Tomb of Akbar

In the Agra suburb of Sikandra, we visited the Tomb of Akbar, built between 1605 and 1613. Akbar actually planned his own tomb and selected a site, with his son Jahangir carrying out the construction. With equal precision as the Taj Mahal, this site is aligned with the points of the compass. Similar in plan to the Taj, there is a water channel (although much narrower) leading from the main entry gate to the actual tomb building. Like the buildings at Fatehpur Sikri and those (except the main building at the Taj), these were constructed out of red sandstone. The entrance was particularly ornate, built to imitate the Buland Darwaza at Akbar’s royal Fatehpur Sikri. Geometric designs of ochre, black, white, and terra-cotta covered its surface.

Walking up to the tomb building, my guide pointed out the triple religious elements; the square Hindu dome, below that the crosses, and the Muslim arches. While the façade wasn’t quite as decorative as the entry gate, the interior was a feast for the eye. Here there were geometric panel designs and others with gold floral ornamentation, divided with rib-like lines and containing contrasting colored backgrounds. Classic Arabic calligraphy ran horizontally in a border and along the edges of the arched windows. The false tomb was surprisingly simple, once again in a room with geometric latticed marble windows. The actual tomb is down below in a dingy room illuminated by a single lamp above and the basement opening pointing towards the entrance gate. For such a prosperous emperor, the tomb and its room were spartan and humble.

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Fatehpur Sikri - The Sacred Complex

Following the tour of the Royal Complex, we entered into the Sacred Complex, walking through the main gateway known as the Buland Darwaza (Victory Gate), as it was built to commemorate Akbar’s conquest over the Deccan in 1601. The largest gate in India and one of the highest in the world, it stands at 172 feet (53m). Similar stylistic elements such as the massive archway, stylized battlements, domed kiosks, and turrets were noted in other Mughal buildings in Agra, including the Taj Mahal complex. Lacking an entrance fee (this religious section is not under the governmental juristiction), many more people were inside this area. Many were near the white marbled building containing the tomb of Sheik Salim Chisthi, the revered Sufi mystic who predicted the birth of Akbar’s son. While not a particularly large building, the marble carving is incredibly fine and exquisite. Like the windows on the Taj Mahal, this structure has window “screens” carved from marble, letting in dappled light. In the middle room is the Sheikh’s tomb. Here pilgrims left offerings and tied strings to the interior marble screened window. If their wish came true, the person was to come back and untie the string.

Outside the marble building was a section of the courtyard containing tombs of the holy man’s family and another spot for his disciples. An elderly man sat cross-legged next to a tomb with rose petals placed on it, appearing to be in a state of contemplation or meditation.

The story of Fatehpur Sikiri according to my guide: The childless Akbar had a dream in which he was told that his desire for a child would be fulfilled if he went to the small stone village of Sikri and met a holy man there. So he walked the 40 km to Sikri and sought out Seikh Salim. Rather than answering (or barely acknowledging) him right away, the Seikh commanded Akbar to return to Agra. After the seventh time walking to Sikri, the Seikh finally asked Akbar to pray for a son from his Hindu wife. Indeed, this wife was the only one to bear a son – just as the Seikh predicted. 

For more information and a virtual tour of Fatehpur Sikri, visit http://www.tracyanddale.50megs.com/India/Rajasthan/HTML/fsikri.html#Virtual%20Tour

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Fatehpur Sikri - part three: Anup Talao, Khwabah, Maryam Makan, Jodha Bai's Palace

Walking past the religious education building, I stopped to admire the pool known as Anup Talao. It is located in front of the Khawabgah, Akbar’s private quarters. Measuring approximately 30 meters (98 feet) on each side, the square red sandstone tank is quite beautiful. In the middle is a raised platform with a short elaborate wall. At one time the tank was connected to the water system. We then entered the Khwabgah, an elegant structure. Along with his private chambers, the emperor held his secret meetings with his noble men here. One room contained exquisite relief carvings of a tropical landscape and others of ornate trees, framed by geometric designs. My guide explained that this was known as the Glass Palace, as the room once was covered with diamonds and reflective mirrors, placed in between the tracery. These were stripped by the British. We also saw Akbar’s personal sleeping chamber, a raised sandstone bed surrounded by a pillared veranda. The chamber features a unique ventilating shaft by the bed. The posts of the bed were carved with motifs of pomegranates and grapes, common Islamic symbols.

