“Après Moi le Deluge” or
“The Flood”
We were busy studying the
mandatory five-paragraph 'cause and effect' essay in class at Gulf University
for Science & Technology in Kuwait when one of my students, Yousef Ibrahim,
had written on the board about the effects of an earthquake.
One of the reasons
he gave was—“the flood.”
As Yousef Ibrahim waltzed
back to his seat, I muttered something at him that there was only one—“the
Flood”.
He looked quizzically at me
as if I were half-mad.
To be fair, many friends and family had wondered the same thing and why I was working at a
new university in Kuwait, but that was another matter.
This writing of “the flood’
had also caught the attention of another student who blurted out—“shinu flood”
(what flood?).
I said, “You know, the Great
Flood…the flood before Islam, the mother of all floods?”
This was met by a wall of
silence or maybe indifference, one can't be too sure over here in the Gulf.
I moseyed up to another
sharp student, Ibrahim Khalwati, and nonchalantly asked him.
“You know, Noah”—or as the
Arabs would say ‘No-ahh’ (sort of a soft, throat clearing sound), and just to
prove my point, “Al-Nebi No-ahh” (the Prophet Noah).
This caught a light and a
few of them nodded incomprehensibly as if they knew the historical figure from
the Biblical story.
As is my wont, I went off on
an historical tangent, waving my arms wildly and excitedly telling them about
Gilgamesh.
Okay, let's try a different tack.
“You know the Epic of Gilgamesh?”
“Shinnu Gilgamesh, teacher?”
(“What’s Gilgamesh”)
Muhammad al Bahar (a really
bright student) lisped to me—“Who's Gilgamesh?”
Of course, my eyes rolled,
and I realized that these guys didn't have a clue about Gilgamesh or any of the
Epic of Gilgamesh or even the “Great
Flood”.
They could, however, tell
you everything about the new Nokia phone, or the new Hummer, but were useless on
any real historical information—probably the result of brainwashing at the madrassa.
As the students mumbled
amongst themselves, my mind drifted back to my fledgling university years where
the Epic of Gilgamesh was pounded
into me by Professor Celeste Peters at University of Calgary, then Professors
R.W. Sweet and Kirk Grayson at University of Toronto.
My mind was reeling, but I
had to come back to the present.
Then I prattled on about
Diana.
“Who's she?” asked one
student.
“Princess Diana,” some
smart-ass guy piped up.
“No, she is the Goddess of
the Harvest and Fertility”, I proclaimed with real religious fervour.
Now things were really
getting odd as the guys thought I was a real loony.
I proceeded to tell them
about Ishtar, the half-breed Enkidu, Gilgamesh the hero, and Lilith of the dark
underworld, not Lilith from the dark TV sitcom Frazier.
Then a spark hit, and I
thought they must know about Nebuchadnezzar, as that was the term Saddam (the
impaler of the Kurds—those inhalers of gas) used as one of his monikers for the
glory of modern-day Iraq.
Well that was a complete dud
much like the SCUDs that Saddam tried to fire off during the Gulf War.
They were eyeless in Gaza,
stateless in Ramallah, legless in Kandahar, and clueless in Kuwait!
The students had absolutely
no idea of the history of this area just to the north of here in what was
called Ancient Mesopotamia.
It's as if Arabs didn't
exist before Muhammad and the coming of Islam.
I proceeded with
caution—“What about the Assyrians?”
“Duh, sir you mean the
Syrians?”
I could have cried.
“No! The Assyrians—you know
Sargon the Great, Sennacherib…” the names just fell off my palate as the
students almost fell off their chairs.
“What about Hammurabi—surely you must
know the Code of Hammurabi?”
This too was lost on them
and it reminded me of the scene from the recent movie, The Emperor’s Club, where
Kevin Kline, playing an ancient history teacher at a prestigious boys private
school, slags an ancient Elamite and Akkadian king for not being remembered.
The
teacher points to some saying carving in wood above the class doorway attributed to
some ancient king.
“Shutruk
Nahunte”, the student answers.
“Can
anyone tell me who he was?” asks the teacher, and added, “Texts are
permissible.”
A few students hurriedly scan through their
textbooks for the name.
“But you will not find him there,” says the teacher. The teacher goes to the
front of the classroom and pulls down the class map of the ancient Persian
Empire.
“Shutruk Nahunte, sovereign of the land of Elam! Behold, his name cannot be
found anywhere! Why not? Because great conquest without contribution is without
significance! Unlike the giants of history you are seeing among you today.”
He
says pointing to alabaster busts close by of Caesar, Cicero, and Aristotle to name a
few.
I suppose this history teacher did not know that Shutruk Nahunte defeated the ferocious Akkadians and
brought back the famous Stele of Naram-Sin to Elam as booty.
Such a slagging of poor old
Shutruk Nahunte and in the same breath, besmirching the name of Naram-Sin,
grandson of the legendary Akkadian ruler, Sargon the Great—“ruler of the four
quarters of the world”.
Sometimes, I get the
impression that modern-day Arabs are born-again in the sense that they have
totally forgotten their pagan past and its rich legacy of Mesopotamia.
Alas, poor Hammurabi, I knew
him well.
Alas, my poor students, they
didn’t know him at all.
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