Cumin, Camels, and Caravans Read online

  These elusive things become deeply rooted in our imaginations, far more so than most material goods. For at least thirty-five hundred years, and perhaps for as long as fifty-five hundred years, incense, spices, and herbs have captured the human attention and imagination.12 They have not only been worth trading for, for some they have been worth dying for.

  As the most protected harbor close to the Dhofar highlands, Salalah was one of those historic places where individuals lived for and occasionally died for frankincense. Its ruins sit on the edge of the coastal plain overlooking the Arabian Sea, sprawling over the site of the ancient trade center of Zhafar. Because it is just a short camel drive of eighteen miles from the highlands to this naturally protected harbor, the ports here have long attracted professions in addition to those of sailor and shipper. They have welcomed incense graders, incense makers, incense mixers, and carvers of incense smokers or censers called midkhān,13 as well as camel drovers and mule skinners of the kind that have brought aromatic goods in from the desert to the sea for upward of thirty-five hundred years.

  Once I arrive in the city, it does not take me long to find Salalah’s largest souk, where all matter of things sacred and profane can be bought and sold, but where frankincense has long been the featured attraction. How could it not be? Once I approach the dozen or so shops that are constantly sending smoke up toward the heavens and out toward their prospective customers, I could hardly resist lingering there for a while.

  The shops are small and rather gaudy and glitzy, but they are far more elegant than most spice shops in other Middle Eastern souks. Incense burns while some scratchy recordings of Arabic music play on loudspeakers. I had assumed that one could only purchase frankincense here, but myrrh, sandalwood, and musk are also on sale. In fact, I count dozens of kinds of incense, native perfumes, and aromatic herbs being offered, not merely to tourists but to Omanis as well.

  It may be a leap for a Westerner to make, but in the southern reaches of the Arabian Peninsula, incense is regarded as a form of nourishment. There are recipes for over two dozen incense mixtures and herbal scents included in Al-Azaf, the most popular Omani cookbook in shops and marketplaces.14 Those recipes bring together oud (aloe wood) oil with black musk, ambergris with sandalwood, saffron with snails, cloves with rose water, blending them into various divinely fragrant concoctions. But among all of the aromatics sold in the souk, frankincense is the one that they let stand alone. A soloist, its olfactory melody is too heavenly for Omanis to ever want it to be overdubbed.

  Synesthesia. As I walk in and out of incense shops that share the same open corridor, I begin to feel as if I am stoned, for my senses are being bombarded with a mix of images unlike anything they had ever experienced before. This is literally a land of smoke and mirrors. The mirrors are placed to make the shops appear larger, to multiply the colored lights, and to catch the whirls of smoke rising from clay incense burners. Nearly every incense shop is stocked with fashionably shaped aspirators and decanters of perfumes, censers and smokers, rustic bags of dried incense, and bowls with glistening samples of both. But added to that is the harmonic intensity of oud music, voices speaking a dozen languages, and the memorable profiles of women in brilliantly colored silk gowns, dazzling jewelry, and gorgeous scarves. As half a dozen kinds of smoke from incense gradually fill my lungs, the world glimmering before me begins to seem like an illusion.

  An elderly Somali Omani shopkeeper, her hands and lower arms aflame with intricate patterns inscribed with henna, notices my befuddlement. She smiles and with a fine British accent invites me into her little shop. She beckons me to come and sit so that I might learn to distinguish the five grades of lubān from one another. She says that she will show me how to vaporize them properly over glowing coals in a traditional clay incense burner rather than “burning away” much of their potency.

  She explains that the differences among grades may at first seem too subtle to the uninitiated tourist, but that they are worth recognizing. The top grade, hojari fusoos, commands prices three to four times higher than that of the next level of quality, the nejdi. The trick of the shopkeeper is to discern quickly how much—or really, how little—a visitor actually knows about frankincense.

  Feigning alarm, her almond-shaped eyes magnified by the delicate lines of kohl drawn around them, she notes how some of her competitors display low-grade “ore” that is roughly the same color and texture as hojari. In a whisper, she confides in me that there might even be some unscrupulous merchants who will try to market their nuggets of nejdi, or even lower-quality shazri, as hojari fusoos.