We then toured the Maryam Makan house (for Akbar’s Christian wife). I found it interesting that here too were symbols of all three religions. Either Akbar’s wives were quite tolerant/open-minded, or they had no say in the matter of how their homes were decorated! Our final structure to visit in the Royal Complex was the Jodha Bai’s Palace, a nearly self-contained harem complex. My guide explained that Akbar’s Hindu wife also lived here. The courtyard of the Jodha Bai was particularly large. On the right side of the complex were buildings used during the summer (getting a breeze from the river), while the left side buildings were used during the winter.

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Fatehpur Sikri - part two: Diwan-I-Khas, Ankh Michauli, Panch Mahal

One of the first buildings we visited was the Diwan-I-Khas, meaning “hall of private audiences.” The building’s floor and walls, along with the courtyard was once carpeted. In the center of the building was a massive pillar with a central platform and attached diagonal galleries. My guide explained that Akbar used to sit on the central chamber while the four galleries were for his ministers. Other theories have also been proposed, thinking that it wouldn’t be possible to house the entire Parliament in such as small structure. Characteristic of other buildings in Fatehpur Sikri, the Diwan-i-Khas contained symbols of all three religions.

Next to the Diwin-I-Khas was the treasury building, known as Ankh Michauli. Located in the interior walls of the building were deep recesses and secret coffers. At the bottom of the building’s molded struts were the heads of a truncated monster, which, according to Hindu legends, serves as guardians of treasures. Next to the building was a small kiosk. An inverted “V” shape connected the columns on each side. Having seeing this symbolism before, I enquired about its meaning. My guide explained that it contained the body of a crocodile and the head of an elephant – a very auspicious symbol. On the column I spotted the royal Muslim symbol as well as Christian crosses near the bottom – something my guide never noticed before.

Still within the administrative area of the complex is the royal pavilion known as Panch Mahal. This five-storey pavilion was once covered with lattice screens, enabling ladies of the harem to have a great view of goings-on below without being seen. The height of the structure also provided a cooling breeze from the nearby river. The top level might have been for the king. In the stone courtyard by the Panch Mahal was a massive Parcheesi board. According to my guide, the many women of the harem (as many as 5,000) were used as playing pieces.

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Fatehpur Sikri - part one

My next main destination was Fatehpur Sikri, the abandoned capital city built by the Mughul emperor Akbar. The son of Humayan (of whose tomb I saw this past spring in Delhi), Akbar ruled the empire during one of its greatest periods. The Mughul capital for 14 years, Fatehpur Sikri was built in 1571 and completed in 1585. The site was chosen in honor of the Sufi saint Salim Chishti, who predicted the birth of Akbar’s son. Built mostly of red sandstone, the complex displays the translation of the emperor’s visionary philosophy, one that sought to recognize and unite the religions of Christianity, Hinduism, and Islam. In fact, Akbar was married to three women – one from each of these religions; a local Hindu, Portuguese Christian, and a Muslim from Turkey. Fatehpur Sikri wasn’t the capital city for long – probably only 14 years. It likely was abandoned due to lack of water, a particular problem in this arid region. Much of its treasures were plundered after Akbar left. Ironically, the same arid conditions that influenced the abandonment of the city also helped preserve the structures.

The 40 km (25 mile) drive from Agra was pleasant, due in part to the maintained toll road. Typical of India, cows ambled on and alongside the road. Sheep and goat herds roamed the landscape. Patties of cowpies were drying next to the road. Other cowpies were mounded up in tall beehive shapes, ready to be used for fuel. Large fields of mustard filled the landscape, its yellow flowers indicating readiness for its harvest of oil. Other fields contained potatoes and barley. Absent were rice paddies that dominate South India’s countryside, as this area doesn’t receive enough rain for such a water-intensive crop. Horses and a few camels pulled carriages and carts in this rural area.

