fervent anti-materialist and critic of Sultan Abdülhamid II,
who exiled him to Fizan in southwest Libya in 1901. In
a 1910 article in an Istanbul newspaper, Ahmed Hilmi
recounted the scene of his fifth 'bayram' (religious
holiday) in Fizan in 1906.
Together with him in Fizan at that time was another exile
named Sami Çölgeçen, who would make a daring escape
from Fizan across the Sahara Desert to the Gulf of Guinea
and from there to Liverpool and Istanbul in 1908.
Sami Bey Escapes click here for TNT's condensed version
of his flight across the Sahara Desert from Fizan in 1908.
The full version is available on the 'Academia' website.//
Şehbenderzade Filibeli Ahmed Hilmi
'Bayram' in Fizan
(from my memoirs)
My maid Ayşe had finished the "costume" she'd been sewing for me
for the past 15 days. There were still a few days until the 'bayram'
(religious holiday) so my new outfit was being shown off to the local
women and children who came to my house to visit. My 'fez' (Ottoman
hat) was like an oily kitchen rag so Ayşe washed it and made it into
something resembling a red conical magician's cap.
The 'bayram' finally came and I put on the costume made of 'American
cloth' (coarse calico) that Ayşe, a native of the Sahara Desert, had
made for me. I also donned my fez and, after spreading black ink on
the rough spots of my comfortable shoes, put them on, as well. With
my blue handkerchief, made of 13 inches of cloth, and my tobacco
box, made from a sardine can, in my pocket, I took a look at myself
in a broken piece of a mirror and burst out laughing.
The good-hearted Ayşe misunderstood my mirth, thinking I was a bit
too pleased with myself. In any event, I left the house and awaiting
me was a group of rag-tag children eager to see my costume.
From home I went to the "Kasır" government house and ran into Sami
Bey, a navy man and one of my fellow exiles. This time I issued an
even longer burst of laughter because Sami Bey was wearing a
sleeveless black 'Tunus' shirt with red stripes and shoes made of yellow
Moroccan leather. On his head, he wore a Bursa 'arakıye' (conical felt
hat).
Sami Bey's book "How I Crossed the Great Sahara Desert"
Since Sami Bey hadn't cut his hair or his beard since his days in
Taşkışla Prison (in Istanbul), this outfit, together with his faded red
beard and hair, made him look like a Nalut (in NW Libya) 'haham'
(rabbi). I ribbed him about his look and he countered by telling me
I would get more laughs from my slave-like appearance.
The entire populace was gathered in front of the government house
and they all looked ragged and downhearted. A few more of my
fellow exiles came to my side. Those without children tried to
console the moaning, homesick fellows with their families, longing
for 'bayrams' past. This was our fifth calamitous, miserable 'bayram' in
Fizan and there is no consolation for pains and torture such as this.
Since our hearts were filled with despair anyway, standing in front
of that place (government house), which represented our misery in full
horror, only exacerbated our indescribable gloom about our homeland's
hopeless situation. We all sunk into deep despair, seeing and hearing
nothing until the sound of 400 marching troops brought us to our senses.
This was the "Arab Battalion", made up mostly of officers posted from
Istanbul, marching in their clean, new summer uniforms that had just
come from Tripoli.
The sight of soldiers and officers passing by in their handsome
uniforms contrasted starkly with the bedraggled populace watching
them. Nevertheless, we exiles were enlivened by the passing troops
and one of our number was moved to say "only soldiers have order
and zeal but the soldiers are working for the despot (Abdulhamid II)!
The poor nation!"
Another chimed in "those with order and zeal, honor and dignity
cannot be servants of tyrannical injustice! This nation will yet be
saved by the soldiers!" Someone said "such a strange thing has never
been seen in Europe." to which another countered "yes, but isn't the
East the place for strange things?"
Somehow we were all gripped by a strange hope and excitement.
Yet the marching troops dampened the mood with cries of "Long Live
the Sultan!"
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