X’qala l-bahar: Spatial and Temporal (dis)continuities

Back during my grumpy university years, when my greatest concern in life was to read and digest the increasing and piling number of anthropology articles before they would swamp me, leaving me a tangle of broken nerves, I tried my hand at studying Arabic… and the greatest pleasure that came out of exploring such a language was the access to a world of art, music and ideas that such an enterprise opened up. 

It was with some pleasure, therefore, that I read and encountered David Zammit’s post on Fairouz – whose music during those university years was quite like Odysseus’ siren call. Quite like Odysseus’ sailors, my university articles sometimes held me in check and firmly tied to my boat, but more often they failed. 

When then I saw that such a post on Fairouz was published in a blog that celebrates Mediterranean flows (something I am completely engaged with in my current doctoral studies), I could not resist not writing down a couple of lines myself. 

Back during the day, I was indeed told (much to my shock) that the reason why I really liked Fairouz above all other Arab singers was that she indeed did not sound Arabic at all. I recall my Arabic teacher, an expert in all things Arabic, arguing how the instruments, the melody, the cadence pre-dated Arabic musical styles and paradigms. Fairouz, he told me, sounded quite…Mediterranean.  This is especially true of one of her most iconic songs: “Aatini an-nay wa ghanni” – give me the flute, and sing. 

I could drone on endlessly on these lyrics...but there's another point to be made:

Fairouz was also singing during a special time in the history of the Southern and Eastern coasts of the Mediterranean. Music, it has been noted, tends to echo developments occurring in other aspects of the social-political ecology in which they are embedded.  This songs marks and highlights the then contemporary trend in the greatly flowering and developing Arabic societies of the 60s and 70s to re-discover, re-interpret and re-sing old Islamic poetry and verse. This particular song, in effect, was written by Khalil Gibran, who in turn was very heavily influenced by Sufi traditions and philosophy. 

And there we go… "ara x’qala l-bahar" indeed, for Fairuz’s voice and verse highlights our very local expression that points to surprise at unexpected encounters! On the one hand, here we have a song which through various ways, ended up on our Maltese shores (we perhaps should not be surprised at this point that the internet is often surfed or navigated…the age of sea knowledge might be gone, but not lost!). On the other, we have a pleasant surprise at a face encountered in a long time. It warrants a tap on the back, a shaking of hands and a hearty: "Ara x’qala l-bahar!"

And there you have the Mediterranean in a nutshell – a zone of intense communication and mobility through space and time with the sea as its central actor and metaphor. 

Il-Malti fih x’tomghod. 

Brian Campbell