Ibrahim Osman, Zeynep Osman; Adventures in the East, A Memoir of a Naturalised Mohammedan: Palgrave Macmillan
Constantinople, 1883
Curiosity can be a powerful emotion, but it soon wears away. I found that this was especially the case for me in the first years after I joined the army. For certain renegades such as myself were always an object of curiosity but after some time, we had to rely on our talents if we were to make our way in Turkish society. We could indeed make our way, as any study of the career of Omer Pasha can attest, but it also involved a great deal of effort.
By the time of 1883, I had become somewhat impatient for advancement. Still languishing at the rank of captain or
Yüzbaşı, I had for some time thought to myself that I needed to perform some great act in order to make my name. But this was not easy in the Turkish army of this time, for in these days it was an army that was fighting a rear-guard action against the tide of history. It could have successes here and there, such as in 1877 but for the most part, it was pushing against a great wave of change from Europe, and I had seen this for myself first-hand. When traveling through the provinces in particular, you found places little changed since the medieval era. The plough represented the height of technology in these areas. Even Turkish cities were largely devoid of the smokestacks and modern industry which by that time had come to dominate Britain.
I was attending a formal dinner for some such civil servant whose name now escapes me in the autumn of 1883. These dinners were beginning to resemble what you would think of when you think of high society in any European country. Men in dinner jackets and sometimes even women in the latest European fashions, depending on how liberal their husbands were of course. It still astonishes me to think that while some Turkish women presented themselves as any European woman would, others hid behind the veil or the wooden screen-windows of the harem.
But I digress. It was at this dinner when it appeared that the opportunity of which I had been hoping for finally presented itself to me. I was introduced to some middling functionary in the foreign service who was describing the plight of some poor benighted Muslims in some outlying corner of the world. I found him to be a rather boring man, like some university professor who now lacked the energy to even lecture properly. He had mentioned that the Sultan himself, wishing to advance the cause of Muslims around the world, wished to enable these far-flung Muslims to defend themselves, as we had done. “The Sultan is also the Caliph, the leader of every Muslim in every corner of the world, from here to Timbuctoo to the furthest Indies. But we have not been able to help them until this point” he explained.
“And he intends to defend the Muslims by making war on the Dutch?” replied I.
“No, we don’t have the strength for that. Oh, but we wish to send some good, pious men to aid these poor men” For all the later talk of a global Muslim brotherhood, I saw just as much of this patronizing paternalism from Turkish or Egyptian Muslims towards their darker coreligionists as I did amongst the Europeans of my time.
I had tired of conversation with this droopy-faced man, and rebuffed him as strongly as I could while maintaining a front of politeness. “Well I hope you will find your good, pious men who do not care a whit about malaria then. Good evening to you”
For much of the night I had not been too interested in this man’s wistful droning, but the more I thought about it, the idea to get away from Turkey and see a bit more of the world was an interesting prospect. At this point, I cared not a whit for the poor situation of these far-away w**s, but any British person had heard that great reputations were made not at home, but in far-away places. A few days and a few meetings later, I found myself boarding a ship in Constantinople bound for the port city of Singapore, the great entrepôt colony of the British in the East Indies.
I didn’t care much for the journey, as we spent most of it journeying through the ocean with not a sight of land, besides the great Suez Canal which now linked Britain’s greatest colony of India with the Mediterranean and Europe. We made a few stops in places such as Port Said and Jeddah to pick up goods, people, and pilgrims. Within 38 days of travel (which I am told was rather fast), we had arrived at our destination. Singapore was a rather interesting place in those days, as I suppose that it always is. Although a British colony, most of the people residing there were Chinese, who stared at you and jabbered in their incomprehensible language, in which every word seems to sound the same. Another thing of note was the heat. It was the 3rd of December when I arrived in Singapore, and the great heat and humidity seemed as bad as any day I had endured in the summertime in England or Turkey.
