Nomads in Archaeology

Nomads in archaeology
NEW STUDIES IN ARCHAEOLOGY

Series editors
Colin Renfrew, University of Cambridge
Jeremy Sabloff, University of Pittsburgh
Other titles in the series include
Graham Connah
;
Three Thousand Years in Africa
Richard Gould, Living Archaeology
Ian Hodder and Clive Orton, Spatial Analysis in Archaeology
Keith Muckelroy, Maritime Archaeology
Stephen Plog, Stylistic Variation in Prehistoric Ceramics
Peter Wells, Culture Contact and Culture Change
Ian Hodder, Symbols in Action
Geoffrey Conrad and Arthur Demarest, Religion and Empire: the Dynamics of Aztec and
Inca Expansionism
Patrick Kirch, Evolution of the Polynesian Chiefdoms
Dean Arnold, Ceramic Theory and Cultural Process
Graeme Barker, Prehistoric Farming in Europe
Daniel Miller, Artefacts as Categories
Robin Torrence, Production and Exchange of Stone Tools
Rosalind Hunter-Anderson, Prehistoric Adaptation in the American Southwest
Michael Shanks and Christopher Tilley
7
Re-Constructing Archaeology
Bo Graslund, The Birth of Prehistoric Chronology
Ian Morris, Burial and Ancient Society: The Rise of the Greek City-State
John Fox, Maya Postclassic State Formation
Joseph A. Tainter, The Collapse of Complex Societies
Peter Bogucki, Forest Farmers and Stock Herders
Alasdair Whittle, Problems in Neolithic Archaeology
Olivier de Montmillon, The Archaeology of Political Structure
Steven J. Mithen, Thoughtful Foragers: A Study of Prehistoric Decision Making
Robert Chapman, Emerging Complexity: The Later Prehistory of South-east Spain, Iberia
and the West Mediterranean
Nomads in
archaeology
Roger Cribb
Central Land Council, Alice Springs
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CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS
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Cambridge University Press 1991
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and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements,
no reproduction of any part may take place without
the written permission of Cambridge University Press.
First published 1991
Reprinted 1993
First paperback edition 2004
National Library of Australia cataloguing in publication data
Cribb, Roger. 1948-
Nomads in archaeology.
Bibliography.
Includes index.
ISBN 0 521 32881 0 hardback
1. Archaeology Methodology. 2. Nomads. 3. Turkey
Antiquities. 4. IranAntiquities. I. Title. (Series:
New studies in archaeology).
930.1
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Library of Congress cataloguing in publication data
Cribb, Roger, 1948-
Nomads in archaeology.
(New studies in archaeology)
Includes bibliographical references.
1. Nomads Turkey. 2. Nomads Iran. 3. Turkey
Antiquities. 4. IranAntiquities. I. Title.
DR434.075 1990 935 89-25172
ISBN 0 521 32881 0 hardback
ISBN 0 521 54579 X paperback
To my son, Thomas Hasan,
and the memory of my father Thomas Henry
And so we moved over the earth
;
sometimes free, sometimes captive,
conquering and conquered . . .
To Anatolia we came,
and before us rose Kayseri Mountain,
Ararat, Siiphan, Nemrut, Binboga and Jilo mountains .
They have driven us onto the dusty roads,
They have cast us up into the snowcapped mountains
In every province we abandoned a part of us,
In every clime, in every tract of land,
Discarded tents,
forgotten,
left to rot away . . .
(from The Legend of the Thousand Bulls
by Yashar Kemal)
CONTENTS
List of illustrations ix
List of tables xii
Preface xiii
1 Introduction 1
Research objectives Ethnoarchaeology Geographical scope and
environment
2 Origins and definitions 9
Historical evidence Theories of nomadic pastoral origins The time frame
Nomadic pastoralism defined Hunter-gatherers and nomads compared
3 Nomad pastoral economy 23
Nomadism and the integration of pastoralism and agriculture Factors of
production: the pastoral herd The pastoral mode of subsistence
4 Residence, descent and territory 44
Nomad social organization The role of the tribe The tribe as a territorial
system Nomadism as a cyclical phenomenon
5 Nomads - t he invisible culture? 65
Nomadism as an archaeological problem The organization of nomad
material culture The role of pottery in nomad material culture Stone
artifacts Stratigraphy and architectural remains The issue of 'household
impedimenta' Conclusion
6 Nomad architecture and domest i c space 84
What is a tent? Types of nomad tents Fixtures Composite dwellings
Tents and houses The spatial organization of the tent Indications of
wealth and status Towards a typology of dwelling forms Variation in
dwelling types over the seasonal cycle Long-term processes influencing
dwelling forms
7 Ali
;
s camp: a nomad househol d campsite 113
The region Past nomad populations A case study Instability and
opportunism in southern Anatolian nomadism Ali's camp: site structure at
the household level Conclusion
Contents
8 The structure and location of nomad settlements 133
Nomad settlement systems The internal structure of nomad campsites The
overlap of nomad and sedentary settlement forms Camps and villages
Conclusion
9 SanaydinYayla 162
The camp and its inhabitants The domestic complex Quantitative analysis
of discard Some implications for archeological investigation The domestic
complex in context
10 The lost world of Nemrut Dag 185
The setting Initial observations Interpretation of campsite ND-1 The
Alikanli: an ethnographic account ND-1 in retrospect: an informed
reassessment Conclusion
11 Nomad archaeology: an assessment 212
Tepe Tula'i Other evidence of possible tentsites The Early Transcaucasian
Culture: a test case Future prospects
12 Towar ds a model of unstable set t l ement syst ems 225
Theoretical perspectives Comparative and diachronic approaches
The future
References 230
Glossary 245
Index 248
Vl l l
ILLUSTRATIONS
1.1 General map of Middle East with historical and
archaeological sites and modern nomad groups 6
2.1 Interaction between mobility and mode of subsistence 17
3.1 Internal dynamics of the pastoral and agricultural modes of
subsistence in response to favourable and unfavourable
conditions 24
3.2 Computer simulation of pastoral flocks showing the effect of
high kill-off of immature males 30
3.3 Computer simulation of different herd compositions
subjected to a sequence of adverse seasons 32
3.4 Nomadic migration in eastern Turkey 37
3.5 Distribution of household livestock ownership for Yoriiks
and Yomut Turkmen 43
4.1 Schematic diagram of levels in a nomad residence hierarchy 46
5.1 Sherds found in campsites in western and eastern Turkey TJ
5.2 A large ceramic churn for yoghurt manufacture; from
western Iran in the last century 78
5.3 Grindstone and slabs from a campsite in eastern Turkey 79
5.4 Stratigraphic context revealed in a bread-oven pit, eastern
Turkey 81
5.5 A long-abandoned campsite in central Turkey 81
6.1 Ali
;
s tent, southern Turkey 85
6.2 A topak ev tent form from central Turkey 87
6.3 Black tents, eastern Turkey 87
6.4 Frame of an alacik from the Taurus Mountains, Turkey 89
6.5 Diagram of an alacik showing construction and internal
organization 90
6.6 Plastered stone hearth inside an alacik, southern Turkey 92
6.7 Stone-built fireplaces from tentsites in southern and eastern
Turkey 93
6.8 Plan of a tentsite with internal and external hearth, southern
Turkey 94
6.9 A long-abandoned tentsite with stone platform, southern
Turkey 95
6.10 Floorplans of tentsites and house employed by villagers in
western Iran 98
6.11 Floorplans and elevations of adjacent tentsite and hut from
Baluchistan 99
6.12 Variability in dwelling forms among the Beritanli, eastern
Turkey 102
ix
Illustrations
6.13 Seasonal variation in Yoriik tent plan and facilities 104
6.14 A typology of dwelling forms: tents, composite dwellings
and houses 106
6.15 Seasonal variation in dwelling form among villagers in
western Iran 109
6.16 Schematic diagram of changes in dwelling form 111
7.1 Regional map of the southern coast of Turkey around Silifke 113
7.2 Plans of abandoned campsites around Karakegi, southern
Turkey 116
7.3 Historical Yoriik migration routes in southern Turkey 121
7.4 Ali's winter campsite 122
7.5 Interior views of Ali
;
s dwelling 123
7.6 Distribution of items in surface recording of Ali's camp 125
7.7 Principal components analysis of spatial distributions at Ali
;
s
camp 127
7.8 Spatial cluster analysis of distributions at Ali's camp 129
7.9 Spatial patterning of distributions in relation to structures and
features of Ali's camp 131
8.1 Abandoned Luri campsites, Zagros Mountains, Iran 136
8.2 Campsite locations on mountain shelves, Turkey 138
8.3 Principles of campsite spatial organization 140
8.4 Variability in campsite organization among Bakhtiari
nomads 142
8.5 Schematic diagram of the relationship between pasture lots
and the size of campsites 143
8.6 A Kurdish camp in eastern Anatolia photographed in the
1930s showing stratified organization and linear structure 148
8.7 Beritanh chiefly camp in eastern Anatolia 149
8.8 Campsites located in association with ancient ruins, western
Iran and eastern Anatolia 150
8.9 Plans of Luri encampments near archaeological mounds,
western Iran 152
8.10 Village plans from Syria and Iraq 159
9.1 General plan of Sanaydin Yayla 163
9.2 An alacik at Sanaydin Yayla 167
9.3 Floorplans of tents from Sanaydin Yayla {alacik) and a nearby
camp (black tents) 168
9.4 General view of Sanaydin Yayla looking across Area A 171
9.5 The domestic complex featuring structures and activities 172
9.6 Plan of Area A, Sanaydin Yayla 173
9.7 Distribution of items over recording zone A, Sanaydin Yayla 174
9.8 Results of principal components and spatial clustering for
recording zone A 177
9.9 Results of principal components and spatial clustering for
recording zone B 179
9.10 Contoured distributions of items in Area A by 5 metre
quadrats 180
9.11 Distribution of faunal remains in Area A, Sanaydin Yayla 181
10.1 Map of Nemrut Dag 186
10.2 Abandoned campsite ND-1 from the north 189
10.3 Plan of campsite ND-1, Nemrut Dag, together with floorplan
of tentsite 190
Illustrations
10.4 Estimation of household composition and social structure at
ND-1 194
10.5 Nomadic migration routes in the Lake Van region 197
10.6 Changes in Alikanli tribal structure and residence hierarchy 204
10.7 Plan of campsite ND-4
7
Nemrut Dag 206
10.8 General view of ND-4, Nemrut Dag 206
10.9 Members of the Alikan tribe outside the headman's tent,
Nemrut Dag 211
11.1 Stone platforms and tent footings, Tepe Tula
7
i
;
Khuzistan 213
11.2 Suspected ancient tentsites from Khuzistan 217
11.3 A suspected nomad tentsite from the late Byzantine levels of
Han Ibrahim ah, eastern Anatolia 219
11.4 Tent-like floorplans from the Early Transcaucasian Culture 222
11.5 Changes in settlement structures, Early Transcaucasian
Culture 223
XI
TABLES
3.1 Comparative sizes of small stockholdings of households in
Near Eastern communities 35
4.1 Functional properties of different levels of segmentation for
nine Near Eastern tribal groups 50
5.1 Inventories of Near Eastern nomad and village material
culture 70
7.1 Classification of materials recorded at Ali's camp 124
7.2 Nearest neighbour and segregation statistics for selected
materials at Ali
;
s camp 126
7.3 Results of principal components analysis of Ali's camp 127
7.4 Chi-square tests for significant difference between cluster
groups at Ali
;
s camp 129
7.5 Faunal elements from recording zone at Ali's camp 131
9.1 Nearest neighbour and segregation statistics for distributions
in recording zone A
;
Sanaydin Yayla 175
9.2 Principal components analysis of recording zone A
7
Sanaydin
Yayla 175
9.3 Principal components analysis of recording zone B, Sanaydin
Yayla 178
9.4 Comparisons between recording zones A and B 179
9.5 Faunal elements in Area A, Sanaydin Yayla by anatomical
classes 181
9.6 Chi-square tests for significant difference between domestic
complexes and special areas, in terms of faunal element
classes 182
10.1 Estimated demographic composition of ND-1 192
10.2 Demography and animal holdings for five wealth classes,
Alikanli 204
10.3 Distribution of households (tents) over size classes of units,
Nemrut Dag 208
xn
PREFACE
The convergence of three long-standing interests - a fascination with
Anatolia, the phenomenon of nomadism and commitment to the pro-
gress of analytical archaeology - have come together in producing this
book. Scattered observations during travels in Iran and Turkey during the
mid-1970s had convinced me that pastoral campsites provided an ideal
laboratory in which to pursue certain strands of emerging middle range
theory, particularly with respect to occupation floor models and site
structure.
What might have been a detailed empirical study, carried out under
controlled conditions in carefully selected sites, changed direction in the
field. Confronted with the realities of ethnoarchaeological research in the
modern Near East, I was not only forced to be more eclectic in terms of
the campsites studied, but was also encouraged to diversify, taking an
interest in Seljuk history and local history, ruined caravanserais and the
accounts of nineteenth-century travellers, together with neo-Marxist
anthropology and quantitative techniques of spatial analysis. While I had
planned for a more in-depth coverage of a single region or group of
nomads, there were compensations in the form of greater geographical
range and diversity in the nomadic and semi-nomadic groups visited.
The beginning of my ethnoarchaeological fieldwork coincided to the
day with the October 12 military coup in 1980 which put certain con-
straints on my activities. Yet compared with other countries in the region,
conditions in Turkey were quite favourable. Iran, in the midst of an
Islamic revolution, was closed to foreign fieldworkers and the regions of
Khuzistan and Luristan, where so much recent nomad ethnoarchaeology
has been carried out, are now a battlefield. Afghanistan is likewise in the
grip of war, and conditions on the peripheries of neighbouring states have
been affected by this instability. It occurred to me that this is no accident
for, as I shall argue later, nomads have been in part a response to - and
also frequent contributors to - such turbulent conditions since at least the
beginnings of civilization in the region. I began to realize that an archaeo-
logical perspective on nomadism would have to come to terms with the
sociopolitical factors which have influenced the extent and nature of
nomadism through time and that these same factors could be detected,
albeit in static form, in numerous ethnographic accounts of nomads.
Many individuals have played a part in the genesis of this volume.
Colin Renfrew has always been a source of inspiration and was never
slow to respond to my pleas for advice and direction from Ankara. Clive
xm
Preface xiv
Gamble, my supervisor at Southampton, was always on hand to get me
over the rough patches. I am also grateful to the relentless Peter Ucko, not
only for a heavy hand during the dissertation years but also for extorting
funds from various sources on my behalf. Steve Shennan has helped to
bring the study into focus and has assisted with sundry statistical and
computer problems. Thank you also to the other post-graduate students
at the Department of Archaeology, University of Southampton, par-
ticularly Sarah Colley and Siriol Mynors who shared my ups and downs
in the last frantic year of the doctoral dissertation. Without support from
the University of Southampton Studentship the study could not have
continued.
I recall with gratitude my colleagues from the Social Science Depart-
ment at the Middle East Technical University in Ankara where I lectured
for two years, and early discussions with a number of prominent Turkish
scholars on this and related topics. Unpublished material and moral support
was provided by Meral Ozbek, Giiven Guliiksoz and Iin Aricanli. Qok
sagol to the villagers and nomads of Anatolia whose generosity and sense
of humour made the experience of field work a rewarding one. I also owe
a great debt of gratitude to Giilgin Cribb who helped with the study in
many ways, large and small, and shared with me the rigours of Anatolian
roads.
I am indebted to Tim Ingold for his comments on earlier drafts of this
work. Robert Whallon and Frank Hole made available unpublished manu-
scripts which greatly influenced my earlier approaches to the subject.
Antonio Sagona of the University of Melbourne has generously provided
much background material and feedback on the Early Transcaucasian
Culture. Peter Andrews provided information on nomad architecture and
also supplied some of the photographs. I also benefited greatly from the
detailed comments of the late Professor Emrys Peters of Manchester, my
external dissertation examiner.
Facilities and office resources for the preparation of this volume were
provided by the Department of Anthropology and Sociology at the Uni-
versity of Queensland.
1
INTRODUCTION
Persian, I have never yet run from any man in fear and I am not doing so from
you now. There is, for me, nothing unusual in what I have been doing: it is
precisely the kind of life I always lead, even in times of peace. If you want to
know why I will not fight, I will tell you. In our country there are no towns
and no cultivated land; fear of losing which, or seeing it ravaged, might indeed
provoke us to hasty battle. If however you are determined upon bloodshed . . .
one thing there is for which we will fight - the tombs of our forefathers. Find
those tombs and try to wreck them, and you will soon know whether or not
we are willing to stand up to you.
(Herodotus, The Histories, Book IV, 125)
The defiant reply of the Scythian chieftain Idanthyrsus to Darius, King of
Persia, contains a number of points of interest to any student of nomadic
pastoralism as an anthropological and historical problem. The ceaseless
cycle of mobility, the lack of fixed assets and the military advantages
which flow from both - all are common themes in the anthropology of
Near Eastern nomadism. Historians receive the occasional glimpse of
nomadic cultures and life ways, such as the above. But, like Darius,
archaeologists have had great difficulty in pinning down ancient nomads.
Indeed for many years it seemed that the only archaeological traces of
nomadic cultures were likely to remain those mysterious tombs or kur-
gans to which Idanthyrsus referred.
If, like Darius, we intend bringing nomads to boot, then we would do
well to concentrate not on the obvious manifestations of nomadic ma-
terial culture - the tombs, the weapons, the works of art - but instead
attempt to understand nomadism as a phenomenon, as a system with its
own underlying dynamics and its correlates in space and time. Had
Darius possessed such an understanding then he would perhaps not have
been led such a merry chase; nor would his departure from the field have
been quite as undignified. Likewise the uninformed archaeologist will be
at the mercy of uncontrolled observations, chance encounters and tan-
talizing glimpses from afar, remaining blissfully unaware of the larger
pattern. He will most probably depart the field in equal disarray.
Research objectives
High in the Taurus Mountains of southern Turkey, looking down on an
encampment of black tents drawn up in a valley 150 metres below, I
began to realize that the aim of my study was not the discovery of ancient
nomad cultures but something equally challenging. From my vantage
point I could see that there was an underlying order in the location and
orientation of tentsites. The layout of each tentsite and its associated
features - forecourts, hearths, ash dumps, midden deposits - conformed
to a single blueprint. I had seen and visited many such camps before and
had studied published photographs and plans of campsites from Morocco
to Afghanistan and Siberia to the Sudan, but perhaps not from quite the
same angle.
I was of course familiar with Yellen's (1977) ring model of !Kung settle-
ments and Binford
;
s (1978a) Nunamiut hunting stand, but three things
struck me here. First, most of the structures and features I could observe
were recoverable archaeologically. Second, there were at least three dis-
tinct levels in the organization of the campsite: one set of rules governing
the layout of workspace and features with respect to the tent itself, an-
other set controlling the location of tents vis-a-vis each other as well as the
terrain, and another set of factors which dictated that the campsite should
be located here as opposed to a dozen other possible locations. Third, I
was struck by how very different was the algebra underlying this pattern
from any of the other settlement systems documented by archaeologists
and by the impression - only a hypothesis at this stage - that the entire
pattern was, in principle, deducible from what is known about the social
and economic organization of pastoral peoples.
The settlement pattern I was observing contained three interesting
qualities: redundancy, 'grain
7
and 'texture'. There was a high degree of
redundancy in the organization of household space. Each tent, together
with its work areas, features and facilities, was laid out apparently accord-
ing to a single blueprint. The 'grain
;
was apparent in linear patterns in the
location and orientation of tentsites forming parallel lines where possible
but responding also to aspect and the lie of the land. The 'texture' of the
settlement was a regular alternation of living floors and open spaces.
There appeared to be a simple grammar underlying the spatial organiza-
tion of the campsite, an understanding of which would enable a re-
searcher to both recognize and predict the layout of other campsites.
Perhaps more importantly I began to perceive that this grammar was a
manifestation of the wider organization of nomadic and pastoral life. A
method of series of methods, perhaps a whole framework, would be
needed to explain why pastoral campsites should be distributed and
organized in such a characteristic way.
In common with other volumes in this series (Gould 1980; Torrence
1986) this book is about the building of middle range theory. Middle
range theory involves the identification of key variables or indicators, the
construction of valid instruments for the analysis of archaeological data
(Binford 1983, p.129), the definition of units of analysis and the perception
of appropriate scales of resolution for the solution of different problems.
Middle range theory seeks to establish sets of variables which are known
to interact in a certain way for a wide range of problems, although the
exact nature and extent of the interaction will vary with individual
applications. These do not constitute 'covering laws
7
or 'laws of culture
process'. A law implies a certain relationship between components -
E always equals me - whereas the most we can hope for in a subject like
Introduction
archaeology is some general statement that questions about energy will
involve mass and some exponent of velocity.
Middle range theories are not just 'middle sized' theories or small theo-
ries upon which larger theories may be built, but theories which occupy a
mid-point in the research process. If we wish to propose general theories
about raw materials procurement and exchange in cultures at different
levels of complexity, then we may first need to recognize that the key
variables involved include control over supply and production, efficiency,
sophistication of technology, simplification, standardization and speciali-
zation (Torrence 1986, pp.40-5). If an example of a 'law' is the formula
for relating floor size or settlement size to population (Narroll 1962; Cook
and Heizer 1968) then a corresponding instance of middle range theory is
the recognition that settlement size and population size or density interact
with each other though the nature of this interaction varies at different
population sizes and also in relation to external factors such as the mode
of production (Fletcher 1981, p.98). Likewise the identification of domains
and modular units in David Clarke's (1972b) study of Iron Age Glaston-
bury is a case of middle range theory employed in the wider task of
understanding the principles of Iron Age settlement systems. Essentially,
middle range theory is not about laws, but about constructs and model
building.
Since the inception of behavioural archaeology (Schiffer 1976) archae-
ologists have begun to look at sites in a new way. While Schiffer's
approach was mainly confined to the reconstruction of behavioural
events and distinguishing behavioural from post-depositional processes,
the behaviourist perspective does not exhaust the range of possibilities
opened up by the new approach. Other studies have shifted the emphasis
from patterning in 'primary' refuse to regularities in the distribution of
'secondary' refuse (Schiffer 1972; Murray 1980), with a corresponding
attention to the general 'maintenance of life-space' (Binford 1981) as
opposed to the performance of specific tasks. If works as disparate
as Yellen's (1977) account of !Kung campsites, Binford's (1978a) Eskimo
hunting stand, Flannery's (1976) Mesoamerican village, Kramer's (1979)
Iranian villages, Hodder's (1982) accounts of East African settlements and
David Clarke's (1972b) study of Glastonbury have anything in common,
it is the central notion of site structure defined most recently as 'the spatial
distribution of artifacts, features and fauna on archaeological sites' (Bin-
ford 1983, p.144). This definition is inadequate in that it is not so much
the distributions themselves that are important as the spatial relationships
between items and/or features and relationships between the factors or
variables that account for these visual patterns.
