out and the plant is 

 reborn. 



WHEN THE CARAVANS ARRIVE 



About 11 o'clock in the morning the 

 khat camels come winding leisurely along 

 the isthmus road from the interior. In 

 the shade of the rock by the barrier gate 

 stand two little black policemen to re- 

 ceive the tax receipts that were given the 

 drivers at the British frontier. The huge 

 brutes halt before the door of the low 

 kutcha-thatched inn to pick at some wisps 

 of dried grass, while their masters go in- 

 side to have a pull at the hubbuk and a 

 drink of kishar or, maybe, a bowl of 

 curds. Meanwhile a flock of shrewd 

 youngsters, each with a lump of coppers 

 tucked into his waistcloth, flit about the 

 loaded animals, seeking to steal a leaf or 

 to thrust an appraising glance into the 

 closely wrapped bundles. "What, O ko- 

 zvasji, is the quality of your khat today? 

 Which beast carries the best, and has thy 

 driver stinted no water on the journey to 

 keep it fresh?" To find true answers 

 have these urchins taken their bribe 

 money in the bazaars ; but the bare- 

 footed policemen chase them away, the 

 refreshed drivers come out, fiercely 

 breathing calumnies against the grand- 

 mothers of such brats, and the little car- 

 avan picks its way upward toward the 

 pass. 



Long before it has dropped down into 

 the crater bowl the bazaar has heard of its 

 coming. From the dark shops, so silent 

 but just now, cheerful cries break out ; 

 the streets are filled with singing and a 

 stream of lean figures all headed one 

 way. They are going to the khat mar- 

 ket. Tikka gharries rattle madly by, 



