down the plain as sheets of ground lightning, and tremendous rolling thunder bursts deliver a vivid reminder of why the weather was often a god in ancient times. When the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers flood, from March to July, the marshes were at their greatest extent both then and now. In the 1960s and 1970s the floods were much more dangerous and the marshes would attain a depth of four to five feet fairly close to the marsh banks and much deeper in places farther away from the shore. Hot, dry summers often include a southeast wind called shamal, which pick up heat in crossing the Arabian land mass and cause high local temperatures, sometimes over 120° F during the day. When especially strong this wind generated dust storms, sometimes lasting for three or four days and nights. Such continuous, unchanging, and monotonous storms could prove psychologically trying and enervating to outsiders. Occasionally one from the south, which usually brought high humidity combined with the heat, and made human activity of any kind difficult, replaced this wind. Long summers are hard and hot. Winters are quite chilly with temperatures reaching the freezing point overnight and frost occurring fairly regularly. Winter is also the rainy season, especially from the end of December through March, with the heaviest rains in January and February.
If we waited too far into the rainy season to leave al-Hiba for Baghdad, the floodwaters often required extended boat trips to an area where we could pick up a road which was still above water. Then we traveled by taxi and on foot, carrying our luggage, making our way to a main road that was fairly clear of water and passable.
The marshes were a thing of beauty. During the fall and winter migrations they were filled with wild birds—ducks, geese, ibises, pelicans, and cranes. Other birds, such as owls, kingfishers, eagles, and quail, seemed to be permanent residents. Carp, the most common fish in the marsh, furnished ample supplies for the fishermen who caught them for food, sale, or barter.
Other inhabitants of the marshland were not quite so benevolent. Several varieties of poisonous snakes lived here, and the bites of some were said to be fatal. Equally dangerous, and even more feared, were wild pigs lurking among the reeds and attacking anything that encroaches on their worlds, even human beings. Wild boar were larger than some varieties known else-where. They could grow as tall as 1 m at the shoulder and sported formidable, razor-sharp tusks. Quite a few local inhabitants bore sizable scars; others died of their wounds. The Mi’dan, who harvest fodder for their water buffalo and reeds for their mats in the marshes, were especially vulnerable. The world shifted when a wild pig crossed the mound; silence was absolute; birds stopped singing and dogs slunk into hiding without a sound.
The marshes also had other drawbacks. They were a breeding ground for insects. Mosquitoes, in combination with fiercely biting flies, made summer difficult for both humans and beasts, and the flies maintained their vitality through October. In spring beetles appeared as large around as a silver dollar. Their purpose, apparently, was to fly noisily into midair, mate, fall down, and dig holes in which to bury their eggs. Hairy hunter spiders as large as a human hand ran back and forth all night looking for beetles to prey on. Between the beetles and the spiders, which penetrated through even the reed and mud of local houses and raced over people trying to sleep, spring was not the time of year to take a good night’s rest for granted. Freshwater snails that carried the parasites causing bilharzias also made their home in the marshes. Few people in the area were free of this disease, with which, although curable, they were often re-infected each time they stepped into the marsh or canal. Flatworms penetrated any scratch in the skin and made their way to the bladder where they multiplied, causing bleeding, weakness, and pain.
Like people everywhere, local inhabitants took their problems for granted and found them of minor consequence. Few attributed blindness, external bleeding, and serious internal problems to the flatworms that caused bilharzias. Certainly trouble caused by insects, snakes, and wild boars were unpleasant, but either home remedies or precautions mitigated them, and they need not be endured every minute. Each season was considered a relief from the vagary of the season past. Like farmers everywhere, no one here ever complained too loudly of either rain or sun.
Each season brought rewards. The shade of the palm provided easement on the hottest day, as did the dried dung fire on the hearth in times of cold. In the scenery there is great beauty. In the fall, one can gaze over the depleted marsh for miles, clear to the horizon. Sunrises and sunsets are spectacular, framed by enormous beds of reeds in the late spring and summer. When traveling in the web of narrow boat paths through the thick, tall, reed stalks all light can be completely cut off, giving one the feeling of traveling through mysterious tunnels in a lost world.
Above all, it was the marshes which made possible the way of life of the surrounding people who still made their living, as they had for generations, from the countryside. They relied heavily on their individual and collective skills and the resources of the area for most of their needs. Tribal, village, and family organizations were still fairly strong, giving a meaning and purpose to life fully shared with other members of the community.
The Beginning of the End
In 1968 the marshes had already begun to shrink largely due to private irrigation projects of important sheikhs and landowners and to natural causes. The site of Nippur, from which we have drawn so much comparative material, stood on the northern end of the marshes in the late 19th century but was several kilometers north of the marshes in 1968. Over the next 10 to 12 years new canals and dams were built by the government and older ones cleared or reinforced in order, ostensibly, to prevent the consequences of dire seasonal flooding, to recover additional agricultural land, and to increase irrigation. As Pournelle points out this under-valuation of marsh resources and the desire to convert them into agricultural enclaves had been a part of Modern Iraqi policy since colonial times, and this same attitude toward wetlands existed in many other parts of the world.* It was not until the late 1970s that we realized a part of this program of marsh draining, whether by default or design, gave the government greater access to people seeking refuge in the marshes. The local villagers had a way of communicating in code on mud drums and mud whistles to warn others of police visits. Although we were not privy to the code, we recognized the nature of the message when half our workmen grabbed their knives, clubs, guns, and cloaks and disappeared into the marshes.
In the 1980s it dawned on us that a part of this activity might be a deliberate attempt to get rid of the Mi’dan. Relations between the Mi’dan and the Beni Hasan which had previously seemed quite congenial appeared now to be somewhat strained. Occasional allusions, in passing, characterized the Mi’dan individually or collectively as dirty, lazy, venal, and not too bright. Feelings were strong enough that it appeared better to separate men of the Mi’dan from those of the Beni Hasan on work teams, and visiting officials would regularly denigrate the Mi’dan and the way they made a living. I had a vague feeling that the Mi’dan were being targeted for unfavorable propaganda. Looking back at the end of the decade, I was certain that it had been the case, but by then it was too late as the Mi’dan had completely disappeared from our area and no one seemed able to explain why.
One reads everywhere that the destruction of the marshes by the building of huge dams and the driving out of the Mi’dan occurred in the years after Desert Storm to punish the Shia who had rebelled against Saddam Hussein. But that was simply not true in our area. By the end of 1989 much of the great marsh had been drained, a modern road ran from Shatra to the excavation, which had formerly been accessible only by water, and electricity had been extended to the villages on the site. Most important, the Mi’dan had been driven from the area by changes in the environment and a barrage of propaganda alluding to their unprincipled corruption. Meanwhile there were no more Bedouin encampments. Bedouin who lived outside Iraq were no longer permitted to cross the borders, and those who lived inside were forced to settle in specific areas. The Beni Hasan alone now inhabited the area of al-Hiba. The old order was gone forever and the results of change and its process became one more focus of this study.
Looking back, I am haunted by my acceptance of the reason given for the disappearance of the Mi’dan, that