Any site may be envisaged as a set of items, artifacts or debris, organ-
ized with respect to a set of features (Binford's 'framework'). The
underlying control variables may be divided into: those relating to 'body
mechanics' (ibid., p. 145) or kinetics which may be presumed fairly con-
stant across space and time; environmental variables involving terrain,
aspect, shelter, etc., which will also be fairly constant depending on the
priorities of the site's inhabitants; and social or economic factors such as
kinship distance, wealth and status which may be expected to vary be-
tween populations. Also present will be sets of variables which might be
termed 'cultural', and it is here that the greatest scope for variation occurs,
particularly as the size and complexity of settlements increases. I am
therefore less sanguine than Binford (ibid., p. 146) about being able to
decipher all the information 'coded into the organization of site structure
7
.
Cultural variables in particular are liable to produce variations in form and
scale which will prove resistant to the application of 'laws
;
. In any par-
ticular case it will therefore be necessary to understand the unique pat-
terns introduced by cultural factors in addition to those accountable by
kinetic, environmental and social factors.
This approach to site structure implies a form of 'structuralism', which
should however be distinguished from the 'structuralisme
7
(Gellner 1982)
of the so-called cognitive school. We are concerned with pattern and
redundancy in spatial form and relationships without necessarily reading
into this any notions of essentialism, that such forms 'have deep natures
or constitutions or inner essences
7
(ibid., p.99). Of course the kind of
middle range theory advocated here could just as well be pressed into the
service of 'structuraliste' or cognitive theories about human spatial behav-
iour, as attempted in numerous works by Hodder (e.g. 1982). The concept
of site structure can be used with equal effect to support arguments about
on-site behaviour and the organization of activity space on the one hand,
and theories of spatial patterning based on conceptual or ritual systems on
the other. A concern with site structure need not commit the archaeolo-
gist to any stance at the 'grand theory' level. However it does presuppose
the use of a range of techniques for the detection and analysis of spatial
patterning, which in turn place certain demands on the conduct of exca-
vation and the manner in which data are defined, recorded, stored and
processed (see Winter 1976; Bogucki and Grygiel 1981; Ammerman et al.
1978).
If the New Archaeology of the late 60s and early 70s taught us anything
it was that data do not exist as a priori facts but are the result of constructs
which researchers use in approaching their raw material, and reflect not
only the researcher's aims and presuppositions but also the general para-
digm within which he or she operates. Currently a range of statistical
techniques is being developed for the analysis of intra-site and regional
spatial patterning (Hodder and Orton 1976; Orton 1980, 1982; Kintigh
and Ammerman 1982; Whallon 1973, 1974, 1984). Attempts are even
being made to address the difficult question of quantifying relationships
between features and item distributions (Simek 1984). At the same time
revolutions are occurring in the computer storage of spatial information.
Unfortunately excavation technology and organization generally lag
behind these trends, and much of the current effort in the development of
site structure models has been directed into ethnoarchaeological work.
Ethnoarchaeology
Like many other students of site structure I have been forced to confront
the issue of the role of ethnoarchaeology. Our discipline recently went
through a decade of an almost indecent concern with the use of ethno-
graphic analogy (Binford 1972a; 1972b; 1972c; Chang 1967). While
Introduction
recourse to ad hoc ethnographic parallels will no doubt continue to inform
and misinform archaeologists for years to come (Ucko 1969), arguments
by ethnographic analogy have no place in middle range theory. The close
association of middle range theory and ethnoarchaeology derives not so
much from the use of ethnographic analogy to predict the past (Binford
1967; Durrenberger and Morrison 1977; Orme 1973; Allen and Richard-
son 1971; Gummerman and Phillips 1978) but from the fact that ethno-
graphic settings provide an optimal environment in which to identify and
study the behaviour of key variables, refine measuring instruments and
isolate appropriate analytical units. The ethnographic setting may be
likened to a laboratory in which phenomena are studied under controlled
conditions. The application of constructs, instruments and models so
derived to 'real
7
archaeological problems and data has nothing to do with
ethnographic analogy. Nor is there any necessity that they be derived from
ethnographic contexts. One of the most elegant middle range models,
Clarke's (1972b) 'modular unit
7
, was derived almost entirely from
archaeological data, with a little help from Roman ethnohistory. Yellen's
(1977) !Kung campsites were archaeological in the sense that most of
them had no recorded systemic context, and this was true also of some of
my abandoned nomad camps.
Binford's (numerous publications) view of ethnoarchaeology as a
laboratory for generating middle range theory by studying the relation-
ship between archaeological 'statics
7
and the 'dynamics' of a living system
is a useful one. But it should not be forgotten that dynamic relationships
can also be studied through archaeological data, and that these data, as
opposed to the physical remains in the archaeological record, are never
really 'static
7
. There is no reason why the study of dynamics should be
confined to the ethnographic domain, although it is certainly true that
understanding the operations of dynamic systems in the present can assist
greatly in imparting form and meaning to archaeological residues.
In documenting the spatial organization of contemporary nomads I am
not attempting to map this organizational structure onto ancient nomads.
I am suggesting that in prospecting for nomad sites we need to design
surveys with regard to certain factors: that, for example, temporal and
spatial variations in both the permanency of dwellings and the physical
layout of settlements have a bearing on the detection of regional tenden-
cies towards nomadization or sedentarization; that the investigation of
suspected pastoral or nomadic sites will be more informative if certain
kinds of study units and sampling schemes are employed and particular
forms of spatial analysis applied. Investigations along these lines may well
point to a system organized in a similar fashion to those observed today -
analogy, or to something quite different, anomaly (Gould 1980) - but
whatever the outcome it is the tools forged in the ethnographic setting which
are imported into the past, not that setting itself.
As a laboratory for the development of middle range theory pastoral
campsites present certain obvious advantages. Campsites that are aban-
doned, but still active may be studied without the impediments imposed
by continuous occupation. Campsites may be studied while occupied as
well as in various stages of abandonment - i.e. they may be observed in
both systemic and archaeological context, enabling us to move from the
Fig. 1.1 General Map of
Middle East with historical
and archaeological sites
and modern nomad
groups. Modern campsites
mentioned in connection
with this study are also
shown, distinguished
according to winter or
summer camps.
realm of statics to dynamics and back again with relative ease. Although
my own observations were confined to a few years, the long-term study
of single campsite locations offers the prospect of detecting diachronic
variations in discard patterns, architecture, settlement plans and intensity
of use. As Binford (1983, p.397) has recently observed, while site structure
has been approached in terms of seasonal and functional variations,
There has however been essentially no discussion of long term patterns
of change in the disposition of a complete system in space
7
.
Geographical scope and environment
Before moving on to an account of contemporary nomadic pastoral sys-
tems it is necessary to define the geographical scope of the study. While
evidence is drawn from the entire area of the Near East and Central Asia,
from the Atlas Mountains to the Altai, the core area, for which the con-
clusions reached in the course of this study are held to be valid, is the
mountain arc of the Taurus and Zagros, covering much of modern Turkey
and Iran, together with associated low and high altitude steppelands (see
Fig. 1.1).
Introduction
During one of my sojourns in a summer campsite some 1,500 metres
up in the Taurus Mountains, a small shepherd boy brought me a piece of
rock, explaining that it contained eski Musiilman sanat (ancient Islamic
artworks). The delicate patterns inscribed in the stone were indeed remi-
niscent of the kind of intricate inscriptions and miniatures found in
mosques, but the whole composition could be identified as a starfish, a
fossil from an ancient Miocene sea. Other marine fossils of seashells and
molluscs were common in rocks all over the campsite. Some millions of
years ago, during the Miocene era, the tectonic plates supporting Africa
and Eurasia began to come into collision, with the Arabian plate caught in
between. The tremendous forces involved have raised the great mountain
chains of the European Alps, the Taurus and the Zagros, across to the
Hindu Kush and Himalayas, where similar processes are under way
involving the Indian Subcontinent.
Along much of the length of the Taurus Mountains a cross-section
through the ranges follows the following sequence. Fairly precipitous
limestone hills or karst formations, trending in an east-west direction, rise
directly out of the sea or the coastal plain, cut by the deep gorges of
streams whose catchments lie in sheltered valleys to their north. Behind
this initial barrier rises an even higher escarpment with the limestone
KEY
tribal
summer fr migration
camp routes
spring/ o D town, city
autumn camp
winter camp x archaeological
site
modern A ancient camp-
village site
THE TAURUS - ZAGROS ARC
LOCATION OF NOMAD CAMPSITES AND OTHER SITES
0 50 100 200 300 km
G u l f
Bartholomews 1: 4 000 000
giving way to granite and more gently rounded summits, falling on their
northern slopes to low foothills and the vast sweep of the Anatolian
Plateau. Rising directly out of these steppelands are the great volcanic
cones from Emir and Hasan Dag in the west, to Erciyas, Nemrut, Siiphan
and Agri Dag in the east, thrown up by disturbances deep in the subduc-
tion zone where the African plate plunges beneath the Eurasian one. To
the east, where the mountain chains begin to sweep around to a north-
west-southeast direction, rises the limestone massif of the Jilo Mountains,
a tangled maze of saw-toothed ridges and deep abysses. While a certain
amount of shearing and slippage occurs along the Taurus section of the
arc, in western Iran the tectonic plates meet head on, producing down-
warping in Mesopotamia and the Persian Gulf and setting up a series of
parallel ripples running from northwest to southeast, each a little higher
than the previous one, culminating in the snow-capped peaks of the
Zagros. Again the relatively open terrain of the higher altitudes, or thrust
zone (Gilbert 1983), contrasts with the convoluted limestone ridges and
deep, sunless gorges at the lower altitudes (Sunderland 1968).
The implications for human settlement of such a landscape have been
considerable. From very early times until the present, population has been
concentrated on the plateau or the coastal plain and Mesopotamia. More-
over the mountain chains have served as significant cultural barriers,
though by no means impenetrable ones. In sharp contrast to the situation
in Arabia and Central Asia, the major access routes through the ranges, by
which trade and communications are carried on, also serve as the migra-
tion routes of nomads, bringing them into continual contact with seden-
tary society. It is the character of this interaction, as much as the great
environmental and seasonal contrasts, which has influenced nomad social
structures and settlement systems.
2
ORIGINS AND
DEFINITIONS
The weapon is his companion . . .
Who knows no submission,
Who eats uncooked flesh,
Who has no house in his lifetime.
(from a Sumerian text, in Chiera 1924, p.20)
While the quest for the origins of nomadic pastoralism is not the central
theme of this work, the issue must be raised if only because it has formed
the focus of so much archaeological work. Yet the origins of nomadism
may not be of quite the same significance as other origins - such as the
origins of food production and of urban life. In the latter instances we are
dealing with major systems transformations which require extremely
complex explanations and models and which are part of a general trend
towards organizational complexity and increased energy capture. The
advent of nomadic pastoralism has its place in all this but if
;
as suggested
earlier, it is peripheral to the main line of cultural evolution, then it may
not require the same level of explanation. Perhaps nomadic pastoralism
cannot be said to have had a precise origin, or perhaps it has had many
origins in many places and at different times. If, as argued by some
(Khazanov 1984; Gilbert 1983; and also in this work), nomadism is an
unstable and fluctuating phenomenon involving a heavy commitment to
pastoralism, then we would be far better off studying those sets of condi-
tions under which it emerges or declines than in searching for origins or
building causal models.
A good starting point would be to define the necessary conditions for the
existence of nomadic pastoralism. These include the presence of suitable
animal species, a suitable physical environment for the maintenance of
these species and the appropriate technology and social relations for
domestication and continuous herding. The period in cultural evolution at
which all these conditions were fulfilled may be taken as the predicted
baseline for the subsequent appearance and reappearance of nomadic
pastoralism. Yet existing theories of nomadic origins have tended to con-
centrate around two periods. It has been argued, most frequently by social
anthropologists and historians, that nomadism is a consequence of the
specialization and integration of pastoralism and cultivation which was
Nomads in archaeology 10
only possible with the development of complex (i.e. urban) societies (Lees
and Bates 1974; Khazanov 1984, etc.). Others, predominantly archaeolo-
gists (Hole 1978; Gilbert 1983), have pushed the search for nomadic ori-
gins far back into the neolithic.
Historical evidence
Although accounts of ancient Near Eastern history often seem to assume
the presence of a fluid, peripheral and mobile pastoral population, they
are rarely explicit on this point. To the extent that recognizably nomadic
groups appear at all it is generally within the context of the wider political
designs of neighbouring states whose sources tend to stress administra-
tive categories rather than economic or social ones. Apart from terms
loosely translatable as Sandbewohner, Wilden, Zeltwohnern, Wandern
and Raubern (Vardiman 1977, p.22), there seems to be no ancient term
which conveys the exact sense of 'nomad'. Even today, terms which
initially conveyed the meaning 'nomad
7
have taken on an increasingly
ethnic flavour. For instance, the term Baluchi was originally employed by
settled populations to refer to all nomads, but as many nomads settled the
term remained as an ethnic designation (Spooner 1969, p. 150). The Turk-
ish word ydrtik (wanderer) has also assumed a quasi-ethnic character. It is
possible that a purely economic distinction between nomad and seden-
tary, pastoralist and cultivator, was not considered relevant in the past -
at least to those who kept the records.
The earliest documentation of something resembling nomadism in the
Near East concerns groups coming under the blanket term Amorites.
These appear to have been a highly mobile, semitic-speaking population
occupying the margins of the Fertile Crescent in the first half of the
second millennium BC (Oppenheim 1977; Girshman 1964; Albright 1940,
p.109) (see Fig. 2.1). They are described as keeping large herds of cattle,
sheep, goats and asses (ibid., p.122) which confirms a pastoral emphasis,
but not necessarily nomadism. Mural paintings from the 1,900 BC site of
Beni Hasan portrayed a tribal chieftain named Absha with his retinue
of kinsmen armed with throwing sticks and javelins and a baggage train
of asses (Patai 1951, p.404). This could well be a nomadic group in migra-
tion, but there is no corresponding evidence for large flocks in attendance.
It has been suggested (Roux 1966, p. 138) that the Amorites - or at least
large sections of them - practised a form of sheep nomadism analogous to
that pursued by modern Bedouin. Valuable insights into this period (circa
1,750 BC) have been obtained from archives discovered at Mari on the
Upper Euphrates. Interpretations of these sources (Luke 1965; Rowton
1973, 1974) point to a small, vigorous kingdom deriving its income from
river trade, intensive riverine agriculture and extensive pastoralism. Sur-
rounding peoples, of an evidently tribal character - the Haneans, Suteans
and Jamenites - appear to have been under varying degrees of political
control. The Haneans, who seem to have formed the tribal power base for
the ruling dynasty, displayed a 'semi-nomadic
;
pattern of residence in
riverside villages, cultivating during the summer months and migrating
into the steppe and northwards into the Khabur Valley during winter. The
Origins and definitions 11
other groups appear to have had more extensive migrations, taking them
beyond the authority of the King of Mari for much of the year (Luke
1965). Extensive surveys and excavations in the Khabur Valley (Mallowan
1977; Oates 1976) have however failed to reveal any traces of pastoral
campsites, though none were explicitly sought. Dramatic shifts in the
zone of settlement within this area suggested to Oates (1976, p.235) that
agriculture and large-scale settlement was only possible when state
authority was able to resist nomad incursions. The period covered by the
Mari archives was apparently a low point for settlement in the Khabur
basin.
Similarly the advent of dark ages has led historians and historical
archaeologists to put forward nomad invasions as an explanation. This
approach is epitomized in a volume entitled Dark Ages and Nomads, 1000
BC (Mellink (ed.) 1964) based largely on chronological arguments and
exotic artworks. The theoretical poverty of this approach has led one
reviewer (Barnett 1968) to remark: 'Yet a nagging doubt remains. Dark
ages certainly, but nomads? Was the question precisely enough formu-
lated, if at all?
7
A useful critique of this and other migrationist themes is
contained in a review article by Adams et al. (1978).
Apart from lists of spoils, including large numbers of livestock taken on
Assyrian or Hittite raiding expeditions, little is known of the subsistence
base of the peoples inhabiting the Zagros and Taurus Mountains where
most of the contemporary nomads appearing in this study are located.
These people of the hills, the Gutians, Kassites, Hurrians, Mannai and
Lullubi, make fleeting appearances in Mesopotamian and Anatolian his-
tory as maurauders, founders of dynasties and victims of Assyrian razzias.
Archaeological evidence from settled sites in the region confirms an
emphasis on pastoral production (Levine and Cuyler-Young (eds.) 1977)
but beyond that we cannot go.
People of known nomadic affinities, the Scythians, Cimmerians and
Sarmatians, erupt fleetingly onto the scene. Historical references to them
are common, and there are some indications of economic and domestic
life. For instance Strabo describes the Sarmatians as '(partly) nomads and
others tent-dwellers and farmers
7
(Khazanov 1984), while Herodotus (IV,
p. 105) reveals considerable variability in the extent of pastoralism prac-
tised by various Scythian tribes. But apart from a few arrowheads and
isolated hoards (Phillips 1972; Mellink (ed.) 1964) all attempts to pin them
down to recognizable assemblages or settlements have been inconclusive.
They are still best known from the royal tombs to the north of our study
area, although recent excavations in the Soviet Union have revealed what
appear to be the remains of open campsites (Shilov, unpublished paper,
World Archaeology Congress, 1986).
A form of Bedouin nomadism in the piedmont zone at the foot of the
Taurus Mountains was documented in Roman times (Peters 1978) during
which the north-south migratory cycle occasionally interfered with the
major trade routes running east-west. This is in the same region as the
kingdom of Mari, arguing for a continuity of pastoral and possibly
nomadic tendencies from very early historical times.
Historical accounts during the Islamic Period (AD 1,000 to 1,900) pro-
vide secure evidence for a substantial nomadic presence in large areas of
the Near East, particularly during the Turkic and Mongol incursions dur-
ing the eleventh, twelfth and thirteenth centuries AD (Cahen 1968;
Minorsky 1978; Turan 1971; Siimer 1980). At the time of the initial Seljuk
migrations into Iran and northern Mesopotamia there is some evidence of
indigenous migratory pastoralism in the Zagros and Taurus foothills and
conflict over the control of pasture between the new immigrants and
original occupants (Lambton 1973; Bos worth 1973).
The question of the presence of ancient nomadic groups, however
these are defined, in the mountain regions of the Near East is left un-
resolved by the available historical evidence. There is enough evidence to
encourage further investigation and to point to archaeology as the prin-
cipal medium of inquiry.
Theories of nomadic pastoral origins
Lees and Bates (1974) propose a model according to which an initial
pattern of mixed dry farming and subsistence pastoralism is gradually
replaced by a more specialized form of cultivation based on canal irriga-
tion. The new system supports an increased population and, as it is
labour-intensive, problems occur in the scheduling of agricultural and
pastoral activities. As a consequence pastoralism becomes confined to the
more marginal steppe and mountain regions where seasonal migrations
of greater amplitude become necessary, but is assured of a future through
the demand for specialized pastoral products from the heavily populated
areas. Increasingly asymmetric power relations develop between the dis-
tinct populations associated with each mode of subsistence and, by dint
of their military capabilities, nomads are sometimes able to extend politi-
cal control over settled communities while the latter tend to dominate the
economic and cultural spheres.
A slightly different scheme involving nomadization by default has been
put forward independently by Adams (1974), Wright (1977, p.388), Flan-
nery (1972) and Spooner (1972, p.126). With the intensification of irriga-
tion agriculture, those who were unable to cope successfully with the
change might be tempted to fall back on their pastoral resources - either
temporarily until new agricultural opportunities emerged or permanently
as specialized pastoralism became a viable strategy. This model may be
partly subsumed by that of Lees and Bates.
A further variant of the Lees and Bates hypothesis has been proposed
by Irons (1975), and supported by Gilbert (1983), in which the growth of
urban centres in the Zagros highlands created an increased demand for
pastoral products, leading to a section of the population engaging in trans-
humant pastoralism and ultimately nomadism. Interestingly Gilbert
(1983) argues that it is the reduction in the pastoral sector, relatively
speaking, which has the effect of creating scarcity, raising the relative
price of animal products and opening up a niche for nomadic entrepreneurs.
Some empirical support for these views comes from Hole's (1977) study
of prehistoric sites in the Deh Luran Plain. He argues that an intrusive
population of irrigation agriculturalists originating from northern Meso-
potamia moved down the Assyrian Steppe in a steady wave of advance
(see Ammerman and Cavalli-Sforza 1973). By about 6,000 BC the indig-
enous mixed dry farming and herding subsistence pattern was displaced
into areas unsuitable for irrigation:
Once the higher and more dependable yields of irrigation agriculture
were recognized it would be a simple step to remove most of the
herding to the margins of the plain and the significantly better pas-
tures in the mountains. Such a physical separation would have ben-
efitted farming and herding by Keeping animals out of the fields and
by allowing them to graze in cooler, lusher pastures. It is notable how
much larger the animals kept by nomads today are than those kept
year round in Deh Luran.
(Hole 1977, p.14)
The increased productivity of irrigated land then led to a greater all-round
dependency on cereal resources, not only by sedentary villagers but also
by pastoralists who now began to concentrate on renewable products
such as milk and wool as selection for these physiological capacities oc-
curred. These products could then be exchanged for cereals to augment
the small quantities of winter wheat grown by the pastoralists. The com-
bination of pastoralism and limited dry farming is a subsistence strategy
commonly employed by nomads today.