  “They are out to take the shirt off of your back for a few pebbles of frankincense,” she frowns. She then swears to me that she has never perpetrated such an impropriety, and that I can place my trust in her henna-colored hands.

  MAP 1. Spice trails of the Arabian Peninsula and Arabian Sea

  I begin to daydream then, not fully hearing the rest of her sales pitch, but instead remembering little fragments of what historians had compiled about frankincense and spices in the ancient economies.

  The best frankincense, hojari fusoos, or some comparable grade from the region of Yemen, cost the ancient Romans 6 denarii per pound. That was roughly the same as ginger, more than black pepper, and twice the price of cardamom. Myrrh was twice the price per volume at that time because it would dehydrate and thus shrink; however, it was never used in the quantities that the Romans transported and consumed frankincense. In late Roman times, the cost of transporting a camel-load of frankincense from the southern Arabian Peninsula to the Mediterranean was 680 to 1,000 denarii, more than five times the cost of living a year in Palestine during the same era. In exchange for frankincense, each year, goods worth close to 10 million denarii would flow back the seventeen hundred miles from the shores of the Mediterranean, or from Persia and India.15

  For a desert region where less than one-thousandth of the land’s surface could be used to grow crops, it was frankincense that stimulated the flow of goods from better-watered regions in to Dhofar and the Hadhramaut. The Semitic tribes of Arabia Felix would trade their lubān, which the Romans called olibanum, for a range of material items that were beyond their capability to produce: silk sashes, muslin sheets, medicinal ointments, dry white wines, emmer wheat, copper vessels, and silver plates. Of course, small irrigated oases were scattered across Arabia Felix that provided most of the tribes with their dates, cereals, and some other cultivated foods, but trade in frankincense was what leveraged access to them for the nomads.

  Until Arab and Phoenician seafarers gained a certain competence in maritime navigation, transport of frankincense and other goods over such long distances could be done only by camel. Dromedary camels appear to have been domesticated in the coastal settlements of eastern Arabia not far from present-day Salalah. They may have been initially managed as a wild resource for the medicinal value of their milk, which fends off microbial infections of the eye—just as frankincense offered its antiseptic lubān to treat irritations, cancers, and tumors in the eyes of the Semitic tribes there long before the era of Abraham. Clay figurines of camels made in Yemen close to three thousand years ago suggest that these creatures soon assumed the status of a keystone species in the Arab economy and an icon in its spirituality, for camels provided not only milk but also wool, meat, flammable dung, medicinal urine, leather, and transportation. Because a single adult camel can shoulder as much as 130 pounds of loaded goods and still cover twenty-two miles of desert a day, no other beast of burden could possibly hold its own against it when crossing windswept sands. Their convex backs enable camels to carry far more than horses over short distances, with loads of 650 pounds not uncommon.16

  It is not surprising that the first appearance of frankincense well beyond its native range—in Egypt between three thousand and thirty-five hundred years ago—was about the time that camels were tamed and reliably used for long-distance transport. Among the nine hundred or so terms relating to camels in the Arabic languag
e, one can find some wonderful metaphors that treat them as companions, gifts from Allah, and sailing vessels. Throughout much of their historical range, they were likened to “ships of the desert,” capable of navigating vast seas of sand like no other animal. Camels, spice caravans, and incense trade not only shared a common history but also launched the Semitic tribes onto a shared economic trajectory. No wonder prints of camel caravans and miniature replicas of dromedaries are scattered throughout the souks of Salalah.

  The elderly Somali shopkeeper taps me on the shoulder. “Excuse me, kind sir. Are you . . .? You looked as though you were falling asleep. Do you want to purchase something from me before you go off to rest?”

  I try to shake myself awake. I decide to purchase a quarter pound of hojari fusoos and a crudely decorated incense smoker from her, in part to avoid embarrassing myself any further.