A pleasant early morning, the guide and I decided to forego the exorbitant auto rickshaw price quotes and instead walk from the parking lot to the enormous complex. Remnants of walls and buildings in the same red sandstone could be found dotting the area. We then entered the main gate and into the Royal Complex. This portion contained private palaces and the administrative offices of Akbar’s government. Grassy porticoes surrounded a grassy area augmented with manicured bushes and flowerbeds. Here too fog enshrouded the buildings, reducing contrast and making photography a bit more challenging.

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More info on the Taj Mahal

I had a knowledgeable guide to accompany me for the day. This is what he told me about the Taj Mahal:

Mumtaz Mahal was near the end of her pregnancy when her husband asked her to accompany him in Buran-Pur, located about 900 km north of Agra. Although it was cooler up in Buran-Pur, Mumtaz originally declined the request even though it was cooler, concerned about traveling so late in her pregnancy. Upon Shah Jahan’s insistence, she relented and began the journey. While en route, she developed complications and delivered prematurely. Recognizing her grave state, Shah Jahan was immediately summoned. Grief-stricken and likely feeling guilty for convincing her to travel, Jahan expressed feelings of suicide. The 39-yr old Mumtaz told him not to kill himself, but instead asked him to promise her a few things. He was not to remarry. Jahan was also to erect a building of lasting love. Six months later, the architect was chosen, his design rendered with a brush and blood. Built to resemble the Islamic garden of paradise, the complex cost nearly 41 million rupees and 500 kg (1,102 lb) of gold. The Taj Mahal is 243 feet (74 m) high in the front and 253 feet (77 m) high in the back, behind which the Yumana River flows. The 144 ft (44 m) high double dome is capped with a Muslim finial symbol. On each corner of the Taj Mahal’s courtyard is a minaret, accentuating the perfect symmetry of the complex. Each is 131 feet (40 m) high and crowned by an open octagonal pavilion. My guide told me that the pillars actually were designed to lean outward slightly to ensure they would not topple onto the main building if they fell.

On the other side of the Yumana River were the foundations of the Black Taj building, intended by Shah Jahan to be his resting place. One of Jahan’s sons had that project stopped, saying that it would be way too expensive and would draw unnecessary, exorbitant costs from the emperor’s subjects. This son had Jahan placed under house arrest and into a tower of the Agra Fort, where he died at age 76 of old age.

For a virtual tour of the Taj Mahal, visit http://www.tracyanddale.50megs.com/India/Rajasthan/HTML/tajmahal.html

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Taj Mahal, Agra

Like most travelers who overnighted it in Agra, I awoke early to arrive at the entrance gate of the Taj Mahal for opening time. My hotel was right by the East entrance gate, so I could just amble on over. After paying the high non-Indian price 750 rupees ($16) for a ticket, I walked through the Darwaza – the main gateway. Beyond the well-maintained garden divided into quadrants and straight pool-like canals lay the most famous building in the world – the Taj Mahal. Built by the Mughal emperor Shah Jahan in memory of his favorite wife who died trying to deliver their 14th child, this building is a mausoleum on a grand scale. It was built between 1631 and 1653 with the help of over 20,000 laborers.

Taj Mahal
On an early winter morning, the grounds were enshrouded with fog, adding to the feeling of tranquility – an almost dream-like state. Walking past the canals and lotus reflection pool, I was now at the entry of the white marble building. I followed the beautiful Arabic calligraphy framing the outer portion of the front entrance. Created from inlaid black onyx, the calligraphy is actually slightly larger as it goes upwards, counteracting the natural change in size with perspective and further emphasizing its perfection. Around the slightly pointed arch were organic designs comprised mainly of curvilinear vines and flowers made out of semi-precious stones. Symbols of the divine realm, flowers such as tulips, lilies, irises, poppies, and narcissuses are depicted on the Taj.