Schaffer (1972) also proposes a model of dual specialization for the
Sistan region of eastern Iran. This developmental model begins with irri-
gation agriculture supporting village and incipient urban settlements
along limited strips of alluvial land. With increased growth, the surplus
population begins to occupy the arid periphery by exploiting thinly
spread pastoral resources and adopting a mobile lifestyle. These ideas are
reminiscent of the conclusions reached by Masson (1972) for the nearby
region of Soviet Turkmenia. However Schaffer adds a further twist. Sub-
sequent population increase is accommodated by agricultural intensi-
fication and urbanization which are both facilitated by the ready-made
regional communication network established by the nomads. Nomads
have even been credited with playing a vital role in the rise of civilization
and state formation. During the Uruk period, according to Johnson (1973,
p.159):
coordination of local production and seasonal exchange with herders
may thus . . . have increased decision-making requirements to the
point that an expanded decision-making organization [the incipient
state] was necessary.
In a similar vein, Wright (1977, p.338) speculates:
Could an increase in the number of pastoralists appearing every win-
ter in the lowlands put pressure on the regulatory institutions of the
settled enclaves?
Ancient trade has long been linked with the activities of nomads. Ever
since Perrot (1962) noticed that the distribution of traded goods in the
neolithic Levant and Syria closely followed modern Bedouin migration
routes, speculations along these lines have abounded. There is some his-
torical evidence (Klengel 1977, p.164; Khazanov 1984, p.209) that pas-
toralists were already involved in the caravan trade of southwest Asia by
the Middle and Late Bronze Age (second millennium BC) though chiefly
as guides and escorts but
;
as Khazanov (ibid., p.211) points out
;
they
'neither created this trade nor did they determine its development and its
fortune
7
. There are certainly contemporary examples of nomadic pastoral-
ists-cum-traders (Ferdinand 1962), and most nomads have a keen interest
in trade as consumers. But attempts by archaeologists to invoke nomads
as active agents in the long-distance movement of commodities and dis-
semination of 'information
7
(Wright 1969; Schaffer 1972), or to detect the
presence of ancient nomads by following the pattern of traded goods
(Crawford 1978), are far from convincing. Underlying most of these
nomad-trader schemes is the assumption of an underlying commerce in
'ideas
7
(e.g. Hole et al. 1969, p.354). However there is little in contempo-
rary accounts to point to nomads as an ideal medium for such exchanges.
Attempts to identify nomadic cultures with certain material complexes
have rarely been successful. The widespread dissemination of ceramic
styles over the Sistan region, attributed to nomad entrepreneurs using the
vessels as containers (Schaffer 1972), could easily be accounted for by
other mechanisms. The rapid spread of black burnished pottery, together
with other elements of the Early Transcaucasian Culture in the third
millennium BC, has also been linked to nomadic migrations (Burney
1961; Whallon and Kantman 1969, p.130). However the Early Trans-
caucasian Culture is now known to contain a full range of settlement
types from villages to cities and, while indicators of a mobile lifestyle are
present, this is hardly a nomadic culture (see Chapter 11).
All of the above scenarios have much in common. All take a holistic or
systems approach to the question of origins. All emphasize specialization
and integration, with only Lees and Bates raising the question of asym-
metries in power. Interestingly all seem to associate the appearance and
enhancement of nomadic tendencies with the growth of sedentary popu-
lations and the expansion of urban centres. While it is certainly difficult to
imagine nomadic pastoralists existing entirely independently of settled
and urban communities, as Khazanov (1984) and many others have sug-
gested, I believe that the above scenarios are to some extent based on a
misunderstanding of how pastoral nomad and sedentary systems interact.
This in turn may stem from the mistaken concern with the search for
origins mentioned above.
If nomadism is to be understood as an alternative specialization which
arises under certain economic and sociopolitical conditions rather than a
discrete system which somehow evolved, then we would expect these
conditions to follow from the above explanations. We would expect ten-
dencies towards the consolidation of state power, economic integration
and the spread of cultivation to be associated with an increase in nomadic
activity and in the degree of specialization in pastoralism. While this may
have been true of the initial establishment of nomadic systems in previ-
ously unoccupied marginal environments, such a correlation does not
seem to hold for long-term interactions between the sedentary and no-
madic sectors. In Chapters 4 and 5 I will attempt to outline why this is so,
drawing on ethnohistorical sources as well as a host of ethnographic
observations which, though synchronic in character, nevertheless suggest
the presence of underlying diachronic tendencies.
The time frame
It is intriguing that, while the models dealt with above apply to time
periods ranging over four millennia, much the same systemic factors are
mentioned in each case. In fact for Luristan and the middle Zagros Moun-
tains nomadism appears to have had at least two origins, the first in the
seventh millennium BC (Hole 1977; Goff 1966, 1981) and the second in
the third millennium (Gilbert 1983). Moreover a third origin has been
proposed for the region in the first millennium BC, involving the immi-
gration of 'real
7
nomads from further north to replace existing semi-
nomads (Khazanov 1984, p.7).
Much of this confusion arises from the difficulties of adequately defin-
ing nomadism as well as the nature of the data involved. Those authors
who draw on archaeological and subsistence data tend to place the point
of origin earlier, while those concerned with historical and ethnohistorical
data prefer later dates. In particular many students of Central Asian
nomadism tend to identify its origins with the first historical sources
either from southwest Asia or China (Lattimore 1951; de Planhol 1959)
and to see the origins of southwest Asian nomadism in terms of mi-
gration from Central Asian heartlands: 'In the first centuries of the last
1000 years BC the pastoralists and semi-nomads of the previous thousand
years BC began to be replaced in certain cultural areas of western Asia by
real nomads who were often migrants from other areas
7
(Khazanov 1984,
p.7). Where 'real
7
nomads are defined in terms of complex sets of political
and socioeconomic criteria, the problems of detection for the prehistorian
are considerable. Evidence for developed pastoralism and seasonal habita-
tion are insufficient to meet such definitions. In my view we should cease
asking 'Were prehistoric mobile pastoralists real nomads?
7
in terms of
ethnographically derived models, and instead begin to ask to what extent
can we evaluate certain key dimensions in production, mobility and set-
tlement in prehistoric pastoral and agro-pastoral cultures? The parallel
development and interplay of cultivation and pastoralism (Reed 1959;
Sherratt 1981) in the Near Eastern food-producing revolution suggest that
these key dimensions were present from a very early date.
Nomadic pastoralism defined
The time at which nomadism is perceived as originating depends on one's
definition of nomadism. Any such definition must involve the key factors
of pastoralism and mobility, and it is the weighting given to each of these
and the way in which they are measured that give rise to the many
different approaches. Khazanov (1984, p.7) defines nomadism as: 'a dis-
tinct form of food-producing economy in which extensive mobile pas-
toralism is the predominant activity and in which the majority of the
population is drawn into periodic pastoral migrations
7
. His approach
approximates that employed here in that he gives due weighting to 'the
ratio of pastoralism and agriculture
7
(ibid., p.9) rather than the extent of
mobility per se.
However difficulties with the scheme employed by Khazanov arise
when he attempts to circumscribe and classify nomadism. An exacting set
of requirements needs to be met before any group is allowed as 'real
nomads
7
. Pastoral specialists in mixed farming are not regarded as no-
madic because this represents a division of labour within the same society
while nomadism requires a division of labour between different societies
(ibid., p.18). 'Pure
7
nomads are marked by a complete absence of agricul-
ture, even in a supporting role
;
and are thereby confined to pockets in the
Eurasian inner highlands and steppes, Arabia and the Sahara. Most of the
peoples described as nomadic by Near Eastern ethnographers are classi-
fied as 'semi-nomadic pastoralists' characterized by extensive pastoralism
in conjunction with supplementary agriculture (ibid., p. 19). 'Semi-
sedentary pastoralism' or herdsman husbandry is village-based, while
yaylag pastoralism is a specialized mountain form of herdsman husbandry
(ibid., p. 23). Forms of 'household husbandry
7
with or without intensive
fodder feeding are fully integrated at the household level (ibid., p.24).
However 'semi-nomads' are further classified into those who are special-
ized at the family level and those specialized at the 'sub-society
7
level
(ibid., p.20). To my mind such complicated and rigid typologies could be
easily replaced by a single dimension specifying the level - household,
village, tribal section, region - at which specialization occurs. The search
for a fully nomadic society should be abandoned in favour of an approach
which recognizes nomadic tendencies manifested in varying degrees in a
wide range of societies and communities.
Nomadic pastoralism is a dual concept comprising two logically inde-
pendent dimensions - nomadism and pastoralism. Within each of these
dimensions dualisms such as nomadic/sedentary, agricultural/pastoral,
the desert and the sown, perpetrate gross distortions of our ability to
understand the relationship between the two. Each dimension may be
viewed as a continuum, and the relationship between them is best rep-
resented in terms of a probability space (see Fig. 2.1) in which groups or
individuals are uniquely located with respect to each axis.
While the pastoral/agricultural and nomadic/sedentary dimensions
must be distinguished conceptually, this need not imply that groups or
individuals are necessarily randomly located within this probability space.
In fact, as indicated by the location of the groups shown in Fig. 2.1, there
appears to be a strong linear relationship between the two. The greater
the degree of pastoralism, the stronger the tendency towards nomadism.
The association between pastoralism and nomadism is recognized implic-
itly in the statements of some of my informants in Anatolia: 'We have
only 20 goats so we stay around the village, but cross-eyed Ahmet has 100
sheep and goats so he goes each summer to Sultan Dag. The more ani-
mals you have, the further you have to move/ I do not hesitate to discuss
village pastoralism and nomadic pastoralism as part of a single phenomenon
for, while the two represent very different solutions, they are nevertheless
solutions in terms of the same system of constraints and opportunities. In
tackling the problem of Near Eastern nomadism, the village herd may not
be such a bad place to begin.
Fig. 2.7 Interaction between
mobility and mode of
subsistence. Schematic
diagram showing a degree
of correlation between
the two variables. The
approximate locations of a
number of communities
mentioned in the text are
indicated with respect to
both axes.
Lurs' '
MODE OF /
SUBSISTENCE
Agriculture
Hasanabad
Shahabad
Fully
nomajijc^lfkanli )
s'' Karakeqi
;
;
Sanaydin
#
Shirdasht
Mixed /
/ Pastoralism
Fully
sedentary
MOBILITY
zone of high interaction
communities mentioned
in text
Pastoralism
Pastoralists have been defined as 'those who are dependent chiefly on
their herds of domestic stock for subsistence' (Krader 1959, p.499). This
definition implies ownership and should also include an element of mutu-
alism as the animals involved are also dependent on humans (Ingold
1980). Pastoralism is only one of the possible modes of exploiting herd
animals - hunting and ranching are others (ibid., 1980) - characteristically
involving protection of the herd and systematic consumption of its
renewable products.
However while some (e.g. Bates 1971, p.112, 1972, p.52; Vincze 1980,
p.392; Goldschmidt 1979, p.16; Ingold 1980, pp.2, 25) refer to pastoralism
as a 'mode of production', I prefer, in view of the particular connotations
given the term by Marxist theory, to substitute the term 'mode of sub-
sistence
7
. By 'mode of subsistence
7
is meant: 'some configuration of
productive forces and relations permitting the exploitation of natural
resources and reproduction of the social groups involved' (Cribb 1984b,
p.4). It does not extend to the relations of production above the reproduc-
tion of the community itself, and does not involve the 'mode of appropri-
ating surplus labour
7
so essential to a Marxist analysis (see Hindness
and Hirst 1975; Friedman 1974; Godelier 1977; Parsons (ed.) 1978). Thus a
pastoral mode of subsistence may coexist with an agricultural mode of
subsistence - perhaps involving the same social group or specialized sec-
tors within a single community - under a wider mode of production. By
the same token it would be possible to consider two forms of pastoralism
operating under different modes of production - for example, pastoralism
during the Seljuk period and that of the twentieth century - as part of a
single mode of subsistence. There are certainly plenty of examples of
adjacent nomads and peasants, or of pastoralists and cultivators within
the same village (Sweet 1975), employing different tools and techniques,
distributing land and animals according to different systems of allocation,
yet who are integrated into a wider regional economy and subject to
appropriation by the same ruling class whether a landed, pastoral or urban
elite (see Lambton 1953; Rosenfeld 1965; W. Swidler 1972).
Groups (or individuals) may therefore be ranked along an agricultural-
pastoral continuum according to different criteria such as the overall level
of pastoral production or the extent to which their livelihood is met
through pastoral as opposed to other modes of subsistence. Small num-
bers of livestock may be kept by cultivators without necessarily bringing
into play all the elements of a pastoral mode of subsistence. However
increasing emphasis on pastoral production, accompanied by a rise in the
number of animals herded, will require specialized forms of animal man-
agement and changes in household organization. The full expression of
such a tendency towards pastoral accumulation will ultimately involve a
household in the kinds of logistics and social networks characterized as
'nomadic'.
Nomadism
While nomadism need not imply a lack of patterned movement or fixed
migration cycle as suggested by some (Gulliver 1958), neither does it
exactly connote a 'fixed round of movement . . . a cyclical or rhythmic
movement' as suggested by Krader (1959, p.499). The presence of a regu-
lar, seasonal cycle of movement - universally attested to in the Near East
and also Central Asia (see Vainshtein 1980, pp.96-7) - should be regarded
as a necessary but by no means a sufficient condition for the full expression
of nomadism. Viewed in the short term it is understandable why so much
weight has been placed on the seasonal cycle and regular migration
tracks. Such regularities loom large within the scope of the ethnographic
time frame. Yet in study after study there emerge instances of departures
from regular migration routes or situations in which access to these routes
is only tenuously maintained (e.g. Bates 1972; Irons 1975). While the
political ramifications of such events have been discussed (Bates 1972), the
implications for patterns of mobility have not been explored. Viewed over
the long term it becomes clear that small perturbations in seasonal migra-
tion tracks could eventually build into wholesale shifts in the distribution
of migratory groups. It is this latter tendency which I would regard as
being characteristically 'nomadic'.
A useful distinction might be drawn between forms of tied or tethered
nomadism (Ingold 1987, p. 184), fixed to a well-worn migration track, and
untied nomadism, in which shifts into new migration tracks are frequent.
Again, however, it is not difficult to see, over an extended time frame,
how the former condition might be transformed into the latter.
Much of the confusion in definitions of nomadism may be traced to the
use and abuse of the term 'transhumance
7
. It has been variously used to
describe the exploitation of seasonal pastures within the same valley
system by village flocks under the care of shepherds (Monteil 1959, p.579;
Krader 1959, p.500), the migration of whole village communities with
their flocks for a season (Johnson 1969, p.18; Swidler 1973, p.32) and the
seasonal movement of nomadic pastoralists (Stauffer 1965, p.290; Sten-
ning 1957, pp.58-9; Tapper 1974, 1979c). It has frequently been employed
- implicitly and sometimes explicitly - to describe an intermediate state
between sedentism and nomadism.
Again the difference between the terms nomadism and transhumance
is logical rather than categorical - the two operate on entirely different
scales. I would suggest that the term 'transhumance' be confined to a
form of livestock management making use of seasonal variations in the
availability of pasture. As such it may be either vertical or horizontal, and
could include all three of the patterns referred to above. Given this defini-
tion, typologies according to which groups are categorized as sedentary,
nomadic or transhumant (e.g. Swidler 1973; Krader 1959) become mean-
ingless. 'Alpenwirtschaft
7
is a form of transhumance (Miiller 1938; Vincze
1980) but has nothing to do with nomadism. The transhumance of village
flocks may or may not involve an element of nomadism, depending on
whether the population moves with the herds. The degree of human
involvement is therefore one vital index of the presence of nomadism.
The other is the degree of potential mobility of the transhumance track
itself. Only where a transhumance pattern involves substantial numbers
of people engaged in tending and exploiting the herd for subsistence, and
is potentially subject to lateral shifts into new zones at either end of the
cycle, are we dealing with the upper end of the sedentary-nomadic
continuum.
Like 'transhumance
7
, 'semi-nomadism' is a much abused term. For
example it has been used by Patai (1951, p.405) to cover forms of pastoral-
ism based on sheep and goats, as opposed to 'pure
7
nomads herding
camels (Middle East) or horses (Central Asia), and by Bacon (1954) to
denote pastoralists who import grain. Both usages confuse the separate
dimensions of pastoralism and nomadism.
Nomadism then reduces to the organization of migratory communities,
and nomadic pastoralism focuses on those communities whose migra-
tions are organized around the transhumant migration of livestock (see
Spooner 1972, p.130). At the local level, and viewed over a short time
scale, transhumance emerges as the salient characteristic of nomadic
groups. It is only at the regional level and over an extended time scale that
the full implications of nomadism, as distinct from transhumance, emerge
with full clarity. And it is at just such a temporal and regional scale that
archaeology, as opposed to social anthropology, is best equipped to ap-
proach the problem of nomadism.-
As recognized some time ago by Dyson-Hudson (1972), nomadism
cannot be reduced to a back-and-forth movement according to the
seasons. Annual removal to widely dispersed seasonal encampments is of
less interest in itself than the possibility of frequent changes in residential
association which it opens up. This constant circulation and instability in
the composition of residence groups has long attracted social anthro-
pologists, although until very recently (Tapper 1979a) the reasons for this
attraction were not explicitly discussed. It is this very quality which like-
wise affects the physical formation of nomad campsites and settlement
systems and affects the character and texture of the archaeological traces
into which they are transformed. It may lie at the very heart of the
problem of detection and recognition of nomad sites.
Four features of nomadism are therefore pertinent to this inquiry:
(1) The presence of transhumant migrations of livestock accompanied by
human communities - vertical or horizontal, long or short distance.
(2) The possibility of fluidity in the formation of residential associations,
including some turnover in group membership and both seasonal and
long-term changes in the size of co-resident communities.
(3) A high degree of household autonomy at the operational level of
herding logistics and camp group formation.
(4) The maintenance of a flexible system of rights of access to territory in
accordance with frequent changes in residence and wholesale shifts in
the pattern of migration tracks and demands on grazing land.
More than the overt pattern of geographical movement, the overall
organization of a community needs to be stressed. Essentially nomadism
involves the regular migration of a community together with much of its
productive base within a single ecological niche. This may occur between
different environmental zones or within a single zone. According to this
definition neither hunter-gatherers nor shifting cultivators are nomadic.
The former may be highly mobile, but exploit a variety of resources and
niches which constitute the productive base. The latter may well exploit a
single niche - perhaps through swiddening - but again they do not move
their productive base into the new location.
Hunter-gatherers and nomads compared
In view of the potential for confusion between the archaeological traces
of hunter-gatherers and pastoral nomads it is necessary to spell out
the differences between their respective productive strategies and corre-
sponding territorial systems. As Khazanov (1984, p. 15) has pointed out,
the 'nomadism' involved in a system based on food procurement is quite
different from that of a food-producing system. There are important dif-
ferences not only in the motives which govern the pattern of movement
but also in the pattern of movement itself and, above all, in the principles
of site generation which apply to each.
Enough is now known about the territorial behaviour of existing and
recent hunter-gatherers (Lee and DeVore (eds.) 1968, 1976; Lee 1972;
Woodburn 1968, 1972; Binford 1978b, 1980, 1983; Yellen 1977; Gould
1980) to permit some broad generalizations. In spite of major differences
in technological complexity and range of movement (Binford 1979), the
underlying themes that emerge are consistent. The texture of a hunter-
gatherer territorial system is dominated by seasonal base camps centred
on water resources and located so as to provide access to major resources.
To these must be added special purpose sites such as ceremonial sites, kill-
sites and hunting-blinds. Rights in territory are acquired mainly through
descent or marriage, though the actual composition of residential groups
fluctuates according to seasonal resource density following lines of kin-
ship and affiliation to estate owners. Some archaeologists, such as Foley
(1981) in East Africa and Hiscock (1984) in Australia, see such territorial
systems in terms of relative densities of item distributions over a continu-
ous surface with nodes of high density rather than as a series of discrete
sites. With the exception of base camps for the exploitation of abundant
(e.g. marine) resources or scarce resources (e.g. dry season camps around
waterholes), changes of residence are frequent and usually take place over
short distances, attuned to the progression of a constantly changing
resource-use schedule.
While violent conflict is by no means absent from hunter-gatherer life,
and while it may well arise from considerations of territory, the element
of territorial aggrandizement appears to be absent. This is not to say that
displacement of some groups by others does not occur, but it may be
difficult to determine just what constitutes a 'group'.
As Ingold (1987) has recently suggested, the fundamental difference
between hunter-gatherers and nomads is that, whereas in the former case
the relations of production are tied to territories or significant sites,
nomadic productive relations are largely independent of place, being
vested in mobile pastoral capital. While it is not true to say that nomadic
pastoralists lack a concept of territory, their territorial system is geared to
the acquisition of pasture rather than establishing vital symbolic links be-
tween the community and a particular locale.
Accordingly, the logistics of nomadic and hunter-gatherer migration
differ fundamentally. While the hunter-gatherer, whether forager or col-
lector (Binford 1980), schedules his movements with regard to consump-
tion, the pastoral nomad is tied to a schedule of pastoral production which is
in turn dependent upon the consumption patterns of pastoral stock.
Whereas the hunter-gatherer exploitation strategy is an eclectic one
which incorporates a wide range of available and preferred plant and
animal species, that of the pastoralist is driven by a single overriding
preoccupation - the search for pasture for his flocks. This means that the
hunter-gatherer
;
s territorial system is far more complex than that of the
pastoralist - attuned as it is to the competing demands of a wide range of
resources. While the hunter-gatherer will be familiar with the entire spec-
trum of resources and features in his landscape, the pastoralist will be
acquainted with only a narrow band comprising the pastoral niche itself.
In this sense he is more like an agriculturalist except that, instead of an
intensively farmed plot of land, his range consists of a continuous strip of
real estate over much of which he may lay only temporary claim. The
pastoral nomad's mode of migration is therefore direct and certain. This is
not to say that nomads are not logistically organized or incapable of
following 'embedded
7
strategies (Binford 1978a) nor that forms of 'multi-
resource' nomadism (Salzman 1971, 1972) are impossible - only that the
search for pasture provides the main impetus. Given the possibilities of
modern technology, the advent of a nomad commuting between camp-
sites by truck or motorbike represents no special paradox (Bates 1980;
Chatty 1980).
The fundamental differences from which many other contrasting fea-
tures flow are these:
(1) Hunter-gatherer migration is centred on procurement and consump-
tion, while pastoral migration is motivated by production which is in
turn tied to the consumption patterns of livestock.
(2) Whereas the territorial system of the hunter-gatherer is based on
moving himself towards his resources, or moving resources to people,
for purposes of consumption, that of the nomad involves moving
an entire infrastructure of production and consumption - including
accommodation and staple foods - with little regard to the regional
availability of micro-resources apart from the basics of water and
firewood.
