Birth in Turkey, 1911
When the “little stranger" arrives it is immediately deprived of the use of its limbs. Cotton bandages are swathed tightly round them. Then comes a quilted gown, and then wrap…
Location: Turkey
Note: This article has been excerpted from a larger work in the public domain and shared here due to its historical value. It may contain outdated ideas and language that do not reflect TOTA’s opinions and beliefs.
From Turkey and the Turks by Z. Duckett Ferriman, 1911.
The ebi-kadin, or wise woman, is as great a personage at a birth as the koolavooz at a marriage—greater, in a way, because she takes command of the harem.
When the “little stranger" arrives it is immediately deprived of the use of its limbs. Cotton bandages are swathed tightly round them. Then comes a quilted gown, and then wrap over wrap, until the baby finishes by looking, in shape and size, something like a prize vegetable-marrow. Its head is covered by a cap of red silk with a tassel of seed pearls. There are amulets too—a turquoise, a sprig of red coral, or at least a blue bead, for the Peris are active, and there is no telling what visitor may unconsciously cast an evil eye. Then the new-comer is laid on a quilt in the cradle—this had best be of walnut wood—and a crimson gauze veil is spread over all.
Meanwhile the mother occupies a bed of state. If she is well-to-do, the sheets will be of the finest with embroidered edges, the pillows of silk, and piles of them, and the quilt of satin richly worked. She is coifed with a red silk kerchief, to which is attached a bunch of charms, and over her also is thrown a veil of crimson gauze. This helps to thwart the designs of the Peris. A broom, upright by the bed, with a head of garlic tied to it, is said to be efficacious, and is often resorted to by those who cannot afford more expensive safeguards, like watchers. For neither mother nor child should be left alone until after the ceremonial bath, which is usually taken on the eighth day.
The naming of the child is a simple matter. It takes place soon after the baby's first toilet is made. The father comes and congratulates the mother. He then takes the infant in his arms and carries it outside the room—only just outside the door, but this is essential. Then he whispers the name three times in its ear. That is all. The naming has no religious significance.
It is the custom for the mother to drink spiced sherbet, or perhaps an infusion of the of the lime-tree or maiden-hair fern; but she must not drink pure water. The room is turned into a sort of cafe meanwhile. For hour after hour her friends and neighbours troop in, offer their congratulations, drink coffee, eat jam, and gossip, regardless of the poor lady's nerves. But on the third day comes the jemiet or grand reception.
This is a formal affair. Invitations are sent out by the musdaji, an important functionary on these occasions. The guests who are specially bidden in this way are entertained at a set luncheon. But in the free-and-easy manner of Turkish hospitality, any one who strolls in is served with light refreshments, and comparatively unknown neighbours take advantage of this. A band is stationed at the entrance of the house and important guests are heralded by music. The visitors bring with them baskets of sweets and gifts of a more substantial kind.
With the kindly feeling that distinguishes these social events, if the family is a poor one, the guests contribute coffee, cakes, and sweets, in order to lessen the burden of expense for the entertainers. This is taken as it is meant. There is no display of false delicacy, visitors are shown into the state bed-room which is adorned for the occasion. They congratulate the lady and wish long life and happiness to the child.
A stranger unused to Turkish manners would note with astonishment that the cause of the visit remained unnoticed. It would be wrong, nevertheless, to put this down to lack of respect or want of proper feeling. On the contrary, it is an indication of concern for the welfare of the little one. A good-natured soul, intent on doing her best, may feign to spit at it, remarking at the same time “Nasty little wretch," or something equally uncomplimentary. The fond mother will be properly grateful for these careful attentions, for she knows full well the peril of the evil-eye and the nemesis likely to follow upon open admiration of her offspring.
But when the last guest has gone, the ebi-kadin, who knows her business and has a reputation to lose, will take a handful of cloves and throw them singly on the embers of the brazier, uttering with each the name of a guest. For she is aware that, in spite of good intentions and due precautions, the spell may have been cast unwittingly. If one of the cloves bursts with a crack, she has proof of it. What must she do? The first measure is to cut a snip of hair both of the mother and child, to burn it and fumigate them with the smoke. This is accompanied by mysterious blowings, spittings, and muttered charms. If the patient yawns during the operation it is a good omen. But it would not do to trust to this alone.