Photography forbidden inside, I had to be content with simply observing the tomb chamber. Light from windows illuminated the interior. In the center was Mumtaz Mahal’s cenotaph, raised on a platform. To the left was Shah Jahan’s cenotaph. I found the asymmetry of this rather odd, not fitting with the rest of the symmetrical balance. Actually, these are replicas. The originals are thought to be buried below ground. Surrounding the royal tombs was a marble filigree screen, carved from a single block of marble. Light filtered through the perforated screen cast mosaic-ike shadows on the tombs. Floral designs embellished the lower part of the building’s interior. Placing a pen flashlight up to a flower, its 64 pieces of translucent carnelian appeared to almost glow. From the large main room were smaller rooms – viewing areas for ladies. The women could walk through the deep openings and peer at the tombs through the rectangular window. Dappled light from the hexagonal latticed outer windows illuminated the floral designs, relief carvings framed by floral borders with semi-precious stones such as onyx, jade, lapis lazuli, turquoise, malachite, and carnelian. Four octagonal corner rooms of excellent acoustics were once used by the mullahs to chant the Koran and for musicians who played soft Indian and Persian songs.

To the right of the Taj Mahal building near the walls of the complex was a guesthouse, its red sandstone exterior and surface treatment identical to the mosque – the Jami Masjid on the opposite side. In front of the mosque was an ablutions pool. Because this is still a functioning mosque, the Taj Mahal is closed every Friday. The guesthouse was constructed to complete the symmetrical balance of the mosque. Above the main entrance of these buildings was a large white onion dome, balanced on each side with a smaller dome. Floral flourishes graced the pointed archways here as well. Standing in the doorway of the guesthouse, I had an excellent silhouetted framed view of the Taj Mahal.

Walking back to the entrance, the guide pointed out the two rows of 11 domes flanking the top of the Darwaza building. These represent the 22 years it took for the completion of the Taj Mahal.

More to come tomorrow. To see more photos of the Taj Mahal, visit my Flickr Page

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Charminar, Hyderabad

The next morning, having showered (shared a bathroom with pigeons) and eaten at the hospital’s canteen, I took a public bus down to Charminar, located in the heart of Hyderabad’s old city. My first destination was the building of Charminar, a triumphal arch now Hyderabad’s city symbol. It was built in 1591 to commemorate the elimination of the plague in Hyderabad. As its name suggests, Charminar has four minarets, each 56 m (184 ft) high. There was a mosque on the roof, but it is no longer being used. The surface of the structure is slightly yellow in color, having gotten its color from a special stucco made from marble powder, gram, and egg yolk. Massive arches occupy most of the bottom area, each about 11 m (36 feet) high. Above the arch on each side is a clock, installed in 1889. Looking through the arches, I could see free-standing arch structures a short distance up each of the four streets. I tried to imagine what the streets going through these arches must have looked like hundreds of years ago, once being royal streets. Perhaps some of the same items were being sold, transactions occurring much like today. The area back then was likely still a gathering place.

Ascending the winding, narrow stairs up the tower, I had great views of the streets that passed through it. On one side, hordes of autorickshaws clustered together. The Mecca Masjid was within easy sight, with pigeons regularly ascending and descending onto the structure and its pool. Off other sides, I could see bazaars, streets specializing in pearls, and another with produce. Looking through the small arches of the structure afforded different views. Light streamed in from the large arches below, illuminating the pigeons that had gathered along the ledges of the opening. A few pigeons rested on top of the head of a relief dragon-like creature carved along with some Arabic writing. On the round ceiling above, a circular relief design echoed the graceful, ornamental look of the structure.
Next I walked down Lad Bazaar, one of the oldest streets in Hyderabad. It is the place to go if preparing for a Hyderabad marriage. Here you can find jewelry, spices, clothes, copper kettles, trimming for wedding dresses, and more. At 10 am, things were pretty quiet yet, many stores not yet open. Walking farther, I reached Mahboob Chowk, a market square featuring a mosque and Victorian clocktower. I continued to wander through the streets, watching Muslim men making lac bangles (including very sparkly ones that took 1-2 days and were made for weddings), a man making kites, stores selling burquas, pearl shops, dental booths promoting creation of dentures, and stores selling gorgeous saris.