(3) Whereas hunter-gatherers characteristically move in order to vary
their procurement strategy to exploit a wide variety of different
resources in different places and different seasons, nomadic pastoral-
ists move in order to exploit the same basic resource - pasture - in
different seasons. In a sense the main motivation behind pastoral
migration is to maintain access to a single environmental niche by
following its seasonal relocation from one geographical location to
another.
(4) For hunter-gatherers the activities of procurement and consumption
are spatially and temporarily associated (i.e. consumption follows
close on procurement, usually at the same place or nearby, except
where long-term storage is available). For nomadic pastoralists the
activities of pastoral production and human consumption are continu-
ous and largely independent of each other (see Hesse 1984).
(5) Hunter-gatherer migrations follow a complex spatial pattern covering
the greater part of a well-defined territory or range, while nomad
migrations are simpler, following a migration track which may cover
only a small part of a number of territories.
(6) Hunter-gatherer movement tends to be governed by the principle of
risk-minimization, whereas the migration of pastoralists is motivated
as much by a desire to optimize conditions for pastoral production as to
minimize risks for the herd.
(7) Along with the less complex territorial system of nomadic pastoral-
ists, we would expect their archaeological remains to be more spa-
tially constrained and to exhibit less functional variability than in the
case of hunter-gatherer sites. The model of a base camp surrounded by
special purpose sites connected to different procurement strategies holds
little relevance for the archaeological study of nomadic pastoralists.
(8) Finally, whereas hunter-gatherer territorial patterns and migratory
behaviour tend to be fairly stable and localized, those of nomadic
pastoralists incline towards marked instability and dramatic shifts in
migration tracks (Stenning 1957; Ingold 1987). Displacements of large
residential and political units by others are extremely common. This
stems from the fact that territorial aggrandisement is a key feature of
nomad life. This non-seasonal component in nomadic migration, aris-
ing from the very forces of production central to specialized pastoral-
ism, marks the nomadic system as inherently expansionist. To fully
understand the pattern of nomadic migration requires a large tapestry
indeed.
3
NOMAD PASTORAL
ECONOMY
It should be known that differences of condition among people are the result
of the different ways in which they make their living . . . Some people live by
agriculture, the cultivation of vegetables and grains; others by animal hus-
bandry, the use of sheep, cattle, goats . . . Those who live by . . . animal
husbandry cannot avoid the call of the desert.
(ibn Khaldun, AD 1332-1406, The Muqaddimah)
Nomadism and the integration of pastoralism
and agriculture
There has been much discussion concerning the differences between pas-
toralism and agriculture, the desert and the sown (Nelson 1973)
;
with
much stress being laid on either the complementarity of pastoral and
agricultural products or the conflicts generated through competition for
resources. Much of this misses the point. Pastoralism and agriculture
differ not only in the things produced but more fundamentally in the
nature of the productive process itself. While both modes of subsistence
in a Near Eastern context are subject to large fluctuations in productivity
(Adams 197A), the manner in which each system responds to these fluc-
tuations is quite different.
The organization of pastoral and agricultural production
Whereas fluctuations in the level of agricultural production tend to be
buffered and absorbed by the stable structure of a sedentary community,
similar fluctuations in pastoral production are amplified throughout the
organization of a pastoral community. The essential difference stems
from the fact that, whereas farming productivity is influenced directly by
environmental factors such a temperature, amount and timing of rainfall
or overexploitation of soil, pastoral productivity is affected via the media-
tion of herd animals. As already indicated, pastoral success tends to result
in an increase rather than a slackening of labour requirements, not so
much in herding itself but in extractive activities such as milking, process-
ing and shearing. Conversely failure and decline of pastoral capital will
lead to reduced labour requirements in both herding and the processing of
pastoral products. The nature of the contrast is indicated schematically in
Fig. 3.1. Given a sequence of favourable years and disaster years the two
23
KEY
_ Level of
production
_ Productive
capital
_ Amount of
land
Labour
required
... Consumption
f r. outside
sources
HIGH
Fig. 3.1 Internal dynamics
of the pastoral and
agricultural modes of
subsistence in response
to favourable and
unfavourable conditions.
(a) An agricultural mode of
subsistence tends to
minimize fluctuations in
productive factors.
(b) Pastoralism tends to
enhance the extremes in
variability. Moreover the
extremes tend to run
together in a strong boom
and bust cycle.
AGRI-
CULTURE
LOW
TIME
HIGH
PASTORAL-
ISM
LOW
Temporary rise in
m*Qt productivity
due to animal losses
BAD GOOD BAD
SEQUENCE OF YEARS
GOOD
systems respond as follows. As capital losses drive down productivity, the
pastoralist will require less pasture land while the farmer's land holdings
and requirements need not be diminished. At the same time labour re-
quirements are greatly reduced for the pastoralist, but will remain at
much the same level for the cultivator. By the same token, during a
sequence of favourable years, existing levels of agricultural land and capi-
tal investment (e.g. plough animals, equipment) will tend to hold down
production. For the pastoralist, all the factors of production will work
together to initiate an upward spiral in productivity (see Cribb 1984c).
In summary, the agricultural system emerges as a stable one which
tends to absorb fluctuations in productivity through the relative constancy
of land, labour and capital requirements. The pastoral system, by contrast,
emerges as a highly unstable one in which requirements of land and
labour tend to closely follow fluctuations in the level of capital holdings.
Under favourable conditions the rapid build-up of productive capital will
lead land and labour requirements upwards, while a succession of
reverses will result in the under-use of pasture and the off-loading of
herding labour into seasonal work. The pastoral mode of subsistence
therefore tends to oscillate between upward spirals of accumulation and a
vicious circle of decline (Spooner 1972, 1973). These cycles of engagement
and disengagement of the factors of production are linked to highly flex-
ible institutions for the distribution of grazing rights, the circulation of
livestock and the concentration or dispersal of labour resources through
impermanent residence associations (Cribb 1984c). It is this that has led
some to describe pastoralism as 'fluid, marginal, transitional and unstable
7
(Spooner 1972, p. 130). The terms 'marginal' and 'transitional
7
are quite
inappropriate, and 'instability
7
should be confined to the cycle of produc-
tion itself, not the social forms which help to absorb this.
No assumptions should be made about the complementarity of the two
modes of subsistence - they do not necessarily coexist in order to ensure a
Nomad pastoral economy 25
balanced diet or to even out ecological imbalances as has been argued by
some participants in the domestication debate (e.g. Flannery 1972). Nor is
there much support for the view that pastoralism is a form of resource-
banking against the uncertainty of agricultural production (Hole and Flan-
nery 1962; Adams 1974). On the contrary, the evidence strongly suggests
that pastoralists and cultivators suffer simultaneously from environmental
calamities, though political instability tends to favour the pastoralist. For
instance livestock numbers in the Zagros village community studied by
Watson (1979) were much reduced at the same time as a sequence of crop
failures had brought great hardship to the villagers. Moreover the forms of
scheduling required by the two systems likewise complement at some
points and contradict at others. Each represents a distinct set of options
with its own rules, potentialities and constraints. Of course one or the
other or both, in various measures, may be pursued by the same group or
individual - the variety of agro-pastoral and specialized agricultural or
pastoral systems in the Near East is limited only by the range of available
environments and market niches.
Pastoral and agricultural production may be integrated at a number of
levels, the most basic being that of the household itself. This generally
occurs where cultivation is dominant and limited numbers of livestock are
kept. Although some nomadic pastoralists also practise cultivation, this is
usually seasonal only and of a very primitive kind. The two modes of
subsistence are often more effectively integrated at the community level
and this may occur in two ways. One is to split the community into
specialist sections. Tapper (1977) describes an arrangement among Pash-
tuns in Afghanistan whereby some families remain in the village to attend
to cultivation while others - not necessarily the same ones each year -
specialize in pastoralism throughout any given year and migrate in sum-
mer to distant mountain pasture. Coon (1965, p.213) describes something
similar in the Atlas Mountains of Morocco. Some Qashqa'i beyleh (mini-
mal camp groups) split into two sections in summer, one of which re-
mains to grow crops and fodder in winter quarters while the other moves
with the flocks to summer pastures (Marsden 1976, p. 15). The second
kind of arrangement is for the entire community to alternate between
pastoral and agricultural pursuits in the course of a single annual cycle.
This is a common pattern throughout the mountain regions of the Near
East (see Chapter 9; also see Watson 1979, ch.8; Edmonds 1957; Edelberg
1966-7; W. Swidler 1972, 1973) and not simply a stage on the way to
sedentarization. It has been widely reported among Kurdish groups in the
nineteenth and early twentieth centuries (Millingen 1870; Geary 1878;
Maunsell 1901; Sykes 1908; Dickson 1910; Hay 1921).
Partition into agricultural and pastoral sectors subjects one part of the
community to pressure towards nomadization. It is interesting that this
may last for no more than a year and that the 'nomadic' and 'sedentary
7
sectors of the community are actually interchangeable!
Integration at higher levels
The integration of pastoralism and cultivation at higher levels allows
nomadic tendencies to be more fully realized than is the case with any of
the above examples. The presence of nomadic and sedentary sections of
the same tribe (see Sykes 1908) reflects a high degree of specialization and
interdependence within a single political and territorial unit. Such in-
tegrated' tribes (Rowton 1974) have often been confused with a nomadic
tribe in the process of sedentarization (i.e. a transient form) but do in fact
represent a persistent pattern, leading Rowton to suggest that 'it is in the
integrated tribe that the symbiosis between nomad and sedentary finds
its fullest expression' (1974, p.8). Many tribes of the Bakhtiari
;
Khamseh
and Qashqa'i confederacies in Iran, and the larger Kurdish tribes of
eastern Turkey, are organized along these lines. Division into nomadic
and sedentary sections is a persistent theme in a catalogue of Kurdish
tribes drawn up at the turn of the century (Sykes 1908), although the
precise levels of segmentation involved are somewhat unclear.
Still higher levels of integration are possible. The terms 'dimorphic
chiefdom' and 'dimorphic state
7
(Rowton 1973) have been used to
describe a political system where a chiefly family or dynasty installed in a
town or city holds sway over a mixed population of tribal nomads (form-
ing its power base), and non-tribal peasantry (forming its productive
base). While Rowton (1973, 1974) presents cogent arguments and evi-
dence to support the presence of such structures in the recent and ancient
historical past (see also Rosenfeld 1965; Cole 1973; Woods 1976), ethno-
graphic examples are understandably rare. Nevertheless the manner in
which such an entity might evolve is readily discernible in the situation of
the tribal khans of Iran:
The power of the khans derives from two sources: on the one hand,
from the tribe of which they are the leaders, and, on the other hand,
from the land which they own. In their capacity as landowners they
collect their share of the produce of the land or their rents and dues as
other landowners, while in their capacity as tribal leaders they collect
certain levies from their followers.
(Lambton 1953, p.283)
While much exchange between nomads and the sedentary sector occurs
locally, and is directed primarily at the reproduction of household units
(Oberling 1974, p. 18; Swift 1977), a large pastoral surplus can be an impor-
tant component of regional and even national economies. For example
the Qashqa'i supply Fars Province in Iran with the bulk of its mutton,
leather and milk products in addition to carpets and other textiles (Ober-
ling 1974, pp. 16-17). The extent of the nomad contribution to the Iranian
economy was underlined during the period of enforced sedentarization
under Reza Shah during the 1930s which resulted in severe shortages of
meat and milk throughout the country which could not be made up by
sedentary pastoralism (Stauffer 1965, p.285; Katouzian 1978, p.366). His-
torical sources suggest that exchanges at this level are not a recent
phenomenon. During the first part of the nineteenth century the Lurs,
Bakhtiari and Qashqa'i were supplying urban centres in western Iran with
meat, milk products and textiles during the summer months (Rawlinson
1839, p.104; de Bode 1845, p.90).
A number of generalizations, vital to what follows, may be drawn on
the basis of the above discussion:
(1) The articulation of the agricultural and pastoral modes of subsistence
does not necessarily occur in a complementary fashion. The two
modes represent separate options in the pursuit of productive strat-
egies which are responsive to both market pressures and conditions of
political stability.
(2) Some support is lent to the suggestion (Lees and Bates 1974) that the
origins of nomadism (i.e. the nomadic tribe) are to be sought at a time
when specialization in pastoral and agricultural production became a
possibility. This does not preclude the possibility of a degree of
nomadism at lower levels of integration (household, village) prior to
such specialization.
(3) There are indications that optimal conditions for the efficient de-
ployment and accumulation of livestock are to be found where pasto-
ralism is specialized above the level of the community.
(4) The emergence of nomadic features seems to relate to the level at
which pastoral and agricultural production are integrated into a func-
tional economic and ecological unit. Only at the supra-community
level, where specialized agriculture and pastoralism are pursued sepa-
rately by different communities within the same tribal unit or in a
tribal-peasant combination, are both conditions of nomadism fulfilled
- an entire community in constant association with transhumant
herds and one which is free to cut its ties with a particular locality or
transhumance track.
(5) Finally, the process of nomadization itself may be conceived of in
terms of the integration of pastoral and agricultural subsistence modes
at progressively higher levels in the sociopolitical and residence hier-
archy. By the same token, sedentarization occurs when the two
modes of subsistence are combined at progressively lower levels
within this hierarchy.
Factors of production: the pastoral herd
Large-scale pastoralism involves an essentially unstable interaction
between three basic elements - herds, people and pasture (Sweet 1974;
Swidler 1973, p.31; Swift 1977, p.461). These three elements may be
considered at a number of analytical levels, but for the time being we are
concerned with the physical properties of pasture land, the species-
specific characteristics of the animals herded and the labour processes
involved.
Pasture
Statements to the effect that nomads create their own desert and steppe-
lands wherever they move may hold a degree of truth. Historically the
distribution of steppelands in the Near East and Eurasia appears to have
fluctuated according to the balance of power between states and empires
based on sedentary agriculture and those whose power base resided in
shifting populations of herders and mixed farmers (Hyames 1972, pp.173-
9). Pasture is never 'natural', in the sense of being in a pristine condition.
While pastoralists may make little conscious attempt at pasture improve-
ment or modification, continuous grazing exerts selective pressure on the
distribution of plant species. Overexploitation of pasture often results in a
climax vegetation unfavourable to pastoralism, characterized by minimal
species diversity and selection in favour of highly toxic species (see
Nyerges 1980). Pasture areas in the Near East represent a retardation of
the post-Pleistocene ecological succession of vegetation communities (see
Dimbleby 1976; Wright 1968). Palaeobotanical evidence for the modifica-
tion of vegetation in favour of pastoral species occurs as early as the
seventh millennium BC (Wright 1968; Dimbleby 1976).
It is the marked seasonality in the development of pastures in different
climatic zones that gives rise to regular flows of livestock over a network
of pastures, and a tendency for intensively used pastures to become ex-
hausted is one of the factors behind lateral shifts in migration routes
(Stenning 1957).
Characteristics of herd animals: sheep and goats
Near Eastern conditions of semi-aridity and strong seasonality in rainfall
make this region best suited for the herding of small stock, particularly
sheep and goats. Complementary patterns of selective grazing by sheep
and indiscriminant browsing by goats (Johnson 1969
;
p.9; Spooner 1972,
p. 122; Nyerges 1980) make this combination of species a useful one both
in terms of productivity and stock management. The species-specific ten-
dency towards flocking among sheep (Garrard 1984; Swidler 1973, p.31)
is exploited by man to concentrate animals in manageable units, while
the higher mobility of goats makes them useful as flock leaders (Dahl
and Hjort 1976, p.250; Nyerges 1980). A common sight along roadsides
throughout the region is a tightly packed column of sheep
;
flanked by a
phalanx of black goats strutting out ahead, with a shepherd and a dog or
two bringing up the rear. Rudimentary time and motion studies indicate
that the optimal size of a flock capable of being managed by a single team
of shepherd and dog falls somewhere between 250 and 400 head (Barth
1961, p.22; Dahl and Hjort 1976; W. Swidler 1972, p.74; 1973, p.28) and it
has been suggested that the rate of ingestion of grass tends to be higher
among flocks of this size range due to bio-social factors (Tribe 1950).
The choice of sheep or goats, or some combination of the two, may
also be guided by economic factors. Goats, with their higher milk yields
and shorter life cycle, are more suited to household subsistence needs,
while sheep and sheep products tend to command a higher market price
(Spooner 1972, p.123; Stauffer 1965, p.292). This question has recently
been investigated in some depth by Redding (1984). The choice of breed
may also take account of productivity (Swidler 1973, p.26), but nomadic
breeds are generally adapted to their cycle of movement. They tend to be
larger and more robust than village breeds and good all-rounders, but less
tolerant of climatic extremes (Bates 1972, p.51; Barth 1961, p.6; W.
Swidler 1972, p.70). A certain amount of gene flow between nomadic and
sedentary breeds occurs through mutual rustling activities (Bates 1972,
p.52).
Flock demography
Natural tendencies of fertility and mortality in a flock are to a large extent
under cultural control. Annual fertility rates of of 0.7 to 0.9 births per adult
female per year are common in Near Eastern flocks (see Demiruren 1974;
Bates 1973, p.149; Stober 1978, p.84; Ehmann 1975, p.101) and may be
even higher for goats due to the tendency to produce litters (Dahl and
Hjort 1976, pp.91-3; Stauffer 1965, p.292). High natural losses of up to
30 per cent are common among neonatals (Stober 1978, p.84; Dahl and
Hjort 1976, p.95) and the survivors, particularly males, are usually heavily
culled in order to reduce the ratio of unproductive to productive animals.
Maximum age usually corresponds with the end of reproductive life,
around five or six years for sheep with a median age of three (Dahl and
Hjort 1976
7
p.95; Bates 1973, pp.147-9). Particularly among sheep, whose
breeding tends to be more under human control than that of goats, breed-
ing is strongly seasonal, occurring between July and September, so that
lambs are dropped in late winter, between January and March (Barth
1961, p.7; Bates 1973, p.147; Sweet 1974, p.93; Stober 1978, p.84).
The seasonally of the breeding cycle leads to the presence of annually
spaced age cohorts which, together with the effects of high fertility and
the annual cull, result in herds of a distinctive age-sex structure which
varies seasonally (see Hesse 1984). This structure is largely a product of
human intervention designed to secure the flow of selected pastoral prod-
ucts in certain seasons. Flock numbers will be at their peak immediately
following the lambing season. Spring and early summer are the high
points in the preparation of milk products as lamb numbers are systemati-
cally reduced and the milk supply diverted to human use. At other times
of the year flocks will shrink through the sale of yearlings and natural
attrition, and activities of herd maintenance and reproduction predomi-
nate. Thus different seasonal settlements will contain flocks of varying
demographic structures.
Fluctuations in the size of flocks
Not only in the course of the seasonal cycle but also in the longer term,
flocks of small stock are given to large and sudden fluctuations in size and
changes in age-sex composition (see Bates 1973, pp. 150-3, and figs. 12,
13). Compared with larger stock, such as cattle or camels, they contain a
higher risk factor (Dahl and Hjort 1976, p.254) balanced by a capacity for
rapid recovery. The explosive growth potential of a herd of goats or flock
of sheep is illustrated in Fig. 3.2 which uses computer techniques to trace
the growth of a simulated flock set to moderate fertility and mortality
rates, 30 per cent loss of neonatals and an annual cull of male yearlings.
The simulation demonstrates that even a heavy take-off of animals for
meat consumption or sale need not jeopardize reproductive success. The
age structure of the flock and of the death population are controlled by the
prescribed fertility and mortality rates which also provide data for the
computation of rough productivity indices for meat, milk and wool (see
also Payne 1973). A flock with this age-sex structure turns out to be a
highly efficient productive unit (Davis 1984) and one which is capable of
prodigious expansion (see Cribb 1982, 1984b, 1985, 1987). If left
unchecked, such a system would quickly lead to the imposition of Mal-
thusian population controls.
The tendency towards herd expansion is a fundamental feature of the
Fig. 3.Z Computer
simulation of pastoral
flocks showing the effect of
high kill-off of immature
males.
(a) A typical Near Eastern
herding scenario.
F L O C K S
tttfttftittt
RUN NO. 1. Low Ittature Cull.
Adult Hort: 12 I l u a t Nort: 10 I
Young Hort: 30 I Birth Rate: 44 I
G R O W T H P R O F I L E
YR
0
I
0 I
1 I
2
3
4
5
6
7
20 40
NO, OF LIVESTOCK
80 100 120 240 140 ISO 200
I1MII
HIM
HIM 11
HUM 11
Hlflfllll
IIIIIflIM
lIliMHUM
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
iiiiiiiinuiiE
iiHiinimitn
jiiiiimiiiimii
ifiiiinfiiiiiutiii
11II1I1UIllfi 111111111
J
+ +
1
+
4.
+ 1 1 + 1
0 20 40 40 80 100 120 240 160 180 200
Annual growth Rate = 11.157 1 p.a.
A6 PROFILE
0-1 I|
1-2 II
2* umiiiiiiffiiiiniHiiiiiiiiiif
MORTALITY PROFILE
o-i ifimiiiiiiiiifiiiiiii
1-2 inn
2+ II
Ib.tt
44,91
8.21
0 10 20 30 40 50 40 70 80 90 100
Percent 1
Productivity Indi t es 1 HEAT = 0.141 HILK = 0.182 WOOL = 0.318
pastoral mode of subsistence (Herskovits 1926; Dahl and Hjort 1976
;
p. 17). Viewed over a regional perspective in terms of the interests of
pastoralists as a whole, it is a recipe for ecological disaster. But when
considered at the level of the individual unit of production - the house-
hold - its underlying logic is difficult to refute. First, large numbers of
animals, although stretched to the limit of endurance during the worst
grazing season, will repay the investment of time and energy under
favourable conditions. Second, since there is an element of chance in the
manner in which disasters befall individual flocks, at least some of the
contributors to a pastoral population explosion can hope to escape its
consequences. Finally, the more livestock are maintained, the more will
be likely to survive any given setback (Barth 1961, p.101; Johnson 1969,
p.5).
In reality the exponential expansion of flocks is subject to ecological
controls which come into play long before the absolute carrying capacity
Fig. 3.Z (b) Increased kill-off
of immature males not only
fails to slow the growth
rate but also enhances
efficiency.
F L O C K S
ftimmtt
RUN NO. 2. High I wat ur e Hale Cul l .