  “Please excuse me,” I reply, “I am tired. I have come a long way to be here,” I add, as I pay for the dreamy scent of frankincense.

  I have been lucky enough to see where frankincense is found in the wild, how its resins are collected, and how it is still sold in souks in the very same port where it has been traded for millennia. It is clear that a little of the harvest could be bartered or sold for much more in the outer world, and this fact alone propelled the mountain talkers to engage in extra-local spice trade just as others began to do the same during prehistoric eras in other landscapes around the planet.

  But the frankincense trade immediately changed into something larger and more pervasive than what happened with the nearly three hundred other spices that were traded globally. It established an insatiable desire for “the other,” the exotic or extra-local, to propel some people out of the humdrum ordinariness of their daily lives. It stimulated them to imagine something beyond the here and now, something with which they wanted to connect. And that initial stimulus that may have led inexorably toward globalization in all its dimensions began more than three thousand years ago in remote arid landscapes where Semitic peoples wandered.

  It has made me even more tired to try and fathom it all. Weary, I return to my boarding room, where I begin to vaporize a few tears of hojari fusoos over small coals in the simple clay incense smoker. As I lay down on the bed, I realize that traveling nine thousand miles through space has not been enough. I must figure out a way to travel back in time. I close my eyes. The ethereal smoke of the frankincense carries me away.

  • • •

  • FRANKINCENSE •

  Although an aromatic incense can be gathered from the trunks of several species in the genus Boswellia, it is the milky resin, or lubān, of B. sacra from Yemen and southern Oman that has long commanded the highest prices for any incense in the world. Carrying the aromas of pine resin, vanilla, and Heaven itself, the smoke of the best frankincense soars straight up into the air. Frankincense is derived from a syrupy latex that does not become accessible unless the small tree is wounded by weather or livestock, or intentionally scored by harvesters. The slow-flowing latex begins to dry into a gummy resin below the wound on the bark, and then hardens into amber droplets the size of tears. In essence, the plant weeps when wounded.

  The fragrance and flavors of frankincense are so evocative spiritually and emotionally that this aromatic is mentioned at least 140 times in the Bible, yet its value is conspicuously absent from the Qur’an. Once it had been introduced to the Babylonians, Greeks, Romans, and Egyptians, it became a symbol of purity, immortality, and access to wealth. It was used to fumigate the bodies of the dead and of suitors on the verge of lovemaking, and was omnipresent in Greek and Roman temples, synagogues, mosques, and cathedrals.

  By the time frankincense had traveled by camel caravan northward to reach Roman and Greek brokers, its price per volume had risen manyfold. During the Roman Empire, a shipment of Yemeni frankincense cost five times what a farmer or artisan made in a year in the eastern Mediterranean. Of course, it was the Minaeans, Nabataeans, and Phoenicians who did the lion’s share of transporting, carrying as much as three thousand tons of frankincense annually along three major transport routes to Babylon and the Mediterranean. Just as there was no single Silk Road, there was no single Frankincense Trail.

  Today, frankincense has four primary uses. First, the people of the Hadhramaut and Dhofar highlands continue to use it as fumigant, air freshener, and traditional medicine to stop bleeding. It remains important as a church incense, particularly in Eastern Orthodox and certain Buddhist rites. It is distilled into an essence used in perfumes, facial cosmetics, and aromatherapy products. Finally, it has become a historical curiosity, sold to tourists and employed in novel ways by culinary artists in high-end restaurants around the world to flavor candies and baked goods. After several millennia of prominence, frankincense may no longer be the most valuable commodity in the world, but it still evokes a certain level of mystery and sanctity for many whenever its name is spoken.

  Farah, Mohamud Haji. “Non-Timber Forest Product (NTFP) Extraction in Arid Environments: Land-Use Change, Frankincense Production and the Sustainability of Boswellia sacra in Dhofar (Oman).” PhD diss., University of Arizona, 2008.

  Musselman, Lytton John. Figs, Dates, Laurel, and Myrrh: Plants of the Bible and the Quran. Portland, OR: Timber Press, 2005.