While walking towards the bus station, a man on a tricycle pulling an empty flat cart approached me and asked if I could take his photo. So thankful, he insisted that I ride on his cart to the bus station. Riding on the cart afforded me a unique view of the now-bustling market streets. People waved to me and said hi as they passed by on their motorcycles and bikes. Out of the back of a crammed autorickshaw popped the heads of several women in burquas, also sharing their greetings. One Muslim woman on the back of a motorcycle pulled out her cell phone and began recording the scene.

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Golconda Fort, Hyderabad

Although the light was fading, we went to our final destination, the Golconda Fort. Located about 11 km (6 miles) west of Hyderabad, it took a while to get through the traffic to reach the fort. Once the capital of the seven Qutb Shahhi kings who ruled from 1518 through the end of the 16^th century before the court moved to Hyderabad, Golconda is quite large. We had a short time to explore the complex, so I decided to head up to the top, up its many stairs. The guidebook stated that the fort is one of the best-preserved forts in India, but I couldn’t really see this from the part I visited. You could still see portions of the wall, once 18 m (60 ft) high. On the way up we passed a Hindu temple that had a painting on a rock of the goddess Kalli. We also passed by some rainwater collection pools (now dilapidated and/or full of garbage), the mosque of Ibrahim Qutb Shah, and the three-storey Durbar Hall located on the top. From here I had a great view of Hyderabad and the setting sun. The walls of the building were scrawled with people’s names. Several people asked if they could take a family picture with me in it. Now I was the celebrity…

That evening the two eye doctors and I visited a pretty Hindu temple located high on a hill. To get up there, we ascended steps which were bordered on both sides by booths selling religious items, cheap Chinese trinkets, bangles, pearls, and more. Like all Hindu temples, we had to remove our shoes. Here we also had to turn in our cell phones, cameras, and other items. Ascending marble stairs, we joined the queue snaking around the temple. This temple seemed to be a mixture of Hindu temples found in various states; a gopuram seen in Tamil Nadu, a more plain Andhra style, A bit of Jain elements, and still another similar to what I saw in Orissa.

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Happy New Year from Chennai, India!

Have a wonderful New Year - 2010!

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Sudha Car Museum - That's Some Car!

We then visited the Sudha Car Museum, which prided itself on its eclectic handmade vehicles, including the world’s largest tricycle. A worker from the museum (the first and only handmade wacky car museum in the world) gave us a short tour, explaining what some of the vehicles were – all labors of creative dedication by K Sudhakar. Within the sheds, one could see dune buggies, modified cards, and really wacky vehicles such as a cup & saucer car, computer car, one in the shape of a bed, soccer ball, camera, lotus pond – and even a condom!

Our next destination was the Nehru Zoo Park. Too bad it wasn’t Monday (when it is closed). Thankfully it was only a 20 rupee entrance fee. The grounds were mainly picnic spots for locals. The color black was the dominant clothing color, worn by most Muslim women in the form of burquas. Despite the sign prohibiting plastic, picnic-goers carried much of their items in plastic. Bags tumbled about in the light breeze. We all took a rickety zoo train that chugged along and toured some of the zoo. Not many animals were to be seen though.

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Barn Chores (Color Pencil)

At first light I rise and put on my woolen socks, and shajkaca hat, stretch rubber goulashes over my shoes, and then head out to the barn. I have two cows there, but only one is currently milking. With my wide, strong hands, I expertly pull the cow’s teats, extracting enough milk for the day. After a hearty breakfast and cup of strong Turkish coffee, I head back out to the barn and begin my chores. First I scrape the old straw and manure away. Then I use a pitchfork to spread fresh bedding for my cows. The aroma of fresh straw mingles with that of the cows, a comforting, familiar scent to me in this place where I feel I belong.