Adult Hort: 12 Z Iitat Hort: 50 Z
Young Hort: 30 Z Birth Rate: 80 Z
G R O W T H P R O F I L E
YR HO. OF LIVESTOCK
0 20 40 60 80 100 120 240 160 180 200
0 i
1 I
2 1
3 I
4 limiinii
5 IIIIIIIIIMI
6 HUH III! !H
7 UlIIIIIIIBfl
8 imiiiiiiimiE
9 iinmiifiifiiiii
10 iiiiiniiffiiisnju!
n iuniiffiiiiittmiMi
12 iiniiitiiiiiiiieiniEi
13 1llllfIllilllliilllH!ItIIH
14 IIIilllllllllfillliflHIl I
15 IIIIIilifISIIttllllllilH11111II11
0 20 40 60 80 100 120 240 160 180 200
Annual Growth Rate - 11.029 Z p.a.
A6E PROFILE
0-1 II
t-2 If
?* iiifiiifiiiiiiiiiimsgfifii
3 1 . IX
13. n
55.0Z
HORTftLITY PROFILE
0-1 lUllllllllllllfllll 37.91
12 I11IIIIIIII!tlIIIlllt 40.81
24 jBimnn 2i.
I
k
+
Itift+
0 10 20 30 40 50 60 70 80 90 100
Percent I
Productivity Indites : HEAT = 0.276 H1LK = 0,2B5 HODL = 0.275
of an environment is approached. Epidemics tend to hit hardest when
livestock are in poor condition as a result of grazing shortages. Frosts and
unseasonal snowfall can inflict high losses on flocks which are being
advanced or retarded along the normal migration schedule to take advan-
tage of marginal grazing (Bates 1972, p.51). Disasters such as drought or
epidemic - often in combination - or a particularly severe winter tend to
affect herds generally, while others such as attack by predators, theft and
local weather conditions take a more selective toll. According to Hole
(1978, p. 142), two out of every five years in Khuzistan are likely to be
disaster years and may result in the loss of more than half of livestock
holdings. This general pattern is borne out by other ethnographers (Bates
1973, pp.150-3; Barth 1961, p.103; Irons 1975, p.156; Shahrani 1979,
p.91). As the Mongolian proverb has it: 'A herd belongs to the first adverse
season or powerful enemy
7
(from Khazanov 1984).
Fig. 3.3 Computer simula-
tion of different herd
compositions subjected
to a sequence of adverse
seasons. The herding
scenarios are run over the
same sequence of good and
bad years.
(a) Herding scenario set to
the same parameters as
Fig. 3.2b.
(b) Increase in the kill-off of
breeders, compensated by
rising birthrate: the herd
begins to decline.
3 F L O C K S
tifftftftili
The profound effect that such factors can have on individual livestock
holdings among the Yoriiks of southern Turkey has been demonstrated
by Bates (1973). Over a three-year period the fluctuations were dramatic,
with virtually all households being affected by the severe winter of 1968,
but with large herd owners weathering these setbacks more easily than
small herd owners. The growth of a herding system consisting of herds
whose age-sex structure is under human control has been modelled
through computer simulation. While the composition and rate of growth
of a flock are determined by factors endogenous to the system and under
the control of man, limitations on flock growth of the kind discussed
above are exogenous, deriving from the physical environment. Fig. 3.3
RUN NO. 1. Parameters as for Fig. 3.2b
Adult Hort: 12 Z
Young Hort: 30 Z
liiat Hort: 50 Z
Birth Rate: 80 Z
B ft 0 N T H P R O F I L E
NO. OF LIVESTOCK
100 120 240
- -
140 180 200
0
1 I
2 I
3
4
5
inmiiii
IIIlllllilSlifUJM
IIIIIIIIIfHH
lIlillflillflMM
6 1 Hill
7 iniiiuiiifiim
9 Illflllllttll
10 lummmiii
M IffillllifMlttl
12 IHHIIIIUIHIIII
n inmiinmii
M ininnnimiu
is i
i6 mi ni mi
t7 i i nnmn
IB i mnmi
19 iHiiinn
20 IHJmi l l l
0 20 40 60 80 100 120 240 160 180 200
Annual Growth Rate = 12.903 I p.a.
HORTALITY PROFILE
o-i imiiniiniiiiiin
1-2 l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l f l l
2* iwmaam
I f + + 1-
0 10 20 30 40 50
Percent I
31.41
14.3Z
54.31
38.21
41.21
20.61
. - + f f f
60 70 80 90 100
F L O C K S
ftttftttttf
RUN NO. 4. High Adul t Hor t al i t y , Reducing Young Mor t al i t y.
Adul t Hor t : 20 Z
Young Hor t : 10 Z
i Ma t Hor t : 50 Z
Bi r t h Rate: 80 Z
G R O WT H P R O F I L E
YR
0
I
0 I
I
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10 I
11
12
13
20
HO, OF LIVESTOCK
60 80 100 120 240 160 1B0 200
._-+ 1 1 * + 4. * 1
inillHIIMHIilt
ItlHItflllliiIMM
IIIIIIIIIIBMM
lllllllllllBMIt
lllllllllfllBMU
iniiiiiiinimiiM
unuiflii
ininimi
nun
iiiimiHtn
illinium it
inniimt
14
IS
liniiiiiiii
llffllllltil
16 I
17
0 20 40 60 80 100 120 240 160 180 200
Annual Growth Rate - 9.804 Z p, a.
AGE PROFILE
0-1 I
i-2 iiniiui
2+ I
35.71
16.11
48,21
HORTALITY PROFILE
0-1 Ut t HI 11.81
1-2 UllltttfIllllllllltltlllll 52.91
2* Illlllllinill 35.3Z
I + 4. + + 1 4. 4. + + 1
0 10 20 30 40 50 iO 70 80 90 100
Percent Z
Productivity Indices : HEAT = 0.242 HILK = 0,281 WOOL 0.271 Productivity Indices : HEAT = 0.28A KILK = 0.214 W0L = 0.241
Fig. 3.3 (c) Increased adult
kill-off balanced by further
enhanced birth rate and
reductions in mortality of
young and immatures: even
so the flock falls well below
the level of viability,
(d) Optimal herding
strategy, conserving
breeders, killing off
immature males.
F L O C K S
iittttfiiti
shows how differently constituted flocks fare over the same sequence of
good and bad years. The pattern of exponential growth punctuated by
periodic setbacks illustrates a number of interesting properties of an inten-
sive ova-caprine herding system. First, any herd with a moderate natural
growth rate can adequately cope with a series of setbacks. Second, disas-
ters tend to be most debilitating when they occur closely together before
the regeneration process is fully under way. Finally, those flocks which
contain the highest proportion of breeding stock are best able to with-
stand a series of setbacks, vindicating conventional pastoral wisdom.
Over the long term, and on a regional scale, animal populations -
nomadic or otherwise - are constrained by severe and periodic exogenous
RUN NO. 3. Increased Adult Mortality, Higher Birthrate,
Adult Mort: 20 Z I Mat Mort: 50 Z
Young Hort: 30 Z Bi r t h Rate: 90 Z
GROWT H P R O F I L E
YR NO. OF LIVESTOCK
0 20 40 60 BO 100 120 240 160 180 200
0 I
1 I
2
3
5
6
7
llllllllltilltll
1111111111111111
i illinium i
minium i
iminium it
illinium ii ii
ilium
niiini
Hum it
lima 11
n
0 20 40 60 80 100 120 240 160 180 200
Annual Growth Rate - 8,333 I p.a.
ftSE PROFILE
o-i iifiiiimififiiif
1-2 innIHI
2* i iiiiiiifiKitHliiiuiiiii
MORTALITY PROFILE
01 Illlllflllllllllll
1-2 Illlfllllttllllllilll
2+
0 10 20 30 40 50 60 70 80
Percent I
33.31
15.41
51.31
33,31
40.0Z
26.72
100
F L O C K S
tttmttftftt
RUN NO. 2. Decreased Adult Mort al i t y.
Adult Mort: 10 I Ui at Mort: 50 Z
Young Mort: 30 Z Bi rt h Rate: 80 Z
GROWT H P R O F I L E
I NO. OF LIVESTOCK
0 20 40 60 80 100 120 240 160 180 200
0 I
i ii nun
uiiiiiiuimmi
IIIIIIIIIIIIIRHI!
imimiiimin
liiiiiiiuiiimm
iflllllllllllHMIIH
i if f iiiiniHf ssn 111111
HI M
iiiimiiimni
niiiiiiiiiuiui
IllllllllllllfllHIII
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIBUIIII
lUIHIIIIIIflllHI
imiiiimiiimiiiii
I HIM III 111
i l l i ni um ii i
IllfllllllHUII
IIIIIIMHUI
timuuimiii
UIIIMIIIHIIIII
0 20 40 60 80
Annual Growth Rate
100 120 240 160 ISO 200
13.953 t p. a.
AGE PROFILE
0 1 tlllflfllllllfffl 31.31
1-2 Illlllli 13.61
2* IlllllflllllllllllllllHIHIl 55. It
MORTALITY PROFILE
0-1 IllllllllflllllUlfU 40.4Z
1-2 U11IIiIIIIlll 11UIIII 42.6Z
24 IHIIini 17.0Z
0 10 20 30 40 50 60 70 80 90 100
Percent I
Producti vi ty Indices : HEAT = 0.321 HILK = 0.295 WOOL 0.256
Producti vi ty Indices : MEAT 0.255 MLK 0.286 WOOL = 0.276
controls. However the high reproductive potential of small stock permits
a rapid recovery to previous levels. This alternating 'boom and bust
7
cycle
(see Stauffer 1965, p.292), the corollary of a high accumulation and high-
risk strategy, is fundamental to any understanding of a nomadic pastoral
system based on the husbandry of small stock. Its effects ramify outwards
into other areas of nomadic life, including the structure of co-resident
communities and tenure of grazing land.
The pastoral mode of subsistence
Animals as capital
The singular fact about animals under a pastoral mode of subsistence is
that they are owned, and for most Near Eastern pastoral systems it is the
individual family that constitutes both the unit of ownership and the unit
of production. Digard (1975) seems to be alone in regarding the basic unit
of production as the cooperative herding unit/ which is perhaps better
understood as a management unit. This is not to deny the presence of
systems of pastoral tenancy whereby animals are lent, leased and placed
in the care of shepherds or contract herders - we shall encounter such
systems presently. Nor does it necessarily imply egalitarianism in nomad
political structures. What it does mean is that in understanding pastoral
herds as a form of capital we need to be aware of those limiting properties
which constrain the scope of pastoral accumulation and transactions. For
this reason I would regard pastoral flocks as a form of restricted capital.
While the term 'pastoral capital' is not to be taken in the same sense as
market capitalism, I would defend its use to represent a factor of produc-
tion alongside land and labour, based on the definition of capital as 'a
resource in respect of which one controls its reproductive value
7
(Paine
1971, p.158). But while herds may be described as 'fields on the hoof
7
(Ekvall 1968), there are major differences between pastoral and agricul-
tural capital.
The above account of herd demography has made it clear that herd
animals - particularly small stock - constitute an extremely volatile form
of capital. However pastoral capital is not subject to diminution through
inheritance as are, for example, peasant land holdings (see Spooner 1964,
p.65, 1973). Given the necessary conditions for pastoral accumulation,
each division of a herd among sons can be offset through a 'topping up
7
process - so that a herd of 100 animals divided among three sons could be
expected to grow into three herds of 100 each. If the analogy of a finite
cake cut into ever smaller segments with each generation is appropriate to
an agricultural system, then its pastoral counterpart would be the process
of biological cell division by which each division results in new units
similar in size and structure to the original.
While the numbers of animals held per household vary greatly both
within and between groups of Near Eastern pastoralists, it would appear
that between 50 and 100 sheep and/or goats is a normal complement for
the contemporary household. Information on average herd/flock numbers
gleaned from a range of Near Eastern sources is presented in Table 3.1. It
should be borne in mind that
;
due to variations in household size and
composition between nomadic groups, and between nomads and vil-
lagers, the average number of animals per family is not always a reliable
indicator of relative livestock wealth. Correlations between wealth (in
terms of livestock numbers) and household size
;
such as those observed
by Bates (1973, pp.182-3) and Irons (1975, pp.163-3) should be recon-
sidered in this light. For this reason Beikqi (1969) has employed an index
of average livestock holdings per person as a measure of household wealth
and as a basis for comparison with smaller village households. Neverthe-
less Table 3.1 indicates that the average numbers held by nomadic groups
are consistently a few orders of magnitude larger than those held by
villagers in the same regions, although the numbers per village household
in one region may approach - though rarely exceed - those held by
nomads in another. The ratio of nomad flocks to village flocks for most
regions appears to hover around 5:1. There is a sizeable literature ad-
dressed to the question of optimal household herd size (Stenning 1958;
W. Swidler 1972; Bates 1973; Dahl and Hjort 1976; Redding 1984; Rubel
1969) all of which stresses the crucial role of the size and consistency of
the labour supply and the division of household labour along age-sex
lines. But while the household may be the unit of ownership and the key
institution allocating roles and responsibility in pastoral labour, it would
Table 3.1a Comparative sizes of small stockholdings (sheep and goats) of households in Near Eastern communities
(nomadic communities)
Group
Afshar
Alikanli
Baharvand
Baharvand
Bakhtiari
Basseri
Bedouin
Boyr Ahmad
Jaf
Kirghiz
Kirghiz
Qashqa'i
Qashqa'i
Sagikara
Yomut
Yoriiks
Yoriiks
Unspecified
Unspecified
Unspecified
Unspecified
Region
Kerman, Iran
E. Anatolia
Luristan
Luristan
W. Iran
Fars, Iran
N. Syria
W. Iran
N.E. Iraq
Pamirs
Afghan Pamirs
Fars, Iran
(using 'hired'
shepherds)
Central Anatolia
Gurgan, Iran
Ala Dag, Anatolia
Ala Dag, Anatolia
Iran
Persia (middle herd
owner)
Persia (wealthy)
Turkestan (rich)
Average no. per
household
100 (S)
160.4 (S)
200 (SG)
40 (SG)
50 (SG)
80-160 (S)
100 (S)
45 (SG)
21 (S)
95 (S)
200-1200 (S)
140 (S)
235 (S)
268 (S)
94 (S)
80 (SG)
min. 40, max.
600-700 (SG)
50 (SG)
100 (S)
1000 (S)
1200 (SG)
Date of
observation
1970s
1965
early 20th C
1970s
1970s
1950s
1960s
1970
1922
1890s
1970s
1970s
1970s
1969
1970s
1930s
1930s
1960s
1815-16
1815-16
1890s
Source
Stober (1978: 84)
Besjkgi (1969:124)
Baharvand (1975:59)
Hole (1979:146)
Ehmann (1975:101,121)
Barth (1961:13)
Sweet (1974:100)
Fazel (1973:132,148)
Edmonds (1957:148)
Hedin (18981:177)
Shahrani (1975: 89)
Beck (1981:349)
Beck (1981:349)
Bates (1973:148)
Irons (1975: Appendix 1)
Frodin (1943-44: 243)
Frodin (1943-44: 243)
Smith (1971:132)
Morier (1837:25)
Morier (1837:25)
Hedin (18981: 272)
S = sheep; G = goats; SG = sheep and goats
Table 3.1b Comparative sizes of small stockholdings (sheep and goats) of households in Near Eastern communities
(village communities).
Village
Ahlat
Asadabad
Batman
Burkhaar
Qizre
Hazro
Giingiis
Hasanabad
Haydari
Hizan
Idil
Joushaqan
Kozluk
Mountain villages
Mukti
Pervan
Qom-Yazd
Saggiz
Shirdasht*
Silopi
Silvan
Yassihoyiik
Area
E. Anatolia
Iran
E. Anatolia
Iran (wealthy)
E. Anatolia
E. Anatolia
E. Anatolia
W. Iran
Iran
E. Anatolia
E. Anatolia
Iran
E. Anatolia
Central Anatolia
E. Anatolia
E. Anatolia
Iran
Iran
W. Iran
E. Anatolia
E. Anatolia
W. Anatolia
Average no. per
household
29.9 (SG)
4- 6 (SG)
11.3 (SG)
1000-1200 (SG)
20.8
8.3 (SG)
5.2 (SG)
21.0 (SG)
5-10 (G)
14.9 (SG)
25.7 (SG)
50-60 (G)
8.1 (SG)
25 (SG)
12.6 (SG)
13.3 (SG)
a few goats
/ 1 i n *.n 9fifl\
Ûp 10 L\J\J)
10-20 (SG)
52 (SG)
21.5 (SG)
7.0 (SG)
31 (S)
Date of
observation
1965
1950s
1965
1950s
1965
1965
1965
1960s
1950s
1965
1965
1950s
1965
1969
1965
1965
1950s
1950s
1960s
1965
1965
1965
Source
Besjkcj (1969:124)
Lambton (1953:353)
Besjkgi (1969:124)
Lambton (1953:353)
Beikcj (1969:124)
Besjkcj (1969:124)
Besjkcj (1969:124)
Watson (1979: table 4.1)
Lambton (1953:353)
Beikqi (1969:124)
Besjkcj (1969:124)
Lambton (1953:353)
Besjkcj (1969:124)
Bates (1973:20)
Besjkcj (1969:124)
Besjkcj (1969:124)
Lambton (1953:353)
Lambton (1953:353)
Watson (1979:249)
Beikgi (1969:124)
Besjkcj (1969:124)
METU (1965:82)
*Migrating in summer.
S = sheep; G = goats; SG = sheep and goats
be misleading to envisage each household as an isolated unit. Although
economic self-sufficiency is a positive virtue, household flocks are fre-
quently subsidized far in excess of the resources of an individual house-
hold. Kin support and patron-client relationships are often crucial factors
in household viability. Furthermore the very mobilization of labour
resources for the management of flocks and the exploitation and control
of territory involve households in wider cooperative groupings.
It is necessary here to draw an important distinction between what I
have termed the productive unit or unit of ownership in pastoral econo-
my (i.e. the household) and units of livestock management or rangeland
management. The flock whose straggling passage across the Ankara-
Adana highway interrupts your Near Eastern odyssey is almost certainly
not the holdings of a single family but a composite of sections drafted
from a number of household flocks, usually by age-sex criteria, in order
to achieve a certain size and mix of old and young, male and female or
sheep and goat (Fig.3.4). The shepherds and dogs will, in all probability,
come from different households from the animals themselves. This will
be so whether the flock originates from a settled village or a tent encamp-
ment, though is somewhat less likely in the latter case. Some authors,
such as Nyerges (1980) and Vincze (1980), have concentrated on the
actual mechanics of herding, the tempo of flock movements, grazing
Fig. 3.4 Kurdish nomads
passing through a village on
the autumn migration trail,
eastern Turkey. I was
struck by the similarities in
dress and material culture
between nomads and
villagers inhabiting the
same region.
patterns and work shifts of shepherds (see also Watson 1979; Middle East
Technical University 1965). The basic techniques and practices seem to
vary little from camp to village (see Sweet 1974). Studies of the formation
of camp groups such as that of W. Swidler (1972) have laid great stress on
logistical factors such as the need to consolidate small family holdings
into a single herd and the formation of effective shepherding teams,
pointing to features of nomad residence groups which facilitate these. It
should be stressed that such organization occurs in order to exercise man-
agement options and that it may tell us little about the driving forces
behind nomad economies. A distinction has been drawn between the
dual roles of herder and husbandman (Paine 1971; Vincze 1980), and
Tapper (1979a) has even suggested employing the term 'flock' for units of
livestock owned by a household, reserving 'herd
7
for the kind of manage-
ment unit described above. These distinctions reflect a more fundamental
one between the level of technique, logistics and labour management on
the one hand - the 'forces' of production in Marxist terms - and that of
long-term strategic factors, access to resources and accumulation - rela-
tions of production - on the other.
Characteristics of pastoral labour
In the first instance, the accumulation of pastoral capital is limited by the
availability of herding labour, though this need not always be drawn
directly from the nuclear family. Pastoral labour has three distinctive
properties. First, as noted by Barth (1973a, p. 15), labour is directed pri-
marily at capital maintenance, the success of which incurs more rather
than less effort. Second, pastoral labour can be intensified only in so far as
it serves to concentrate the ownership of livestock within certain house-
holds. It does not permit any given region to support a greater number of
animals (Bates and Lees 1977, p.836). Third, pastoral labour is highly
competitive. Herding is a zero sum game in which one herder's gain is
usually another's loss, except under conditions of herd expansion during
recovery from an extensive drought or epidemic.
Central to an understanding of the economics of pastoral nomadism is
the concept of household viability (Stenning 1958). The achievement of a
satisfactory balance between labour and capital, personnel and flocks,
emerges as the primary constituent in household viability. Where house-
hold composition is such as to provide an adequate and well-balanced
labour pool, capital may be adjusted to labour through flock expansion or
direct acquisition of livestock. Alternatively labour may be adjusted to
capital as where, for example, an increase in flock numbers provides the
necessary wealth to hire additional herding labour.
The effectiveness of the primary labour pool, that provided by the
household itself, depends on both the number and sex of children born
and on the stage occupied by the household in terms of its developmental
cycle (Goody (ed.) 1958). According to Barhavand (1975, pp.60-1), a mod-
erately well-off Luri household with 200 sheep requires a minimum of
one elder son as herder, one younger son to look after the lambs, an adult
male to manage cows and pack animals, two or three women or girls for
milking and domestic tasks and one or two men for cultivation. Clearly a
perfect balance is possible only at a certain stage in the developmental
cycle of any given nuclear family. An optimal strategy aimed at ironing
out imbalances as a family moves through its domestic cycle would be, in
effect, to run the developmental cycles of successive generations into one
another by delaying the economic independence of new nuclear family
units (i.e. maintaining an extended family structure). Bates (1973, pp. 177-
89) presents data from Turkish Yoriik nomads which suggest that the
optimal ratio of workers to consumers and optimal productivity per unit
labour are achieved in his third wealth quartile (those owning 250-349
sheep), which also contains a higher than normal proportion of extended
families. Note also that such flocks lie within the range (250-400) for
efficient herding in a single household-based management unit.