  Shackley, Myra. “Frankincense and Myrrh Today.” In Food for the Gods: New Light on the Ancient Incense Trade, edited by David Peacock and David Williams, 141–47. Oxford, UK: Oxbow Books, 2007.

  • MARAK MINJ •

  Green Lentil Curry with Frankincense, Ginger, and Omani Spices

  Nowadays, frankincense is seldom used in the kitchen, but it and other aromatics were once highly regarded for their culinary as well as their medicinal and spiritual value. To this day, however, Omanis like to infuse both main dishes and desserts with incenses, rose water, and bright spices such as saffron and shouranah, saffron’s aromatic wild relative on the Arabian Peninsula. In this recipe, I combine the warm, rich middle notes of frankincense and the fine, high notes of ginger and turmeric with the complex flavors of the curry-like spice mixture known as bizar a’shuwa in a traditional lentil dish enjoyed at the dinner tables of the al-Wusta region of central Oman. It uses the succulent leaves of purslane, which can be found throughout the world as a field green and in domesticated form primarily in Europe, the Middle East, Mexico, and much of Asia (with large leaves nearly the size of those of watercress in the Middle East). Purslane, which has a rich flavor and is high in omega-3 fatty acids, can be found at farmers’ markets and specialty-food stores in the United States, or it can be gathered in the wild in the summertime. I have adapted the recipe of Lamees Abdullah Al Taie to include the frankincense of Dhofar to the south.

  Serve with rice and a fruit chutney or with a fruit salad of mangoes, apricots, figs, and plums sliced into crescents and dressed with lime juice. Serves 2 to 4.

  1 cup green lentils

  1½ teaspoons fresh lemon juice

  2 cups water

  ¼ cup olive oil

  1 teaspoon finely chopped green (young) fresh ginger, peeled and finely chopped mature fresh ginger, or peeled and finely chopped fresh turmeric

  Leaves from 1 bunch cilantro, chopped

  1 pound purslane leaves (stripped from stems), chopped

  1 teaspoon frankincense, ground and soaked in 2 cups water

  ½ teaspoon sea salt

  1 tablespoon bizar a’shuwa (see note)

  2 tablespoons fresh kaffir lime juice or finely shredded kaffir lime zest

  2 tablespoons coconut milk

  In a bowl, combine the lentils with water to cover and stir in the lemon juice. Allow to soak at room temperature for about 7 hours. Drain, rinse, and transfer to a saucepan. Add the water, place over medium heat, and bring to a simmer. Turn down the heat to low and cook uncovered, stirring occasionally and adding more water if needed to prevent scorching, until the lentils are tender, 30 to 60 minutes. Remove from the heat. At this point, very little water should remain in t
he pan; drain off any excess. Set the lentils aside.

  Meanwhile, in a frying pan, heat the olive oil over medium-low heat. Add the ginger, cilantro, and purslane leaves and sauté just until the purslane is tender, 3 to 5 minutes. Remove from the heat.

  In a blender or food processor, combine the reserved lentils, frankincense water, and salt and puree until smooth. Return the mixture to the saucepan in which you cooked the lentils, add the purslane mixture and bizar a’shuwa, and stir well. (If not serving right away, transfer the mixture to a covered container and refrigerate.)

  To serve, place over low heat and heat gently until hot. Transfer to a serving bowl and stir in the lime juice. Drizzle the coconut milk over the top and serve hot.

  NOTE: To make the bizar a’shuwa spice mix, combine 1 teaspoon each toasted and ground cumin seeds, coriander seeds, and cardamom seeds; 1/2 teaspoon each coarsely crushed black peppercorns, fennel seeds, and either mahlab seeds (from a species of cherry) or dried Aleppo chile pepper; and 1/2 teaspoon each ground cinnamon and turmeric. Mix the spices with 2 cloves garlic, crushed, and a sprinkle of distilled white vinegar to make a thick paste. Measure out 1 tablespoon to use for this dish. Refrigerate the remainder in a tightly capped glass container for up to 2 weeks and use as a rub for lamb or other meat or to flavor a braise or stew.