The Waterwheel (3)
The flash of lightning and thunder is followed by rain; the bright rain descends to revive the earth after its death.
This bright rain I dedicate to you, son of the farmer, the one who plants the field at dawn. May your life remain green through the years. Truly, you are in the body of flowers, a philosopher and thinker; master of the humble sickle, you are master of the people, and from your farming the poor receive a grain of wheat.
With pride, we are the children of these hardworking people. Our good homeland, if one may put it that way, required us to be born and raised within it and alongside exile. In the Sudan geography curriculum, each province was studied in primary school. At that time Sudan had nine provinces spread across east, west, north, and south. A friend from among the local elders, someone with full knowledge of the region, was appointed to introduce visitors to every feature, strength, and weakness of life there.
Our first third-grade lesson was a visit to Al-Qolid. Our local friend, Siddig Mohammed Ahmed, may he rest in peace, welcomed us when we arrived. The visit was local and educational, not a long journey. In Al-Qolid I met a wonderful friend, a generous and cooperative man who moved like a bee among the privately owned waterwheels and the family waterwheels.
He explained that Al-Qolid was a living example of the Northern Province. People depended on simple farming with waterwheels along the Nile, like a necklace on the forehead of a beautiful woman. Their capacity to bring water to land farther from the river was limited because advanced pumping machines did not exist, and the cultivated land was not enough for a family’s needs.
For this reason, people in the north had long travelled abroad to secure a livelihood, even before we understood exile in its full meaning. During primary school, exile took root inside us because it found fertile ground in the bodies of young shoots. In short, our visit to Al-Qolid taught us that the north’s main wealth was work abroad, alongside a little farming along the Nile.
We walked the road written for us; whoever is destined to walk a difficult path must walk it. This experience, which wounded and nourished the veins of our ancestors, still flows through our own veins today. We enjoyed the visit to Al-Qolid, said goodbye to our friend as he repeated his famous song while sitting on the takam with a handful of dates in his pocket to silence the birds of his stomach. The lines of the harsh summer heat on his forehead told the whole story of rural life.
How often I ate kabida with him, and how often I heard awri and al-wada. We ate kabida while the geography teacher did not know what kabida stew was made from: yoghurt, dry okra, awri sauce, tarkeej, or hafi, also called motee, which was the most common. From the beginning of history, the son of the north has overcome circumstances and refused to surrender to time.
The difficulty, harshness, and weight of life forced the people of this remarkable, faithful country—through the way they were formed and the way their geography was formed—to invent something that could meet life’s needs. The shadouf was a machine made of four pieces of wood, a large stone, a rope, and a bucket for drawing water.
The shadouf was assembled as follows: two pieces of wood stood vertically; a third lay horizontally and connected them; the fourth was long and strong, with its middle tied to the horizontal piece. The bucket hung from one end, while the stone and pulling rope hung from the other. The farmer stood at the rope, pulling the weight and bucket, and in this way lifted water from the source to the basin.
The machine had limited capacity and required great strength from the worker. Even with that effort and exhaustion, its output was enough for little more than one person. For that reason the shadouf did not spread widely; it could not meet its owner’s ambitions. Yet the poets did not fail to honour it: ‘O shadouf, turn and rise; my field is asking for water.’
Despite the hardship and intensity of earning a living, the life of the northern son was entirely different. Simple rural life was difficult to sustain. Even as children, we moved from herding sheep to sitting on the takam beside the waterwheel to help our fathers.
The waterwheel was the second invention, the healing alternative to the shadouf. Since we are describing its construction, assembly, and working principles, we will divide it according to its structure and according to what each section needs.
The waterwheel also influenced farmers to keep their sons from school, because it became the alternative—as God allowed. It was the second invention after the shadouf, or more precisely its replacement. To explain it fully, we divide it from outside to inside into three parts.
The first, outer part includes the large ring, argadea; sorgadea; the inner argadea, which holds the lubricant; modoo; deew; the outer balance rope, shan alee; mish; kadees; and the outer part of the water channel.
It also includes watad al-tatee, the time-setting peg; edlangi; missar; iloss; tokomm, the driver’s seat; tokminalee, the seat weave; kofree; alfaradatt; teen msjj, the cow’s eye; torea; gormeendea; neesheendeal; and toobar, the waterwheel balance.
The second, middle part includes the small argadea; the small ring; kajj; moshogg; daloo, the bucket; awon aman alee, the inner balance rope; komea; goor; and the inner part of the water channel.
The third, inner part includes the waterwheel legs; asgagg; the longitudinal rails; dogotee; sablu; sabloo kagir, the sablu holder; orowa, with two ends; daloo; jarstel; wagir; tarantarea; kaloo; alass; fashea; osormoon; wsgir; glkag; komea habser; maiydd; maddra; farginjalow; and sman ossar, the first strike.
A new line: I am awratee; I drive the waterwheel to tatee; I tend the cattle in krkotee; and my dinner and lunch are kabden bishikatee.
In the next episode, we will explain how the parts are made and assembled so the waterwheel can turn. I hope God helps me complete the project.