Under a strongly virilocal system involving payments of brideprice, the
flow of women in marriage is accompanied by a counter flow of live-
stock, often resulting in temporary imbalances between livestock and
labour. Each marriage of a son causes a depletion in pastoral capital
through brideprice payment but brings in a new unit of female labour. A
family with many sons will thus experience a series of losses of livestock
but will retain a core of pastoral labour - together with additional female
labour - capable of taking up the slack as flocks regenerate. However a
household with only daughters will experience a series of windfalls in
livestock but will lack the herdsmen to manage them. This point has been
well illustrated by Irons (1975, pp. 164-7) in a comparison between the life
cycle of two Yomut families, one with five sons and a daughter, the other
with five daughters and two sons. Again options centre on the scheduling
of marriages and the rate of fissioning of new nuclear units. These prob-
lems, common to all Near Eastern pastoral nomads, have invited a range
of responses. According to Irons (1975), the marriages of sons among the
Yomut Turkmen are delayed for as long as possible, thereby retaining a
pool of herding labour capable of amassing a parental flock large enough
to sustain a series of brideprice payments. Subsequently, delayed cohabi-
tation of spouses and co-residence in the parental household continue to
enhance the concentration of herding labour. While such a strategy may
well serve as a form of population control, it also paradoxically tends to
maximize the personnel within each extended household, thereby 'mini-
mizing the number of households that fall below the the viable limit in
terms of their labour resources' (Irons 1975, p. 169). By way of contrast,
Barth (1961, pp.18-29) describes the Basseri as facilitating early marriage
and any early splitting off of new households - a practice which seems to
be associated with a higher rate of population increase, a higher propor-
tion of non-viable households and marked trends towards sedentarization
among such households (see also Irons 1975, p.99).
However no theory of household viability can be adequate which con-
fines itself to the internal resources of each household. While certainly
autonomous in terms of decision-making and the disposal of resources,
nomad households do not stand alone. Each participates in an extensive
support network based on kinship, affinality, patronage and voluntary
association. Even severe shortfalls in capital and labour need not result in
a loss of viability where the support of kinsmen can be relied on. An
anecdote from the Qashqa'i will serve as illustration. Ahmet Bey's herds
were devastated by a freak snowstorm in one of the treacherous passes of
the Zagros. Within a few days each household in the beyleh (camp group)
had contributed one or more sheep, according to means, to make up a
new herd equal to the original. Other resources, particularly seasonal
labour, may serve as a backup for nomad families fallen on hard times - in
recent years the petroleum industry has played this role in southwestern
Iran (Katouzian 1978). Salzman (1972) even talks of a form of 'multiple
resource nomadism
7
in which no particular resource base is predominant.
Where pastures are owned, as among the Shahsevan (Tapper 1979b),
speculation in pasture land can preserve viability where other resources
fail. Only where all three major components - herds, kin support and land
- are lacking does loss of viability and sedentarization become inevitable
among the Shahsevan. The most important options in ironing out im-
balances in labour and capital may be summarized as follows:
(1) Internal adjustments such as delays in marriage and/or household
segmentation or adoption.
(2) The formation of cooperative herding units to facilitate mutually ben-
eficial exchanges of labour and deployments of livestock.
(3) Hiring of shepherding labour from outside the household unit.
(4) Contract herding involving the temporary consignment of flocks to
other households, together with usufruct rights over perishable
products.
(5) Material or labour support from more affluent kinsmen. A related
process, usually involving non-kin or distant kin, is the formation of
patron-client relationships.
(6) Recourse to alternative resources such as land, seasonal work, military
adventurism or commercial enterprises.
The range of responses of ethnographically documented pastoralists to
imbalances of household labour and capital appears to reflect underlying
differences in economic and social organization which may vary not only
geographically but also temporally in response to changing political and
market conditions. Furthermore the involvement of households in asso-
ciations beyond the extended family and herding group appear to corre-
late with degrees of inequality in the distribution of wealth and status.
The egalitarian response: the Basseri
The Basseri, as described by Barth (1961), epitomize a form of egalitarian-
ism sometimes mistaken for the norm among pastoralists but indicative
of a certain solution to the balancing of the key factors of production -
labour, capital and land. Organized into self-sufficient household units,
mostly nuclear families, the Basseri are dependent on labour from within
the household, maintained by a high birthrate but limited by early mar-
riage and fissioning of new nuclear units. Household viability is pegged to
a minimum capital requirement of around 60 sheep, and labour and capi-
tal are adjusted through the formation of cooperative herding units con-
solidating the flocks of two to five families into an optimal herd of 200 to
400. According to Barth, those whose flocks exceed this size may be
forced to rely on hired shepherds or contract herders, the inherent inef-
ficiency of which imposes limitations on the further accumulation of
livestock.
The pastoral economy is therefore seen as being held within limits
defined minimally by the capital necessary to remain viable, and max-
imally at that point where labour efficiency and herd productivity are
subject to diminishing returns (but see Huntington 1972). At the lower
end of the range households are forced out of the nomadic sector into the
lower levels of village society, at the upper end a few large herd owners
are persuaded to convert their pastoral holdings into a more secure invest-
ment in the form of agricultural land, entering settled society as landlords.
Through attrition at both ends of the wealth spectrum a certain stable
ratio of humans to animals and of both to land is maintained. We might
expect a characteristic negatively skewed distribution curve of animals
among households - a preponderance of small herd owners tapering off
to a few big-time herders.
According to Barth (1961, p.126) the human and animal populations are
regulated through Malthusian controls acting directly on the flocks via
over-grazing and epidemic, and indirectly on the human population via
enforced sedentarization as flock numbers fall below the minimum
threshold for economic viability.
The stratified response: the Qashqa'i
More recent work among southwest Asian pastoralists (Irons 1975; Beck
1980; Bates 1973; Shahrani 1979) suggests that other responses are pos-
sible. Under the right conditions nomadic herding can be big business.
The claim made by Barth (1961, p. 103) that the 'net productivity rate for
the owner declines as the size of the herd increases
7
can no longer be
accepted as an inherent property of pastoral capital. The initiation of a
spiral of accumulation seems to be related to the development of elabo-
rate systems of shepherding, contract herding and pastoral tenure involv-
ing the alienation of livestock, paralleled by the emergence of large
differentials in wealth and the rudiments of social stratification (Black
1972; Garthwaite 1978; Digard 1979; Beck 1980; Shahrani 1979).
Elements of this type of response are to be found among the Qashqa'i,
neighbours of the Basseri. Whether the contrasts stem from real 'cultural
7
differences, or the particular window which the respective ethnographers
had on each society, or historical changes between the 1950s and the
1970s, is difficult to assess. According to Beck (1980), Qashqa'i households
mostly comprise nuclear families, as among the Basseri. But the Qashqa'i
make extensive use of shepherd labour to make up for labour shortages
within the household. Household flock sizes tend to be relatively high
(see Table 3.1), approaching the range for optimal herding efficiency, and
the banding together of households into herding units is not much in
evidence. Moreover there seems to be no minimal capital threshold
below which households are forced into sedentarization - kin support is
available, or shepherding contracts may be entered into with wealthy
families. But shepherds are not necessarily prospective herd owners going
through the initial stages of flock accumulation as occurs in many other
pastoral societies (Yoriiks, Basseri). Many remain as shepherds all their
lives, so that shepherd households are recognized as a distinct social
category and the status of shepherd may be permanent, if not ascribed.
Shepherds, together with landless labourers, represent the fourth in a five-
tiered system of stratification ranging from tribal khans down to servants
and craftsmen (Beck 1980, p.330). Moreover they occupy a special posi-
tion with respect to the tribal organization:
Hired shepherds are not only poor in animals . . . they also lack per-
sonal and tribal access to pastures and they have few affiliations with
tribal leaders. Poor integration in the tribal system is the key element.
Most shepherds are members of poorly integrated sub-tribes that
have weak leadership systems . . . The minor subtribes, although struc-
turally equivalent to the major ones, are a source of shepherds to the major
ones . . . Because they usually lack pasture rights and adequate wealth
in animals, they cannot easily quit shepherding . . . They tend to have
weak agnatic and affinal links that provide them with little economic
or political assistance.
(Beck 1980, pp.334-5; emphasis added)
More is involved here than the logistics of levelling out imbalances
between labour and capital at the household level. The system allows
wealthy households with a number of flocks to stay within the pastoral
sector 'where they create sources of employment for the poor' (Beck
1980, p.335), and permits a greater range of economic diversity. This
'stratified
7
response should be marked by a bimodal distribution of live-
stock with a large bulge of households with few or no animals and a
smaller peak of large herd owners. The adjustment of human to animal
population is likely to be such that a higher proportion of humans can be
maintained as nomads, relative to numbers of livestock, than in more
egalitarian forms. The effects of Malthusian controls on livestock num-
bers will be to set up a flow of personnel into dependent or auxiliary
statuses within the nomadic sector rather than into the sedentary sector.
In short, the maximum concentration of individuals will be achieved that
can be supported by nomadic pastoralism within a given region.
Pastoral 'feudalism': Central Asia and the Kirghiz
This process has been taken to its quintessence in Central Asia through a
kind of pastoral 'feudalism', an elaboration of contract herding whereby
wealthy households place sections of their flocks with poorer families,
known as the saun system (Lattimore 1951, p.96; Shahrani 1979, p.179;
Vainshtein 1980, p.104). Like shepherding, this system can serve to bal-
ance out discrepancies in labour and capital between equivalent and often
related households. But it can also lead to a system of pastoral tenancy in
which the huge livestock holdings of tribal elites are farmed out to 'ten-
ant' households who have only temporary usufruct rights over milk and
wool on the understanding that any capital increase must be restored to
the owner. Under such a system the physical distribution of animals
among households will bear little relation to the distribution of owner-
ship. For instance, among the Kirghiz of the Afghan Pamirs, the khan
alone owned over 16,000 sheep and goats of which some 14,000 were
dispersed among 130 households (Shahrani 1979, pp. 165,182). The annual
redistribution of livestock by a politically powerful elite ensured the sup-
ply of sufficient animals for the subsistence needs of each household,
thereby retaining personnel within the nomadic sector. The ownership or
control of pasture land may also be an important factor here. The buying
and selling of grazing rights or pasture lots has been reported among the
Shahsevan in northwest Iran and the Pashtuns of Afghanistan (Tapper
1979b), and among other nomads the domination of large tracts of land
by tribal leaders appears to form the basis for the annual allocation of
grazing rights among tribal members (Shahrani 1979; Beck 1980; Oberling
1974, p.15; Fazel 1973). Such forms of pastoral tenancy may be viewed at
the sociopolitical level in terms of patron-client relationships. Clients
may well form an expendable labour pool which can be dumped in hard
times (Peters 1966; Swift 1977; Marx 1977, p.354) but, where supported by
kin or tribal ties, the elevation of an elite can also serve as a major resource
during difficult times (e.g. Spooner 1964, p.63).
The commercial response: the Yoriiks of Southern Turkey
Where nomads are heavily incorporated into a system of capitalist market
forces the costs incurred through household consumption and herd main-
tenance often tend to outrun livestock market prices. Such appears to be
the case among the nomadic Yoriiks where such fluctuations condition
the flow of personnel into or out of the nomadic sector. Under such
conditions the minimum threshold of animals required for household
viability will be raised, resulting in fewer nomads with larger flocks
though not necessarily greater disposable assets. Since individual flocks
are likely to fall within the optimal range (250-400) for efficient herding,
cooperative herding units are not formed and shepherding labour tends to
be drawn from within the household. Since the household is both the unit
of production and the unit of management, any severe imbalances in the
matching of labour and capital resources may lead to sedentarization. The
pattern of livestock ownership will tend towards a normal distribution
with a majority of middle herd owners. In ecological terms, the number
of animals pastured within a given region is likely to remain constant, but
Fig. 5.5 Distribution of
household livestock
ownership for Yoriiks and
Yomut Turkmen. The
Yoriik example (a) con-
forms closer to a normal
distribution than the
Turkmen (b).
(After Bates 1973, fig. 14;
and Irons 1975, table 12.)
30
No. of
tnts
20
"
M
YOROKS
. I . I 1 I
Herd size
No. of
tents
15-
10-
1 1
YOMUT
n...
10 20 $0 100 ZOO 400 600 700
Herd size
they will be concentrated in fewer hands. Fig. 3.5 shows the distribution
of livestock ownership among the Yoriiks (Bates 1973, p. 163, fig. 14) and
the Yomut (Irons 1975, table 12). The Yoriiks display a roughly normal
distribution, slightly negatively skewed, with a mean of 268.35 and
median of 245, compared with the more nearly bimodal distribution of
the Yomut.
4
RESIDENCE,
DESCENT AND
TERRITORY
The social significance of nomadic mobility is that it gives the opportunity for
continual choice and change in residential association, within a wide but
limited and relatively homogeneous social field, an opportunity inherently
denied to settled people.
(Tapper 1979a, p.46)
Nomad camps have been likened to 'mobile villages
7
(Barth 1961, p.25;
Stauffer 1965, p.285). The analogy holds up to a point. Camps, like vil-
lages, are composed of individual dwellings, each containing a household
unit. Tents are generally clustered together for reasons of sociability and
security. The residents of both settlement types form a face-to-face com-
munity. However as our attention shifts to residential patterns, commu-
nity organization, property relations and territory, the analogy begins to
break down. Failing major catastrophe, there is a certain inertia in the
physical layout and membership of a village, which is absent in a nomad
camp. Other things being equal, the villager will tend to remain where he
is and any change in residence will involve a major decision. For the
nomad such decisions are routine and the composition of a nomad camp
can persist even over short timespans only through constant reaffirmation
(Barth 1961, p.25). The size and composition of nomad residence groups
is therefore highly responsive to decisions taken at the household level.
Nomad social organization
Central to this residential flexibility is the nomad facility for reinforcing
social relationships through physical distance. A village plan may well
reflect lineage structures or status distinctions (Kramer 1979; Watson
1979), but any changes in these structures will not necessarily result in
people moving house en masse to fit the new situation. By way of contrast,
each new nomad encampment is laid out according to a subtle grammar
of kinship networks, status and herding logistics (see Chapter 8). A key
factor in any current camping arrangement is the state of conflict between
households. The principle is beautifully illustrated by Barth (1961) who
observed two families, who had clashed over the occupation of a choice
44
Residence, descent and territory 45
tentsite, dragging their goods and chattels off in opposite directions to set
up their tents at each extremity of the camp. Many ethnographers -
particularly those who have worked in both migratory and settled village
communities (W. Swidler 1972; Watson 1979) - have remarked on the
generally low levels of interpersonal tension, if not overt conflict, among
nomads as opposed to villagers. This may be due in part to the ability to
defuse conflict situations by reinforcing social distance with physical
distance.
These residential arrangements are spin-offs rather than causal factors.
The constant need for decisions affecting residential location and associa-
tions is underlied by the chronic instability and changes in fortune
which have emerged as the hallmark of the pastoral mode of subsistence.
Nomadic mobility provides the framework through which such decisions
may be implemented. Changes in the size of household flocks can upset
labour-sharing arrangements within herding units leading to the forma-
tion of new cooperatives each season. Where pasture is allocated in fixed
lots, annual variation in quality together with fluctuations in flock sizes
may result in families being allocated different lots each year. Conflict is a
frequently cited reason for the fissioning of camp groups, but such imbal-
ances between labour, capital and pastureland are frequently at the heart
of conflicts (see Peters 1960). It is well known that small cooperatives
have a low tolerance threshold for conflict which, short of the interven-
tion of some higher authority, will normally lead to the hiving off of
individual households or the splitting of camps.
Descent groups and residence groups
Given the regular modular layout of most nomad camps it is tempting to
superimpose kinship structures on these plans, particularly for archae-
ologists raised in the archaeology-as-anthropology tradition. Let it be said
from the start that a tendency for camps to form on the basis of agnatic
descent groups is virtually universal among Near Eastern nomads. But this
is a tendency only, and a wide range of options is normally held open:
'Fully effective exploitation of nomadic mobility . . . is possible only if
each household and each lineage is free to move over a wide area and, if
necessary, to take up permanent residence with people with whom they
share no close ties of kinship
7
(Irons 1975, p.39). The most intensive
studies of camp group formation (Bates 1973; Barth 1961; Tapper 1979a;
W. Swidler 1972, 1973; Peters 1960) have invariably found that cognatic
and affinal ties are as statistically common as those of patrilineal descent
although, given the widespread practice of parallel cousin marriage (Barth
1973b; Murphy and Kasdan 1967; Khuri 1970), these different strands are
often difficult to unravel. But more important than empirical arguments
based on actual camp group membership are conceptual differences
between the processes of lineage segmentation and residence group
formation.
Lineage segments proliferate through time in a regular manner forming
structurally equivalent units in a nested hierarchy. The segmentary lin-
eage model as summarized by Sahlins (1961) envisages all units, however
high or low in the hierarchy, as fulfilling much the same function - the
pursuit of the blood feud. The residence hierarchy, by contrast, is one in
which each level is formed in accordance with a different set of principles
and for a different purpose. While certain levels of agnatic segmentation
may sometimes be correlated with a particular level in the residence
hierarchy (e.g. a camp group composed predominantly of members from
a single maximal lineage) not all levels of segmentation correspond with
any level in the residence hierarchy. In short, as pointed out long ago by
Evans-Pritchard (1940, pp.203-7), the physical distribution of households
and residence units can never correspond exactly to the structure of
agnatic descent, although the latter may often serve as a rough charac-
terization of the former. Moreover, among different groups of nomads,
different levels of segmentation materialize at the core of functioning
communities.
Yet in a comparative study of a number of nomad ethnographies from
the Near East and North Africa Tapper (1979a) discovered a remarkable
degree of consistency in the size of residence groups at each level in the
residence hierarchy. Five or six levels of group formation emerge overall,
each characterized by a discrete range of lowest to highest numbers. He
points out that: 'the communities . . . vary widely in size within particular
societies, while average sizes are remarkably uniform
7
(ibid., p.61). The
results of his comparisons have been graphed in Fig. 4.1. Tapper employs
these data to support the hypothesis that these regularities are a reflection
of species-specific size thresholds (Forge 1972; Johnson 1978) somehow
Fig. 4- i Schematic diagram
of levels in a nomad
residence hierarchy based
on estimates from 14
ethnographically recorded
nomadic societies in the
Near East and North Africa.
The numbers refer to
households or 'tents'. The
dispersion of average
figures for sheep herding
groups and mixed herding
groups are shown at right.
(Compiled from data
presented by Tapper
1979a.)
1: Herding unit,
a: 'A' type or primary
community.
b-e: 'B
;
type or secondary
community levels.
Mixed herding (camel, cattle,sheep)
cde i.abcde i.abcde i.abcde i.abcde i.abcde
5-
Residence, descent and territory
47
'wired into' all human societies but achieving their full geographical
expression only among nomads and other mobile groups:
it will be among nomads rather than among settled peoples that we
can expect the emergence and evidence of any inherent social dy-
namic processes generating interactional communities of a certain
size and character . . . The same factors may operate in settled soci-
eties but it is sooner in mobile and flexible than in stationary and
fixed societies that we can expect them to express themselves in
social groupings.
(Tapper 1979a
;
p.61)
While I am attracted to the kind of theory being advanced here, I must
admit to being highly suspicious of the data employed in this instance,
and on two grounds. The first involves the source of the data - ethnog-
raphers attempting to convey an overall view of a society on the basis of
reports from a limited number of informants are prone to cite rounded
figures such as 5 to 10, an average of 100, etc., rather than observed ranges
of 4 to 13 or averages of 93.5. Second, when dealing with a hierarchy,
estimates of higher level units, even less accessible to direct observation,
are apt to become multiples of lower order units. Such values are liable to
fit a log scale, such as that employed in Fig. 4.1, by way of their formal
mathematical properties rather than any actual relation to the phenom-
enon under study. Such amplified imprecisions may well convey an
impression of discrete ranges and hierarchy where none in fact exists.
Sheep her di ng
1000
20.000
I
M.ON
30
I
200
35
80
*f
J0
I ioo<
Z '
4
labcde labcde i.abcde i.abcde i a bede i.abcde i.abcde"
CO
Q
on
:*:
>
cr
\
X
CD
QL
Ld
CO
CO
OQ
a
X
CO
C5
CO
X
CO
o
CO
a.
x
o
3
m
5OO0
i i , )ioo
TOO
80
More substantial and relevant to our present aims is the identification
of a unit at the lower end of the hierarchy dubbed the A Type or primary
community composed of somewhere between 20 and 60 households:
'based on a dominant lineage, with a greater or lesser proportion of tem-
porarily resident affines, multilateral kin, unrelated clients or herdsmen
7
(Tapper 1979a
;
p.60). The primary community, whose defining feature is
that it permits the direct interaction between all household heads, tends
to form around pastoral resources such as tracts of grazing or water
sources. They vary in year-to-year stability according to whether grazing
rights are individually owned or jointly held (maximal stability) or subject
to frequent redistribution, with the strongest tendencies towards the for-
mation of agnatically based residence groups occurring in the former case.
Within its structure camp groups of various sizes may be constituted in
response to different seasonal demands and direct adjustments between
personnel and resources effected. It is commonly a pasture-holding estate
controlling - at least for a season - a particular pasture lot allocated on the
basis of tribal membership, within which members of the community
share equal rights to the available pasture. It may coincide with a lineage
segment, but is more commonly composed of an agnatic core together
with collateral, affinal and unrelated households. Within the structure of
the primary community it is possible to identify camp groups and herding
units formed for logistical herd management purposes. Within the pri-
mary community no permanent authority structures emerge, though a
headman or elder is usually 'elected
7
each year.
Fission or fusion of these groups occurs in response to imbalances
between population and resources. But, according to Tapper (1979a,
pp.59-61), ecological factors and the matching of human, capital and
pastoral resources cannot account for the regular formation of primary
communities of a certain size range cross-culturally, and he points to
aggregations of a similar order (regional bands) among hunter-gatherers.
The implication is that size-related factors involved in conflict resolution
and corporate decision-making define the range within which solutions to
ecological and economic imbalances can be arrived at. While the need for
concensus on issues such as grazing territories and commitment to joint
herding arrangements is important, the ability to arrive at such a concen-
sus - in fact any concensus - is lost once the number of household heads
has exceeded a certain threshold, not because of lack of agreement per se
but through a breakdown in the processes by which agreement may be
reached. This model may be subsumed under a broad body of organiza-
tional theory, used to account for the formation of chiefdoms and the
origin of the state, which ultimately falls back on social psychological
explanations (Lee 1979; Johnson 1978; Renfrew et at. 1982). It tends to
stress the role of variables such as scale and the size of information
networks as against the constant of human information processing capac-
ity. As such it does not necessarily go against the theory of modes of
subsistence outlined above but raises another set of factors which must be
built into the model at the relations of production level.