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Hauling Hay (Pastel)

It’s hay season again and time to gather what my brother and I cut yesterday with a sickle. I’m grateful that my brother could help me, as my lame knee makes it painful to bend in the swooping motions needed for efficient cutting. Today I’m all alone on this slightly marshy piece of land. I use my cane to walk over to a patch of dray hay and stab the cane into the soft ground. Then I use the pitchfork to sift and gather the hay together until I have a large enough load. Hobbling over to reach my cane, the load now feels more secure on my shoulder as I slowly make my way over to the small, mounded stack. It’s tough work for an old man, but I love being outdoors. Besides, it’s the only way of life I know.

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Hyderabad City Tour - Nizam's Museum, Salarjung Museum, Chow Mohalla

Boarding a green bus that looked like a caterpillar (along with antennas), we began our city tour. As usual, I was the only non-Indian. One of the first places we visited was Nizam’s Museum, a sprawling 19th century Neo-Classical complex of buildings once the main residence of the 6th Nizam (ruler). The exterior of the buildings were in need of restoration. Herded to the far end of the main building, we then went inside where we saw the Nizam’s gigantic wooden wardrobe – a 73 square meter (786 sq feet) room with two levels of closets and a mechanical elevator. In addition to the large wardrobe collection, silver objects (many of buildings and maps given to the Nizam for the silver jubilee), china, and photos were displayed.

We also toured the Salarjung Museum, which contained an eclectic collection of over 40,000 objects once belonging to Hyderabad’s Prime Minister (1899-1949). Some of the items were quite beautiful (and likely expensive), while other items bordered on being kitsch. In a large open room, people sat in rows of seats, waiting for a clock to chime the hour and display its animation. I particularly liked some of the marble sculptures (European), Indian bronze sculptures, and miniature paintings such as those I saw in Udaipur. Once again we were not given enough time to truly see and appreciate the massive collection.

Moving onward, we visited the Chow Mohalla Palace. Designed in a mixture of Mogul and European style, the palace was built in several phases between 1750 and 1869. A beautiful garden surrounds the complex. In one section, a large pool reflects the classical style yellow building. Fountains spout in other areas. The Durbar Hall was particularly beautiful, with its huge glass chandeliers imported from Belgium, tall ceiling, white marble floors, columns, and walls also containing white and golden marble, topped with decorative flourishes. The Chow Mohalla Palace gives people an idea of the opulence once enjoyed by the Nizams.

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Hyderabad - Arrival

This is the first of several postings pertaining to my short trip to Hyderabad and on to Agra.

After a pleasant overnight train, I arrived in Andhra Pradesh's capital city of  a bit ahead of schedule. While waiting for a doctor friend (whom I met while traveling in Vizag) to arrive, I took in the scenes before me. Probably around 70°F (21°C), many of the locals were dressed for winter. Many had on the striped caps I so enjoyed seeing in Chennai. Others had on stocking caps. Earmuffs were also very common. Babies were snuggled in fleece sleepers. Some women had on winter jackets over their saris. As in any public place, autorickshaw drivers flooded the area, descending upon people as they stepped out of the train or past the exit. Taking an uncrowded local bus (which was much nicer than most I’ve ridden in Chennai), we arrived at the grounds of the public eye hospital my friend worked at. I was to stay in the guesthouse there. After washing up, we headed out to get some south Indian breakfast, accompanied by a doctor from Orissa who was there for training. We signed up for a local tour of Hyderabad, which would take the latter part of the morning and to the evening.

Hyderabad’s nearly equal proportion of Muslim and Hindu residents was immediately apparent – so very different than Chennai. Mosques, far from being rarities tucked in a few places as in Chennai, dominated the skyline. A large number of women wore burquas and hijabs. Saris were also present, but not nearly as prevalent. White caps of Muslims were perhaps even more noticed than the forehead markings of Hindus. Signs were often marked in Telegu (local language of Andhra Pradesh), Arabic, Hindu, and English. In Chennai, one would typically see Tamil and English.

