It is impossible to thank individually the many people who have contributed directly and indirectly, in ways large and small, to this project. I am grateful to them all but want to mention some in particular.
Financial support at various stages was provided by the National Institute of Mental Health, the Association of American University Women (Marion Talbot Fellowship), the Foreign Language and Area Studies Fellowships, and later the National Resource Fellowships. A small faculty research grant and travel funds from Williams College were helpful in the final stages of my work. Farhad Kazemi, director of the Hagop Kevorkian Center for Near Eastern Studies at New York University, generously offered me the facilities that enabled me to complete the manuscript during the summer of 1985.
For support, encouragement, and critical comments and suggestions, I want to thank numerous friends, colleagues, and teachers. Some pushed me, some sent me in fruitful directions, some read version after version of what I wrote, and some simply by being enthusiastic gave me the courage to keep struggling to make sense of my material. Particularly helpful were Wendy Brown, Vincent Crapanzano, Michael M. J. Fischer, Robert A. LeVine, Catherine Lutz, Karen Ericksen Paige, Sterett Pope, Dan Rosenberg, Nur Yalman, and John and Beatrice Whiting. It is hard to imagine how this book could have come into being without them. At various points Byron and Mary-Jo Good, Dale Eickelman, Ron Jenkins, Sally Falk Moore, and Amal Rassam helped me clarify my arguments. The advice, faith, and friendship of Vicky Burbank, Silvana Castaneda, Mitzi Goheen, Laurie Hart, Gail Hershatter, Tim Mitchell, Nadine Peacock, Barb Smuts, and Carol Ockman gave me confidence. My editor, Sheila Levine, made the process of publishing a first book surprisingly enjoyable, and Anne Canright’s superb editing transformed the manuscript, which I had printed with Randall Kromm’s assistance.
Without the people who recited and helped me understand the poetry that this book explores, I could not have even written it. First, of course, I owe a debt to the many Bedouin friends and “family” who recited poetry. Then Fawzi Senussi, who combined a love of traditional Bedouin folk poetry with a tremendous gift for communication, gave me my first taste of these poems’ richness by introducing me to the poetic vocabulary. Kevin McGrath worked on some of the translations and suggested the format for the presentation of poems. Without the inspired and dedicated help of Mohammed B. Alwan, however, I could never have begun to translate, interpret, or even truly appreciate the poems I collected. His poetic sensibility and deep knowledge of the Arabic language opened the way for me. I take this opportunity to offer him my profound thanks for his generous help.
Anyone who has worked in Egypt knows how important those who take one under their wings can be. I want to thank Dr. Ahmed Abou-Zeid for his enthusiastic support of my project, his advice, and his kind offer to affiliate me with the Department of Anthropology and Sociology at Alexandria University. Hind Khattab, of the Social Research Center at the American University in Cairo, was my guardian angel, taking me in when I was ill, comforting me when I was discouraged, encouraging me to pursue certain questions, and offering help with the myriad details of organizing and carrying out field research. Others at the Social Research Center, in particular Atif Nada, and in the Department of Anthropology and Sociology at the American University in Cairo also contributed greatly to the success of my research. Many of these friends and colleagues contributed as well to making my stays in Cairo enjoyable, and I thank them for that.
My most profound debt is to the people in the Bedouin community in which I lived, especially the Haj and his wives and children, whose patience I no doubt taxed but who bore me with humor and warmth. They gracefully overlooked my occasional irritable outbursts and my litany of complaints about the fleas and other annoyances of desert life, only to tease me gently when I was feeling better. They accepted me into their lives, cared for me, and taught me by sharing their deepest concerns and the dramas of their everyday world. My memories of the companionship of the long winter evenings huddled around kerosene lanterns and of the moonlit summer nights graced by gentle breezes when we shuffled indoors in our plastic sandals carrying sleeping children, goatskin bags, and the tea tray, after a long, uneventful day of talking, joking, and working or a wild day of minor crises or an exhausting if exhilarating day of wedding celebrations or visiting—all are vivid. The last page of my fieldnotes reads:
The tents, the sheep, and the goats are all sights I will miss. I am sure I will forget so much of the texture of life, the feeling at the end of the day as we put away the food and pick things up in the semidark. As I sit in my room writing, I hear the muffled sounds of children running and shouting. R. calls out to her daughter. A car approaches the house. It is a quiet life I will miss. There is no loneliness, always someone to sit with. I feel so much part of something here. I don’t remember ever feeling that before.
Indeed, they taught me not only about their way of life, some small part of which I have tried to convey in this book, but also about the joys of a sociable world in which people hug and talk and shout and laugh without fear of losing one another. I hope that too comes across.
There are a few more people whose influence on my life and work has been profound. Paul Riesman introduced me to anthropology and showed me what it could be. His ideas continue to inspire me and his encouragement to give me faith. If there is any sensitivity or insight in this study, I dedicate it to him. If anyone is responsible for this book being written at all, however, it is my parents. For their belief in me, their contributions, willing and often unwitting, to this particular project, and much more that I cannot begin to detail, I thank them.