In order to make sure, it is necessary to obtain a shred of some article of clothing belonging to the person who has cast the spell. It must be purloined, for, if the person knew, the charm would not work. Hence stratagem is brought into play. The plan thought out, some one, usually an old woman, is sent to the dwelling of the unconsciously guilty party, and if she succeeds in her mission, the precious object is burnt and mother and child fumigated anew. Not until then is the mind of the ebi-kadin at ease.
The ceremonial bath, which should take place eight days after the birth, brings the formalities to a close. It is also made the occasion of hospitality. If there is a private bath attached to the house, the guests are asked to luncheon. If public baths are used, they are asked to accompany the lady to them. There is a procession from the house to the bath, headed by the ebi-kadin, proudly carrying the baby who is swathed in silk. The hanums follow, and the tail of the procession is composed of servants carrying bundles of towels. The mother enters, with ceremony, supported by the head bathwoman and a relative. The baths have been exclusively engaged beforehand for the party, and creature comforts of various kinds have been prepared, for the function takes up the greater part of the day.
The baby is bathed first, and then the mother. But, previously, the ebi-kadin takes care to throw in a bunch of keys and blow upon the water, lest there be a lurking Peri. The bath completed, the mother, enveloped in her silken bath robes, holds a reception in the cooling-room, kisses the hands of all the ladies present, and the time is passed in chatting, drinking coffee, and eating sweets.
The Koran, unlike the Bible, makes no mention of circumcision. Yet it is a religious rite to which Mohammedans attach the greatest importance. But there can be little doubt that it was enjoined by the Prophet and it has the authority of the Traditions. It is made the occasion of a festival which lasts several days. The poor usually defer the rite until some wealthy man in the district is about to have the rite administered to his son, when they ask that their own sons may participate in it. He grants the favour to as many as his means will allow of; for he must supply each boy with a complete outfit and make him a present also.
In the case of the Sultan's sons there is no limit to the number, and an old English traveller speaks of a circumcision festival in which some three thousand boys took part. It is a costly business for a man of rank. In modern practice the festival is limited to one day among the middle classes and the expense is reduced to a few pounds. Processions are rarer than they used to be, and one is more likely to see them in country towns than in the capital, but the dughun or feast is still kept up indoors by everybody. The rite takes place under ordinary circumstances when the boy has reached the age of nine or ten. It is always on a Friday.
On the previous Monday the boys are taken to the baths, which they leave, escorted by female relatives, and make a round of calls inviting friends to the feast in the afternoon. At the bath the boys have their heads shaved for the first time. Among those who cling to old traditions, a tuft of hair is left on the crown of the head, plaited with gold or silver thread. The sons of the wealthy are richly clad, and even the poorest are arrayed in finery, usually borrowed for the occasion.
Goodwill on all sides is a characteristic of the festival. On Monday and Tuesday there are entertainments in the selamlik, and on Wednesday and Thursday the haremlik is given up to festivity.
It is pre-eminently a children's feast, and the amusements provided are such as appeal to them—hired jugglers and the like. This description applies, of course, to a rich household. All the poor boys who are to participate in the rite are invited to these galas, and for once share in the plenty of their wealthier brethren.
On the Thursday morning the boys make a state progress through the neighbourhood on horses caparisoned and led by grooms, and arrayed in their best. When they return to the house each is received by his father, and before he lifts the lad from his horse, the hoja intervenes and asks what gift he has for his son. It is named. It may be a house and land from the Pasha, or a trifle from the poor parent or next of kin. But it is the entertainer who provides the gift in most cases.
The next morning the sacred rite is performed in the selamlik. And, now, the musdaji is a prominent figure. It is her function to go and announce to the mother of each boy its completion. The musdaji is usually a woman of mature age. Her duties are those of a special messenger. Like the koolavooz and the ebi-kadin, she is a recognized official in the domestic system, though her status is lower, since she does not need to possess either the skill of the one or the tact of the other. All three have an important place in Turkish comedy. Meanwhile the boys, reposing on couches, are the objects of sympathetic attention from the ladies of the household and the numerous visitors, who load them with gifts, toys and sweets, striving to distract and enliven them by all the arts known to mothers.
On the Saturday morning the little guests are removed to their own homes, generally with presents made with an eye to relieving their parents of expense for their wardrobe for some time to come. But in the great house the festival is prolonged for two more days, rounding up the week. Poor neighbours are more especially looked after in these final entertainments, for the duty of succouring the needy, ever present to the good Moslem, is more particularly enjoined on this occasion.
Ferriman, Z. Duckett. Turkey and the Turks. James Pott & Co., 1911.
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