While I would not go so far as to describe my mission as that of a spy, there was nevertheless a need to disguise the true nature of my mission. For a few days, I was free of any duties or responsibilities, however, so as to best as I could, I prepared for what lay before me. I employed a local Malay porter to instruct me in the local language, which despite its exotic sound is a damned sight easier than Turkish or Arabic. After around a week or so, I had gained some command of the language, which I reasoned would help me far away from this great outpost of civilization.
When it came time to leave Singapore and head for the island of Sumatra, then I began to have misgivings about the whole endeavor. I had mentioned malaria before, and that was a great concern for me. I’d never ventured into the tropics, and I was deathly afraid of some horrible tropical disease at that time. Before we left, we met a few natives of the place that we were going to. I learned that although related, the Malay language is not the language that is spoken there, though fortunately a few of them could speak it. They were strange-looking people, much like the Malays. They were all of them small in stature, with thin, bony bodies. They glared at you when you first met them but share a meal with them and they will be soon chattering away to each other, smiling broadly.
Against these natives, however, I was not alone, alongside me were three other Turkish officers, all a middle rank such as myself, and another functionary from the foreign office. Rifat Ali, his name was. I usually don’t have much in the way of respect for government bureaucrats, who have far too comfortable a life, and far too much to show for it. But there was something about him that was different. He was physically unremarkable, about fifty years of age, a beard that was greying, a darkened complexion. We were on a smaller local boat, the kind that the locals use to sail the coastal waters, making our way up the coast. The sky was grey, as seems to be usual in this part of the world, and the coast filled with a great deal of lush vegetation. I asked Rifat if he had ever been to a place like this, and he answered me “not for a long time. Maybe when I was a young man such as yourself, but it was different back then. Fewer steamships, more natives waiting to throw a spear at you”
“That’s the kind of people we will be helping?”
He shook his head. “Once upon a time, perhaps. But for the past hundred or so years, the Europeans have been strengthening their position here. They used to control a few isolated ports, influence a few sultans, but those days are over”
I nodded my head as he continued. “There used to be a great many pirates in these waters, but between the British and their vassal in Sarawak, they are mostly gone. Though of course in those days, you could not tell the difference between a pirate and a prince”
“I hope that they have some fighting spirit left in them,” said I.
“You will find that they do. Especially these Acehnese. They’re a warrior people, as the Dutch are finding out. They have been trying these past ten years to bring them to heel, but every time the Dutch army turns its back, some Acehnese chuck spears right back at them. We’re going to help them do something more than that”
I had fought a European war already at this point, but even the privations of a Balkan War are nothing compared to what I would find in the jungles. Oh, the Acehnese are certainly great fighters. The Dutch had declared the war finished in 1881, already eight years after they had invaded, but this was an absurd fantasy. A Sultan, Ibrahim Mansur Shah, remained at large and there were several leaders who stood against them.
It was the Ulama, Islamic scholars, who were the backbone of this resistance. We had arrived in Aceh, and after several days trek in a steaming jungle, we came upon a village. It was there that we met the most famous of these resistance leaders, Teungku Cik di Tiro. This village was not a military base of any kind, but deep in the mountains of Aceh it seemed secure enough. As it transpired, this was the native village of Cik di Tiro.
Cik di Tiro was not simply some ignorant village mullah, however. He conversed with us in Arabic, playing the part of a gracious host. We were sat on the floor of his house, eating the local food which was rice and something akin to an Indian curry served on what looked like a banana leaf. I felt it rude to clarify, and we had more important topics to discuss. It was in this way that, for a time, we became part of the Caliph’s secret war in Aceh.
Zainab’s notes;
Recent research has corroborated that Sultan Abdülhamid did indeed send clandestine support for the Acehnese [1]. This raises interesting questions about the Sultan’s pan-Islamic policy. For the most part, scholars have emphasized that this policy was largely a tool to preserve the Sultan’s own domain rather than defending outlying Islamic states, but the fact that Abdülhamid kept his aid to the Acehnese a secret suggests that this mission was carried out not for self-aggrandizement but possibly due to a genuine concern to provide aid for the Acehnese, who had previously requested Ottoman help prior to Abdülhamid’s ascension to the Sultanate.
[1] – Needless to say this didn’t happen in OTL, for the reasons that Zainab notes.