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Violin Player, Subotica (Watercolor)

I have been a street performer since I was a little boy, accompanied by my father on the accordion. Now that I am an old man and on a meager pension, I once again find myself needing to play my violin on the street, hoping for some dinars so I can buy enough hleb, cheese and sausage for a meal. My favorite spot to play is next to the café on the pedestrian street. Whether it’s locals or visitors who come see this picturesque town with Hungarian-style Art Nouveau architecture, people here just seem to have more time to sit down and savor the moment. I like playing the slow, melodic songs that my father taught me, but the crowds seem to prefer the fast-moving Hungarian tunes better. Well, at least that’s what their coins tell me.

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Gypsy Dancer (Color Pencil)

Serbians love to dance. We Roma like to dance as well. While their dances tend to be more constrained, circular dances, our Roma dances are wild by comparison. I love swishing my colorful skirt back and forth, then working up into a twirl so strong that my skirt hem rises nearly to my waist. At such moments I am lost to the world, immersed in a feeling of eternal bliss. Dancing makes me forget all the hardships and discriminations we as Roma face on a daily basis. In addition to our brass bands and this dancing, we have our own language and culture, which we staunchly seek to preserve. Recently I was asked to perform as part of the Serbian dance group Kolo. Some members of my Roma community under the Gazelle Bridge didn’t want me to join, but I see it as an opportunity to show those Serbs and others that our dance and culture is just as beautiful. Perhaps then when Serbs see our cardboard homes with plastic tarp roofs, they will see beyond our economic poverty and look at us as a real, vibrant people.

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Elderly Farmer, Aranđelovac (Watercolor)

It’s been a long spring, made lonely by the passing of my beloved wife this past January. If only I had had enough money to buy her the needed medicine for her pneumonia, she probably would be here with me now. She made the best kaymak, which I loved to place on freshly baked bread. Now I am alone on this farm with my animals, a few chickens, three pigs, and two cows. My daughter tries to visit me when she can, but I usually have to be satisfied with her phone calls. She always brings some food I can warm up in the oven and remarks at how thin I’ve gotten since Mamma died. Indeed, as I look down at my hands, made wide from years of hard physical work, I see how thin the skin has become. I will need to gather strength in order to harvest the hay.
Today I had some visitors. Why God had blessed me with visitors today, I’m not quite sure. After showing them my barn and summer kitchen, we entered my house. I felt so ashamed that I didn’t even have some rakiya to offer these guests to drink. They just repeated that they wanted to hear about my farm and me. I showed them photos of my wedding, a picture of me as a young boy, and my parents as well. After I explained that the certificate on the wall was for my service as a chetnik fighter in WWII, they insisted that I stand next to it and be photographed. Before they left, one of the American visitors gave me a strange blue cap and insisted that I try it on. It was much too big and not nearly as comfortable as my trusty old shajkaca. Once again, tears streamed down my eyes. I wished I had something to give these kind visitors. Now they too are gone, exploring more of rural Serbia. I hope my daughter calls tonight, for I can’t wait to tell her about my American guests.

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Sifting the Olives (Color Pencil)

Our whole family helps out with the olive harvest. While the older boys manage the nets, it is up to the women to separate the olives from the leaves, place the sorted olives in large baskets, and haul them to our donkey-pulled cart. To make the tedious work of sorting go by more quickly, we sing songs. Soon we have enough olives to fill a woven basket. I grab one handle and my older sister grabs the other one. Even as adults, this task is heavy and difficult. My daughters are getting very good at sifting through these valuable fruits, their deft fingers and keen eyes a huge asset.

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Pulling the Olive Net (Color Pencil)

It is now April and we are at the end of our harvesting season. I have been shaking the olives from these trees in the same manner as my forefathers did. It is so rewarding to see these black pearls fall into the net, weighing it down so much that several men in my family must help pull the net. Our ancient trees have once again yielded much, thanks to the blessings of Allah.