Above the level of the primary community the character of the group-
ings and their reasons for formation undergo important changes. The
order of groupings fall within the ranges 80-1,000, 1,000-5,000 and
7,500-25,000 households, and are characterized by Tapper (1979a) as
B Type or secondary communities. These are no longer residence units but
levels in a settlement hierarchy above the face-to-face level. Agnatic
descent may be emphasized as a primary criterion for membership in
pasture-holding territorial groups, and membership in these units is far
more stable than that at the primary community level. Outsiders must be
incorporated as opposed to being simply associated. At some level above
that of the primary community we find a unit - oba, oymak, oulad, etc. -
associated with a particular territory or migration schedule, though
within this group there will be considerable fluidity in the allocation of
pasture estates and the membership of camp groups (primary commu-
nities) from year to year.
Although face-to-face contact within such communities may be rare,
they act as important reference groups of a sub-ethnic character within
which there is broad agreement on social norms and customs. Further-
more, secondary communities at some level - usually 'tribe' or 'sub-tribe
7
- constitute a marriage isolate or endogamous unit, though a statistically
high level of endogamy may also be found within the primary
community.
It should be emphasized that each segment within the nomad resi-
dence hierarchy forms not as a result of any inherent segmentary prin-
ciple, but through the effect of different sets of factors operating at each
level. The household is the primary unit of labour supply and ownership.
At the level of the herding unit, logistical and herd management con-
siderations are paramount. The primary community forms around the
operational units of the pastoral economy - actual physical camps of
varying seasonal composition. At a still higher level blocks of territory are
associated with stable descent groups which are endogamous and act as
cultural reference groups. The dichotomy between primary and second-
ary communities marks that point below which some degree of flexi-
bility in economic and residential association is essential, and above
which the emphasis begins to shift to membership in territorially linked
groups defined in terms of either agnatic descent or political allegiance
(see Table 4.1).
The Basseri provide a good illustration of this kind of structure. House-
holds form into herding units (2-5 tents) on the basis of bilateral or affinal
ties, camping together throughout the annual cycle. Camps (10-40 tents)
are the closest thing to a primary community, forming 'a very clearly
bounded social group, their relations to each other as continuing neigh-
bours are relatively constant while all other contacts are passing, ephem-
eral and governed by chance
7
(Barth 1961, p.25). But camps constitute a
single settlement unit only during migration. While an agnatically related
core forms the nucleus of most camps, the presence of cognatic kin and
60 per cent intra-camp endogamy make it in essence a 'bilateral, nearly
self-perpetuating kin group
7
(ibid., p.41), although there is some fluidity in
membership. Herding units do not represent segments of the camp since
they are differently constituted each year. Nor does the camp represent a
lower-order segment of the next level in the hierarchy, the oulad. The
oulad, of around 100 tents, is an agnatically defined descent group with a
formally recognized leader, the katkhoda, who is directly responsible to
the tribal chief. This is the pasture-holding estate within which all oulad
members enjoy equal grazing rights. It has its own migration schedule
Table 4.1 Functional properties of different levels of segmentation for nine Near Eastern tribal groups (from information contained in Tapper 1919 a)
Level of
Group segmentation
Alikanli asiret
kabile
oymak
zoma
Bakhtiari //
tayfeh
tireh
tash
oulad
camps
Baluch tribe
section
subsection
khel
camp
herding units
Basseri confederacy
tribe (it)
tireh
oulad
camps
herding units
Jaf asiret
tribe
hoz
(max. lineage)
khel
herding units
Pashtun confederacy
tribe
tayfa
khel
herding units
Qashqa'i //
tayfeh
tireh
bonkuh
beyleh
No. of
households
?
?
50-60
20-40
?
?
?
35
11
?
10,000
?
500
150
20?
3-4
20,000
3,000
200
100
10-40
4-5
?
800
?
20-30
?
?
1,000
?
20-50
?
25,000
3,000
80
30-40
?
Reference
group
X
X
X
X
Pasture
estate
x
X
X
X
X
X?
X
Migration
group
X
X
Contiguous
territory
X
X
X
X
Political
unit
X
X
X
X
X
Marriage
isolate
X
X
(partial)
X
Descent
group
X
X
X
X
(agnatic
core)
X
(2/3 within camp)
?
[headman
raiz)
X
x (elder)
x {malik)
x{khan)
(headman
{katkhoda)
X
(elder)
X
(lineage
segment)
X
)
X
X
X
X
?
Level of
Group segmentation
Shahsevan //
tribe
tayfa
section
tireh
Yomut /7
tribe
oba
No. of
households
5,000
500-1,000
200
100
20-30
5,000
1,000
25-1,000
Reference
group
X
Pasture
estate
X
x
Migration
group
X
Contiguous
territory
X
x
(
Political
unit
X
(chief)
?
pokesmar
Marriage
isolate
X
(90%)
(40%)
)
Descent
group
(agnatic
core)
(agnatic
core)
Dotted line shows boundary between primary and
Key:
nary and
a$iret
beyleh
bonkuh
hoz
il
habile
katkhoda
khel
malik
secondary communities
tribe
minimal camp group
camp group
tribal section
tribal confederacy
maximal descent group
headman
tribal section/camp group
chief
oba
oulad
oymak
raiz
tash
tayfa
tayfeh
tireh
zotna
large migratory unit
migratory group
migratory unit
chief
descent group
tribal section
tribe
tribal section
camp group
and is therefore the key administrative and political division within the
tribe. Above the oulad stands the tribal section
;
or tireh (over 200 tents)
;
a
stable agnatic descent group which has no political role or leader and
seems not to be important in pasture allocation, though it normally covers
a territory of contiguous estates. The tireh seems to function as the pri-
mary reference group and marriage isolate. The tribe itself (around 3,000
tents at the time of the study) is a political creation consisting of tribal
sections brought together under the domination of a khan, forming a
territorial and migratory unit but lacking any notion of common agnatic
descent. The Basseri constitute a Persian-speaking ethnic unit within the
Khamseh Confederacy (10,000-20,000 tents), a loose association of five
tribes - the others being Turkic- or Arabic-speaking - administratively
created as a counterweight to the powerful Qashqa'i confederacy to the
northwest. The Ilkhan (paramount chief) of the confederacy was drawn
from the Qavam, a family of wealthy Shiraz merchants (Barth 1961;
Marsden 1978, p.7).
One wonders whether the importance attached by Barth to the oulad as
an organizational unit may have been partly due to the phase in the
annual cycle at which the Basseri were observed. Had they been studied
in summer pastures, possibly some other unit may well have emerged in
the allocation of pasture. For instance Tapper (1979b, p. 100) suspects that
some form of individuated access to pasture lots may well have been
present among the Basseri, as among the Qashqa'i (Beck 1980) and the
Lurs (Black 1972).
The role of the tribe
Nowhere is the 'problem of the tribe
7
(Helm (ed.) 1968) more problematic
than among Near Eastern pastoral nomads. Traditionally the term has
been used loosely to describe politically recognizable units of unspecified
size and function. Recently however it has come under close scrutiny and
given a range of connotations. While no definitive solution to the 'prob-
lem' will be offered here
;
a discussion of the concept may help to draw
together some of the lines of argument followed above. Having described
pastoral nomadism in terms of a Marxist-inspired theory of modes of
subsistence, it might appear tempting to dismiss the notion of tribe as a
piece of superstructural baggage, as indeed some Marxists have tended to
do (Fried 1968; Marsden 1978; Bruinessen 1979). However a number of
problems have emerged from this analysis, particularly the matter of
access to far-flung pastoral resources, which have not so far been ad-
equately accounted for. I believe that an account of tribal structures and
processes will serve to clarify these questions.
First I will dispose of some recent misuses of the term. Any attempt to
fit tribally organized Near Eastern nomads into a scheme of sociopolitical
evolution moving from band through tribe to chiefdom and state (Service
1966; Sahlins 1961) is bound to weave a web of contradictions. 'Tribes
7
often appear to be organized in a manner more appropriate to that of
chiefdoms, or even states, and may be found incorporated into state
structures. Such 'tribal chiefdoms
7
seem to have existed alongside states
for some 5,000 years, in close interaction, without the former having
evolved into the latter in any general sense, though of course particular
states have been founded or conquered by tribal elites (Rosenfeld 1965;
Spooner 1969; Woods 1976).
Objections to the evolutionary view by Marxists are founded on a
different view of the genesis of tribal structures. Fried (1968, pp.15-16)
and Bruinessen (1979, pp. 148-9) see tribes as a secondary phenomenon,
an organizational response to the pressures of adjacent states. According
to Marsden (1978, p.10) the tribe - specifically the Qashqa
7
i taifeh -
emerged as a unit of organization and a means of classifying people only
in the twentieth century. Prior to this the operational units tended to be
sub-tribal and more numerous, the size of the units varying with the
power of the state (Marsden 1976, p.12). By contrast, Bruinessen (1979,
p.228) sees a kind of devolution occurring in nineteenth century Kurdistan
as more complex organizational forms, Emirates collapsed, allowing 'sim-
pler forms
7
, tribes of varying degrees of complexity, to emerge. These
suggestions emanate from a primarily political conception of the tribe as
'a political means of defining populations
7
(Marsden 1976, p.9). This view
denies that there are any economic and social processes at work which
might be elucidated by such a concept as 'tribe
7
, and focuses on a particu-
lar level of organization - the interface between tribesmen and state
administration.
Closer to my own view is that expounded by Emmanual Marx (1977)
who sees the tribe as an autonomous territorial unit (see also Dole 1968);
though rather than a bounded unit I prefer to see it as a territorial system,
an organization for the control of territory. This should not be confused
with Sahlin's (1961) model of the segmentary lineage system, useful for
envisaging the operation of the blood feud and territorial conflict in some
societies. The tribe too is a segmentary system, but its segments have
little in common with those of the segmentary lineage. While Fried (1968,
p.5) is correct in defining the tribe in terms of a series of aggregates, it
should be stressed (as above) that these aggregates are neither structurally
nor functionally equivalent but formed on the basis of different criteria,
for different purposes and for the solution of different problems at each
level. Certain southwest Asian anthropologists (e.g. Irons 1968, 1975;
Salzman 1978) have correctly identified many of the features of the seg-
mentary lineage system among nomadic pastoralists, but they are mis-
taken in using such a model to account for nomadic territorial systems.
Whereas within primary communities criteria of common residence
and economic cooperation predominate, at the secondary level greater
weight is given to membership in lineages which serve as marriage iso-
lates and cultural reference groups. A third element is usually involved in
the form of authority structures centring on chiefs which penetrate the
secondary level and are capable of holding together large lineage-based
units which recognize no common descent. The process by which tribal
units crystallize around a central lineage or powerful individual seems to
have been historically common. Such units possess a central core organ-
ized in lineages, together with a fluctuating element which may shift
allegiance to rival leaders (Millingen 1870, p.28; Edmonds 1922). Such
accretions could also occur, according to Bruinessen (1979, pp.136-7), not
only through recruitment from other tribes, but also by attracting non-
tribal peasantry. Barth (1961, pp.132-3) recognizes two patterns of tribal
evolution: the first by way of population growth, segmentation and incor-
poration; the second occurring much more rapidly through the aggrega-
tion of tribally - and even ethnically - diverse elements around a strong
leader. The impression of stable lineage-based structures often conveyed
as a result of synchronic modes of ethnographic inquiry may conceal a
system in a constant state of flux. This perceived lineage structure is
frequently a product of conscious rationalizations by tribal leaders or
provincial administrators, an edifice of kinship erected on the basis of a
common political or military purpose (see Barth 1961, p.55). This was
recognized long ago by ibn Khaldun (1967, p. 100):
It is clear that a person of a certain descent may become attached to
people of another descent . . . Such a person comes to be known as
having the same descent as those to whom he is attached and is
counted as one of them . . . Family lines in this manner continually
changed from one tribal group to another . . .
Such may have been the origins of the Marri tribe, characterized by
Pastner (1978, p.262) as originally a 'military and looting organization'
only later welded into a structure of lineages. A case of administrative
creation is found in the Khamseh Confederacy - of which the Basseri are
members - referred to above, founded by wealthy Shiraz merchants
under state sponsorship.
A closely related phenomenon is the creation of tribes or confederacies
'by decree' around a nucleus of freshly recruited military units. Mercen-
aries drawn from diverse sources, together with their households and
retainers, may be offered 'tribal
7
status as a reward for loyal service. The
Shahsevan, literally 'those who love the Shah' (Tapper 1979c), and the
Alikanli (Beikgi 1969) seem to have had such an origin, and historical
accounts of warfare from Seljuk to Safavid times employ the convention
of equating cavalry strength with household heads of nomadic tribes or
'tents' (Minorsky 1978; Masson-Smith 1978).
Certainly a case can be argued for a partial rethinking of 'tribal' pro-
cesses in terms of the accretion of heterogeneous units in response to
largely political pressures. The tendency is greatly facilitated by the fluid-
ity in composition of units at the primary community (camp and migra-
tion group) level, and soon rationalized into an overarching structure
through the grammar of kinship and descent and the ramifying effects of
affinal ties transformed into kinship networks with the passing genera-
tions. But the spontaneous generation of tribes and confederacies in this
manner is no fleeting phenomenon, for the achievement or conferment of
tribal status invariably involves, at the very least, identity with a terri-
tory and/or migration cycle. It may well involve substantial control of a
territory.
The tribe as a territorial system
There are in the Near East many tribal groupings which involve nomad-
ism only marginally, if at all, ranging from sedentary Kurdish mountain
villagers (Barth 1953; Bruinessen 1979) to Berber citrus cultivators (Hart
1970) to Marsh Arabs (Thesiger 1964). In all cases, however, the common
denominator appears to be a fluid territorial system and intense com-
petition for scarce land or water resources. It is becoming a little clearer
now why pastoralism, nomadism and tribalism should form such a coher-
ent package. The inherent instability of a pastoral mode of subsistence,
accompanied by constant changes of residence and fluctuations in the size
and composition of co-resident groups, both demands and facilitates a
territorial system of great complexity and maximum flexibility. Just such a
system has been envisaged by Spooner (1971, p.205): 'security of access to
a particular set of resources is less important than the maintenance of a
network of relationships which would secure options to switch from one
set of resources to another as conditions required'.
The sociopolitical structure which secures such options is what I under-
stand by the term 'tribe'. Salzman (1978) has suggested that the segmen-
taiy lineage acts in this way, providing a stable system of organization for
those with no stable territorial framework. Granted that the structure of
segmented lineages and the nested descent segments involved in the
blood feud may be observed among Near Eastern pastoralists (Irons 1975),
they serve merely to trace out the lines of current territorial disputes
rather than provide the basis for territorial control. This must frequently
be sought in structures of authority, whether generated from within the
tribal system or externally imposed. The 'tribe' simply refers to a territo-
rial system in which control is not vested in the state apparatus, or at least
where certain areas of control are relinquished to local interests and col-
lectives. This is illustrated by the frequently stated adage that tribesmen
do not pay taxes, only dues to tribal notables (Rowton 1973, 1974; Bruin-
essen 1979). The tribe constitutes the operational unit through which
units of population are matched to units of territory and in which heg-
emony over, or rights within a territory or migration track, are vested
(Cribb 1982, 1984c). Among nomads it is the larger divisions at the tribal
section level that are most clearly identified with a particular tract of
territory.
Tribal allocation of territory
The allocation of territory within a tribal framework can occur in various
ways. A common pattern observed among the Qashqa'i, Basseri, and
Boyr Ahmad in southwest Iran is the seasonal allocation of pastures
owned by the khan or held as common territory to sections or estates
depending on relative need, livestock numbers and bargaining power
within the tribal framework (Oberling 1974, p.15; Barth 1959, p.10, 1961;
Fazel 1973). For the most part, however, the khans hold this power in
reserve, exercising it only in cases of conflict or during times of major
reorganization such as in the turmoil after World War II (Barth 1961, p.76)
and as recently as the overthrow of the Shah among the Qashqa'i (Beck
1980, p.349). Something similar was found among the Bakhtiari: The
khans had little control over the pastoral base of the Bakhtiyari [sic] which
was controlled by family or extended family units . . . Apparently the
khans could assign or reassign pasture land as reward or punishment, but
seldom did so' (Garthwaite 1978, p. 185). In Turkey, where pastures are
usually rented, tribal elders are heavily involved in the formation of rent
collectives by means of which household livestock resources are matched
to available tracts of grazing (Beikgi 1969).
The correlation of tribal organization with systems of territorial control
is perhaps best illustrated by instances where access to pasture is achieved
in other ways. Where this occurs, tribal organization is either weak or
non-existent. Anatolian Yoriiks, though fully nomadic, are forced to rent
pasture on a piecemeal basis such that there is little consistency in their
territorial pattern from one year to the next. Pasture rental is an individual
concern, and tribal identity appears correspondingly weak (Bates 1973).
The Kurdish pastoral village studied by Watson (1979) made use of pas-
tures owned by the village landlord and lacked any suggestion of tribal
organization. Village-based groups in Southern Turkey migrating to sum-
mer pastures owned corporately by the village (Tuncdilek 1962, 1963;
Johanson 1966) are devoid of tribal organization. It was observed that
among Kurdish villagers in northern Iraq and southeastern Turkey tribal
affiliation tended to be weak, only being made explicit in the course of
feuds or conflicts, while among nomads tribal identities were continually
reinforced through migration and the division of pastures (Bruinessen
1979, p.51). Finally, Tapper (1979b, pp. 102,109) appears to regard the loss
of pasture rights as coterminous with the loss of Shahsevan tribal mem-
bership. Even though pastures are individually owned and alienable, it is
highly significant that property transactions are confined to members of
the same tribal section (Tapper 1979b, p.111).
The regional variation in modes of controlling and allocating pasture
may well be matched by temporal variations. This may be true even in
the course of a single seasonal cycle. I have a suspicion that if Barth had
stayed with the Basseri through an entire annual cycle, instead of just the
spring migration, the egalitarian image that emerged might have been
different. Authoritarian elements in pasture allocation are more likely to
come into play where large tracts of summer pasture are concerned than
for the patches of roadside grazing exploited in the course of migration.
I have a further suspicion that an ethnographer returning to the same
nomadic group once every decade may well find vastly different modes of
pasture allocation in operation each time in the wake of war
;
revolution,
shifts in market forces and political policies. The effects of the current war
in Afghanistan on nomadic lifeways and systems of pastoral tenure
would prove very illuminating. A tantalizing glimpse of the rapidity with
which such changes can occur is offered by Beck's (1980) observations of
the Qashqa'i in post-revolutionary Iran. An increasingly individuated sys-
tem of pasture acquisition and rental which prevailed during the last
decade of the Pahlevis (1970s) was replaced, it seems almost overnight,
with one in which tribal systems of collective tenure and allocation by
khans were reasserted (Beck 1980, p.332). The system of individuated
pasture 'ownership' described by Tapper (1979b, 1979c) among the Shah-
sevan may well have been a product of temporary stability and state
ascendancy, as with current pasture rental systems in Turkey. It remains
an open question to what extent the differences between ethnographic
accounts of nomads (e.g. Irons 1971; Tapper 1979a) are due to unique and
stable features within each system or to the varying political and eco-
nomic conditions which prevail during different periods in which field-
work is carried out.
Tribalism and territorial instability
The tribal system can only be fully understood when it is set in motion.
The inherent tendencies towards the expansion of pastoral herds do not
automatically result in pastoral expansion but, given an adequate labour
supply and means of acquiring pasture, a well-organized group can em-
bark on a cumulative spiral which will place increasing strain on any static
organization of territory. The manner in which this occurs is suggested by
the following observations made by Barth in the course of the Basseri
migrations:
If the Kurdshuli population and flocks grow, sections of that tribe will
tend to hold back one or two marches, thereby encroaching on the
rights of the Basseri . . . Thus, through competition and continual
pressure to utilize alternatives, the pattern of division of pastures by
allocation of different il rahs [migratory cycles] is continually kept in
rough relation to the needs and powers of different tribes.
(Barth 1959-60, p.8)
Similar mechanisms of pasture reallocation by khans, speculation in
seasonal pasture lots (Tapper 1979a) or the pooling of tribal resources for
collective pasture rental (Beikgi 1969) exert an inexorable bias towards
those households or sections who are both sufficiently rich in livestock to
generate demands on pasture, and strong enough in personnel or influ-
ence to back up these demands.
Progressive displacements of this kind, often accompanied by territorial
conflict, form a dominant theme in tribal history (Hole 1979, p. 157;
Baharvand 1975; Sykes 1908; Beikgi 1969) and have been vividly
described by nineteenth-century observers of Bakhtiari and Kurdish
nomads (de Bode 1845, p.87; Maunsell 1901, p.123; Sawyer 1894; Wilson
1926). Such readjustments of personnel and flocks to pastoral resources
cannot easily be effected through the kinds of voluntary shifts in camp
group membership that occur at the primary community level, but fre-
quently involve direct competition and conflict with large groups of stran-
gers. Moreover territorial extension generally involves the segmentation
of territory-holding groups. The evolution of the Baharvand tribe in Cen-
tral Luristan during the early twentieth century occurred through a series
of episodes of growth and fission (Baharvand 1975, pp.47-9). Just as the
promotion of ascendent groups on the hierarchy of named segments
proceeds with their territorial expansion, so territorially weak groups
merge and decline. In this way the formal structure of tribal organization
is preserved against a backdrop of the continual reshuffling of segments.
Where authoritarian leadership is an important component in tribal
organization, as in the Zagros region, the security and prosperity offered
by a strong leader can exert a kind of gravitational pull on the peripheral
elements of neighbouring tribes, causing them to shift their allegiance
(Barth 1961, pp.85-6). This process, aptly described by Edmonds (1922,
p.348) as a 'perpetual intrigue to undermine the position of a rival group
by detaching its doubtful adherents', is part of the pattern of tribal accre-
tion described above and can occur on a large scale. It is recorded that
during a severe famine in 1871 no fewer than 4,000 Qashqa'i families
shifted their allegiance to the Bakhtiari (Oberling 1974, p.218). It is not
difficult to envisage the initial build-up of large tribal empires such as the
Seljuk (Cahen 1968; Sumer 1980) and the Akkoyunlu (Woods 1976)
through precisely these mechanisms (see Krader 1979), although it should
be noted that the growth of tribal entities in this way need not necessarily
entail any territorial displacement of constituent units.