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Around the Corner, Kairouan (Watercolor)

I have spent all my life within the walls of this most holy of cities, Kairouan. Muslims from all over Tunisia come to my city to worship Allah in our magnificent Grand Mosque. I am an imam at a smaller mosque and seek to train our young boys in the ways of Allah and Mohammed his Prophet. Even here in Kairouan, despite the Call to Prayer heard in every quarter (neighborhood), some of the younger generations are choosing to adopt materialistic, Western ways and move away from the wisdom contained in the Koran. It doesn’t help that there are so many tourists fanning throughout our city, flaunting their fancy cameras and revealing a great deal of skin and hair. Inch’allah, the boys under my care will heed my words. Ah, the Call to Prayer beckons me. It is time to head over to the mosque.

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Tea Time (Watercolor)

The Medina of Tunis is my favorite part of the city. Here I can wander through the narrow maze-like streets, shop for a new chechia from the same store in the souk that my father patronized for this traditional woolen cap, and go to Friday prayers at the Grand Mosque. No trip to the medina is complete without stopping by a small café to enjoy some sweet mint tea with pine nuts. After several glasses of tea for all of us men, we then bring out the shisha pipe, inhaling the apple-flavored tobacco as we puff and blow to make the bubbles appear. After a round or two of cards, I have one more glass of tea and then head home.

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Dogon Bandana Woman (Oil)

Life has changed much here in my Dogon village in the last two decades. Now, paved roads enable tourists in their large vehicles to reach many parts of our area. While I know that these toubobs bring in much needed money to our poor villages, I also see how it has changed our own people, particularly the young generation. Women used to pride themselves on the large strings of cowry shells or trade beads handed down from their ancestors that they wore. Now I’ve even seen some wearing dresses made from Senegalese cloth. As for me, I’m sticking with my homespun indigo-dyed cotton.

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Merry CHRISTmas from Melissa

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Beaded Dogon Woman (Oil)

I love this time of year! It’s cooler, the harvest is in, and there are plenty of opportunities for celebration. For our women’s dance today, I decided to wear all the jewelry I have – the European beads brought down through the Sahara Trade Route, bronze ones made here in Mali, and a strand of shiny plastic ones my husband bought when he went to the capital. All the women of our village gathered together, moving around in a circle as we sang call & responses, blew plastic whistles, and trilled our tongues. Indeed, the period after the rainy season is my favorite time of year. There is much joy, song, and laughter!

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Melissa's photos of Agra

This past week I visited Agra, home to India's most famous landmark - the Taj Mahal. On my Flickr page you will find some photos of the Taj Mahal, Sikandra, the Agra Fort, Jami Masjid, artisans, and the people of Agra. Writings about my trip are still to come...
http://www.flickr.com/photos/melissaenderle/sets/72157623028832542/

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Sigi Nogo (Pastel)

Early in the morning before the sun gets too intense, I go with my mamma to the Niger River to get some water for cooking and cleaning. I can now balance a bucket on my head, but it’s not nearly as big as mamma’s. I also help mamma go shopping in the Badalabougou West marché and pound millet for our evening meal. I need to get better at all the chores mamma does, as soon she will have another baby. Then I will have to carry my little brother Amadou on my back, just like mamma does now. Sometimes I get a little sad when I see my older brother Boubacar go with his friends to play football in the empty lot while I have to stay and work.

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Fulani Cattle Herders by the Niger River (Color Pencil)

This year I got to go with my dad and uncles to cross our cattle to the other side of the Niger River. Those cows sure complain when they are forced to go in the water, but it’s never all that deep so they really don’t have to learn to swim. The calves don’t do so well in the water, so we put them in our pirogue and then poll our way across the river until we reach the other side. Then the cows start munching on the grasses there. It’s an exciting time for boys of Diafarabé, as their cattle are judged to see whose are the fattest and healthiest. I hope my cousin wins this year!

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Blank greeting cards can be purchased at Zazzle

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