It is possible that the relatively stable nomadic territorial systems
observed by ethnographers in the course of the 1960s and 70s are largely
the result of increasingly effective control by modern nation states at that
time (see Stauffer 1965; Fazel 1973). While invariably desired by earlier
rulers (Bates 1971), such control was not always possible:
The Persian government is ever jealous of the migrations of these
tribes, and they cannot remove from one province to another without
first having obtained the Shah's permission. In times of trouble, such
as the death of the king, frequently, if they be strong enough to
encounter opposition, they pass from their old haunts to better
places.
(Morier 1837, pp.237-8)
being so powerful, the Kashka
;
i [sic] are able to select their own
pasture ground. The Kashka
;
i thus range over a great extent of coun-
try, doing great injury in their movements.
(Sheil 1856, pp.398-9)
Observations in Luristan early this century reveal a confused patch-
work of constantly shifting allegiances, the rise and decline of tribal seg-
ments of various orders and the continual displacement of some groups
by others, among which a number of the processes discussed above may
be discerned:
The Yusufvand are now in the process of absorption by the Hasan-
vand. . . . According to the Lurs
;
the Qalarvand and Baharvand [see
Baharvand 1975] were not among the nine original tribes of the
Dirakvand but came in comparatively recently and absorbed most of
them . . . The former summer quarters of the Sagvand in Hurud are
now occupied by the Bairanvana. Owing to the bitter blood feud the
Sagvand Ali Khani no longer go south while the Rahim Khani stay
summer and winter in Araoistan.
(Edmonds 1922, pp.345-7)
Nomadism as a cyclical phenomenon
The great thirteenth-century Arab thinker ibn Khaldun (1967) saw
nomadism not only as a cyclical phenomenon but also as one closely
interwoven with the dynastic cycle of civilizations with which nomads
interacted. Is there any justification in this view? Having sketched the
main economic and sociopolitical variables involved in the phenomenon
of nomadism, it remains to put the system in motion. What factors or
conditions tend to be associated with the expansion or retraction of
nomadic activity?
Phases of territorial stability and instability
Within any given matrix of pastures and migration tracks patterns of
mobility may remain relatively stable for a time. However changes in
climate or environmental stress, as well as general changes in economic
and political conditions, can lead to radical shifts in migration tracks
(Cribb 1984c). Such 'migratory drift
7
(Stenning 1957
7
pp.58-9) appears to
be most frequent under Near Eastern conditions when a breakdown of
central authority allows full rein to the territorial aggrandizement and
opportunism inherent in pastoralism. Such displacements, prompted by
an intensification of the kinds of territorial mechanisms described above,
will usually occur at right-angles to the direction of seasonal migration
and along the major ecological divide, whether mountain-lowland or
steppe-arable. The net effect of such displacements, by which tribal units
are conveyed rapidly from one region to another, may well emerge his-
torically as a major migratory episode or 'invasion
7
such as the Turkic
incursions of the eleventh and twelfth centuries (Bosworth 1973; Lamb-
ton 1973; Cahen 1968; Minorsky 1978).
It must be said here that, while I fully endorse recent criticisms of
'migrationist
7
themes in archaeology (see Adams et al. 1978), particularly
where nomad invasions are held responsible for cultural lacunae or
change, migratory episodes such as those described above are not illu-
sions but real events which are likely to have archaeological correlates -
though perhaps not of the kind that have in the past sprung all too readily
to hand.
In terms of our model, such an episode represents 'untied
7
nomadism.
Pure untied nomadism involves continual migration into new territories.
According to Vainshtein (1980, p.97) something like this occurred on the
Central Asian steppe only briefly during the twelfth and thirteenth cen-
turies when conditions of chronic warfare caused the formation of large,
compact migratory groups consisting of hundreds or even thousands of
tents. The huge concentrations of livestock that resulted led to the rapid
exhaustion of pastures, hence the need for constant migration into new
areas. Historical sources record the presence of large camps of kibitkas, a
kind of tent on wheels or covered wagon, during these periods (see
Vainshtein 1980, pp.99-100) and passages from Herodotus (IV, p.119)
describing 'waggons which served as houses for the women and children
7
indicate that something similar may have been present on the Eurasian
steppes two millennia earlier.
Constant incursions by militarily strong groups seem to have had a
chain reaction effect on other pastoralists, forcing them to adopt similar
strategies of rapid deployment and concentration. It was the outer ripples
of this cumulative process that impacted on the periphery of the Near East
during the latter part of the eleventh century and throughout the twelfth.
Such an intrusive episode is likely to be followed by one in which
the nomadic groups gradually settle into relatively fixed migration tracks,
exhibiting a 'tied
7
rather than an 'untied
7
pattern. Nomadism then
operates in what de Planhol (1979) has called a 'saturated
7
milieu in which
it must come to terms with competing interests from a wider socio-
political spectrum. Following the Turkic, Mongol and Timurid episodes,
nomadic groups in southwestern Asia seem to have become progressively
tied to stable territorial systems (Reid 1978, pp. 120-1; Wood 1976) with
periodic recurrences of instability such as that during the nineteenth cen-
tury (Morier 1837; de Bode 1845; Sheil 1856; Millingen 1870).
The nomadization-sedentarization cycle
The continuum between nomadism and sedentism may be viewed syn-
chronically in terms of a range of productive strategies from settled
agriculture, through various forms of mixed farming and forms of 'semi-
nomadism
7
, to tied and, ultimately, untied nomadism. But the nature of
this continuum cannot be fully appreciated unless it is viewed diachroni-
cally and unless explanations are offered for the movement of individuals
or groups from one polar extreme to the other. Ultimately it is necessary
to consider nomadization and sedentarization as systemic processes con-
nected with changes in land-use patterns and sociopolitical trends over
broad regions (Barth 1973a) or, in the words of Khazanov (1984, p. 12) 'to
return to diachrony its proper place in the study of nomadism
7
.
Alternating phases of nomadization and sedentarization observed in
Iran in the present century appear to have been closely linked with the
evolution of the modern state, changes in government policy and varia-
tions in the effectiveness of central and local administration. While there
are many unprecedented factors guiding official action in this case, the
responses of nomadic groups to state pressure seem to exemplify certain
features of nomadic, and tribal, organization. The early decades of the
twentieth century seem to have been a period of nomadization. It was at
this time that the Baharvand reached their apogee of power and estab-
lished a wide-ranging migratory system over much of southern Luristan
(Baharvand 1975, pp.48-9). The establishment of the Pahlavi Dynasty
under Reza Shah and the implementation of modernization policies
during the 1920s and 30s (Pahlavi 1961, p.220) led to a programme of
enforced sedentarization whose motives were primarily political - to
break the basis of tribal power and remove what was considered to be
an anachronism incompatible with the development of a modern state
(Marsden 1978; Stark 1933; Baharvand 1975, pp.51-2; Oberling 1974,
p. 153). These were difficult times for nomads. The enforced curtailment
of pastoral migration led to massive losses of livestock which in turn
affected supplies of pastoral products to regional markets (Stauffer 1965).
But Reza Shah was mistaken in the belief that tribalism could be obliter-
ated by bringing an end to nomadism while an essentially pastoral orien-
tation and strong pressures towards transhumant movements remained.
As it happened, the removal of coercive pressures led to the resumption of
nomadism as before.
With the collapse of Reza Shah's government during World War II and
the imposition of a joint Anglo-Soviet military administration, there was
a massive resurgence of nomadism over much of Iran. The Yomut Turk-
men, who had been settled a generation earlier, 'destroyed the permanent
dwellings they had been forced to build and reverted to year-round resi-
dence in tents
7
(Irons 1971, p.147; 1975, p.12). A similar pattern of re-
nomadization occurred among the Basseri (Barth 1961, p.3), the Boyr
Ahmad (Fazel 1973, p. 135), the Shahsevan (Tapper 1979a and c) and the
Qashqa'i (Garrod 1946a, p.35). With the re-establishment of the Pahlavis
in the post-war period, the trend was again toward sedentarization, this
time accompanied by major economic changes favouring agricultural
intensification and a programme of land reform - the Shah's White Revo-
lution (Pahlavi 1961). By the 1970s nomadism seemed little more than an
embarrassing echo from the medieval past, and it must be said that most
academic writers of this period tend to convey this impression (Oberling
1974, ch.XVII; Tapper 1979b; Beck 1980; Stauffer 1965).
The history of the Iranian Revolution of 1979 has yet to be written. But
on current indications one of the side-effects of this event was yet another
resurgence of nomadism in those areas which began to slip from the
direct control of Teheran. Full details have not yet emerged (Tapper pers.
comm.; Beck 1980, pp.349-50). The Bakhtiaris, staunch supporters of the
Shah's regime (the empress Soraya, the former head of the secret police
(SAVAK), Timur Bakhtiar, and the Shah's short-lived successor, Shahpur
Bakhtiar, were all Bakhtiaris), presumably have no love for the present
regime. The Kurds and the Brahui made a strong bid for independence.
The situation of the Shahsevan and Yomut is unknown at present. The
most interesting developments occurred among those masters of inter-
national intrigue, the Qashqa'i, located not far from the Iran-Iraq war
zone. Shortly after the abdication of the Shah, Nasr Khan, the former
head of the Qashqa'i Dynasty who had been exiled in California,
returned to the Qashqa
;
i country and it was not long before migrations
resumed in earnest. The Qashqa'i were back in business. This will be a
fascinating area for future research, although by the time political condi-
tions are sufficiently stable to permit ethnographic research, we will, in all
probability, be well into another phase of sedentarization.
The lesson for students of the history of nomadism is that policies of
enforced sedentarization are likely to be ineffective while the underlying
factors giving rise to nomadism remain unaltered. Even radical restructur-
ing of systems of land tenure and agricultural policy are likely to be
effective as a means of sedentarization only so long as such systems
remain in operation.
In any given nomad population - particularly when tied to stable
migration routes - both nomadizing and sedentarizing tendencies will be
present. The degree of nomadism practiced can be seen as a balance
struck between these opposing tendencies (Barth 1961, p.118). Short-term
cycles or recurrent nomadism (Monteil 1959, p.581) are deducible from
the model of pastoral and agricultural modes of subsistence outlined
above. Depending on the current state of livestock v. agricultural markets
or the level of security, households may disengage temporarily from pas-
toral production only to return at a later date. For example impoverished
Yoriik households may cease migration during difficult times, only to
return when sufficient livestock have been amassed or prices for pastoral
products have improved (Bates 1973, p.219). Indeed some households
have been through this process more than once. Edmonds (1957, p. 146)
stresses that there is 'nothing irrevocable
7
about settlement among Jaf
nomads in Kurdistan and that nomadism may be resumed once a house-
hold's viability has been restored. Cumulative tendencies towards either
nomadization or sedentarization on a regional basis will involve a com-
plete restructuring of the system of rewards and constraints which govern
the interplay of the agricultural and pastoral modes of subsistence. Con-
siderably more is at stake here than the economic profitability of one or
the other subsistence strategy. Ultimately the choice of strategy is linked
to broad patterns of land use, demographic factors and political stability
(Bates 1971).
The process of sedentarization
It has been noted (Hole 1978, p. 157) that concurrent tendencies towards
high population growth among nomads as well as settled groups and the
expansion of agricultural production seem to be inimical to the con-
tinuation of nomadic forms of pastoralism. The persistence of such
trends, usually under conditions of political stability and security, can tip
the balance against an unstable pastoral adaptation. The way in which
this can occur - often against the wishes of the producers themselves - is
illustrated by the case of a predominantly pastoral Kurdish community in
western Iran (Watson 1979, ch.8) whose absentee landlords were forcing
them into cultivation because of the lure of increased profits. Even where
pastoralism remains dominant, changing systems of rewards can lead to a
situation such as that described by Black in Luristan during the height of
the late Shah's agricultural reforms:
For the last ten years it has been becoming 'old fashioned' to be a
nomad, and only the lure of unlimited speculation in sheep leading to
the potential acquisition of great wealth has prevented tne develop-
ment of an overtly anti-pastoral ideology . . . [The] aim [is] to be rich
in animals without pursuing nomadic skills.
(Black 1972, p.620)
Imbalances between human and livestock populations may also be
associated with trends towards sedentarization. Hole (1978, p.148) noted
that a rise in the nomad population, together with a decline in livestock
holdings per household - too many people, too few animals - was mak-
ing the nomadic option less viable. Conversely, among Yoriiks in Turkey,
a rise in minimal flock numbers and the wasting away of nomad popula-
tions as an increasing number of households become unviable, seems to
be part of a cumulative trend towards sedentarization (Bates 1973).
Though acting in opposite directions in each case, a state of imbalance is
common to both. According to our model, phases of sedentarization
should be accompanied by a decline in specialization between pastoral-
ism and cultivation, the merging of nomadic and sedentary sectors within
tribal units, the weakening of tribal organization - though not necessarily
its disappearance - and the pursuit of pastoralism largely within the
framework of a mixed agro-pastoral system. Within a regional context we
would expect to find a rise in the ratio of total human population to total
animal population, though overall increases in human population may
leave the absolute numbers of livestock still at a high level. In human
terms, the carrying capacity of a given region will be enhanced.
Once sedentarization is under way it can produce major changes in
patterns of village and even urban settlement as well as shifts in the ethnic
composition of settled populations (Coon 1965; Eberhard 1953a and b).
Spooner (1969, pp.147-9) has outlined a schedule of stages in the seden-
tarization of Baluchi nomad tribes. The mobility inherent in nomad-
ism means that any particular group will rarely undergo the full cycle of
nomadization to sedentarization within the same locality. The wholesale
voluntary settlement of one large Kurdish tribe in northern Syria is said to
have resulted, within a matter of a few years, in the establishment of
29 farms, 48 hamlets, 28 villages and one town (Bruinessen 1979, p.103).
The socioeconomic changes accompanying sedentarization include an
ossification of the current state of inequality to produce a more class-like
form of economic stratification, stabilization of the territorial system and
changes in the function of lineage and marriage systems (Bates 1973,
ch.VII; Baharvand 1975, ch.9; Swidler 1973; CM. Pastner 1978; Salzman
1980).
The process of nomadization
Due to the conditions of state ascendency and modernization under
which most ethnographic work on nomadism has been carried out, the
process of nomadization is poorly understood (Glatzer 1982, p.61). It is
nevertheless possible to make a number of deductions on the basis of our
mode of subsistence model, supported by some ethnographic and ethno-
historical observations.
Nomadization occurs in response to conditions of environmental and
political insecurity (the two are frequently related) through the exercise of
options inherent in an unstable subsistence strategy based on pastoral
accumulation. It proceeds not simply by an all-round increase in emphasis
on pastoral capital, but also through the concentration of livestock in the
hands of certain households and communities. The process is consider-
ably more complex than the scenario outlined by Adams (1974) whereby
failed cultivators move off with their livestock as a new mobile resource
base. Small-scale mixed farming may continue, but increasingly large
numbers of animals will be tied up in the hands of specialized pastoralists.
The disparity in animal numbers per household between village and
nomadic pastoralists referred to earlier (see Table 4.1) indicates the pres-
ence of certain thresholds beyond which nomadic options, involving the
familiar systems of flexible access to pasture regulated through tribal insti-
tutions, become increasingly advantageous. Agricultural and pastoral pro-
duction will become specialized above the community level as nomadic
and sedentary sections crystallize within tribal units and whole tribes or
groups of tribes become predominantly identified with pastoralism and
nomadism.
Isolated cases of nomadization have been observed in the Near East,
though none is as well documented as that observed in the Sudan by
Haaland (1969). Coon (1965, p.215) mentions a gradual transition from
village agriculture to sheep nomadism in parts of the Near East, but gives
no specific examples. In Iraqi Kurdistan during the 1920s Edmonds (1957)
observed the replacement of a nomadic group by a non-nomadic section
of the Jaf tribe and noted that: 'As the size of their flocks increased the
newcomers began to follow their predecessors northwards on the sum-
mer migration
7
(ibid., p. 143). An interesting case has been reported from
the Wakhan Corridor in the northeastern corner of Afghanistan shared by
Kirghiz nomads and Wakhi agro-pastoralists (Shahrani 1979). Among the
latter, two pastoral strategies were observed. On the one hand the poorer
villagers 'keep a few cattle and sheep and goats for transport, milk, fleece,
manure . . . or cash
7
, while the other form is confined to 'a small number
of land-rich Wakhi households . . . that own large herds of sheep, goats [at
least 100 head], cattle or yak
7
(Shahrani 1979, p.63). The latter appear to be
undergoing the initial stages of nomadization in emulation of, and in
competition with, their Kirghiz neighbours (Shahrani 1979, p.191). The
best-documented case of nomadization is that of the Pashtuns in western
Afghanistan among whom it arises as a solution to tensions between the
agricultural and pastoral economies attendant on growth in the numbers
of livestock, which is itself a response to fluctuating ecological conditions
and economic demand (Glatzer 1982). While nomadization and re-
nomadization are relatively easy within the Pashtun ethnic group, move-
ment in both directions between nomad and sedentary sectors becomes
more difficult where major ethnic differences occur, as in the Jawand
region of Afghanistan where the nomads are recent Pashtun immigrants
alongside the Persian-speaking Firuzkuhi sedentary majority (ibid., p.76).
The reasons for an increased emphasis on livestock as a basis for sub-
sistence are to be found, not in dietary requirements nor market ex-
change, but in positive selection for an unstable productive system which
is able to accomodate rapid fluctuations of fortune and is responsive to
any opportunities afforded by unsettled conditions. Associated with a
trend towards nomadization will be an overall decline in the ratio of
human population to that of livestock within a given region. The rever-
sion of marginal cultivated land to pasture would effectively lower the
carrying capacity of a given region.
5
NOMADS - THE
INVISIBLE CULTURE?
Pastoralists are not likely to leave many vestiges by which the archaeologist
could recognize their presence. They tend to use vessels of leather and bas-
ketry instead of pots, to live in tents instead of excavated shelters or huts
supported by stout timber posts or walls of stone or brick. Leather vessels and
baskets have as a rule no chance of surviving. Tents need not even leave deep
postholes to mark where they once stood.
(Childe 1936, p.81)
As the title suggests, it is the purpose of this chapter to question the
assumption that nomads and their material remains are inaccessible to
archaeologists. Nomads need not be archaeologically invisible. At the
same time they do not constitute an archaeological 'culture
7
in the Chil-
dean sense. Paradoxically therefore, although the artifacts and campsites
used by ancient nomads need not lie beyond the capacity of modern
archaeology, there may be no simple means by which these are distin-
guishable from the productions of more settled communities. The travel-
ler in the more isolated parts of the Near East should not be surprised to
see groups of migrating nomads passing through villages whose inhabit-
ants dress in the same manner as the nomads, speak the same dialect,
employ the same range of household utensils, possess the same species of
domestic animals and, in some cases, claim the same tribal affiliation.
Differences there certainly are, but these are often ideological, organiza-
tional and economic rather than 'cultural'.
Nomadism as an archaeological problem
It has frequently been asserted that nomads are light travellers and there-
fore leave little archaeological imprint in the way of recoverable materials
or modifications to their environment. Ever since Childe (1936) pointed
out the futility of searching for archaeological traces of nomads this
proposition seems to have been accepted by generations of Near Eastern
archaeologists (but see Hole 1974, 1978) and is still reiterated by some
(Gilbert 1983, pp.107-8; Evans 1983, p.77). Such arguments, based on
ethnographic observations, have been applied to other kinds of material
culture assemblages as well (Heider 1967; Cranstone 1971; Ascher 1968;
Deetz 1968). Ethnoarchaeological investigations of pastoral sites have also
65
tended to stress the fragility of nomad material culture (Gifford 1977,
1978; Robbins 1973; Murray and Chang 1980).
Yet generations of prehistorians, who face recovery problems of similar
magnitude, have not been prevented from building up an impressive
profile of hunter-gatherer material culture, subsistence and organization.
In comparison with hunter-gatherers, the prospects for nomad archaeol-
ogy appear quite favourable. Many contemporary pastoralists use ceramic
pots and storage jars and it is highly likely that in the past, before the
widespread availability of metal, glass and plastic, this was even more
common (see Hole 1978, p.150; de Schauensee 1979, p.37; Solecki 1979,
p.323). Tentcloth may be perishable, and tentpoles leave only shallow
depressions, but these portable structures are often accompanied by more
substantial features or fixtures. These include raised or levelled floors, mud
or stone-lined hearths, stone storage platforms, alcoves, tent foundations
and sometimes substantial walls. Solid stone-built corrals are also com-
mon features in nomad camps. Nor does Childe mention the presence of
animal droppings which can, under some circumstances, form quite thick
deposits.
If we accept the assumption of nomad invisibility then we might
expect archaeologists to consider the matter closed or to suspend specula-
tion on matters which can neither be proved nor supported by archaeo-
logical evidence. The fact that they have not done so underlines the
paradox that if a proposition cannot be proved, neither can it be dis-
proved. Childe himself was aware of this:
The failure to recognize prehistoric settlement sites as belonging to
pure pastoralists is not any proof that such did not exist.
(Childe 1936, p.81)
The presumed absence of evidence for ancient nomadic pastoralists has
effectively removed the burden of proof and left a vacuum into which has
rushed a great deal of hot air. The topic abounds in ill-founded specula-
tions, untestable theories and magnificent flights of fancy. The sudden
appearance of a new culture in an area may be attributed to the arrival of a
new wave of nomads. Anomalies in settlement evidence are all too easily
attributable to the presence of nomads who, of course, left no record. In
this way the presence of elaborate public architecture unaccompanied by
settlement evidence is easily explained:
We must imagine the plain of Pasargadae full of tents, under which
passed a good deal of the daily life. . . . such a place cannot be called
exactly a town. It looks more like the first settlement of nomads.
(Herzfeld 1935, p.28)
This suggestion was later rejected by Stronach (1963, p.19) on the
equally tenuous grounds that the presence of pottery around the site
proves that the inhabitants could not have been nomads.
Thus much of the evidence for ancient nomads is negative - the dis-
appearance of populations or cultures, the absence of summer resources,
the lack of settlement evidence. Concrete evidence for nomad occupation
sites is meagre indeed and has led to suggestions that evidence for ancient
nomads must be sought elsewhere:
Nomads - the invisible culture? 67
We must look at other means of testing the theory [of the presence of
ancient nomads] other than the identification of nomad sites in con-
junction with settled sites.
(Crawford 1978, p.130)
While some attempts have been made to infer seasonal occupation of
sites on the basis of the age-sex structure of faunal remains (Bokonyi 1972;
Wheeler Pires-Ferriera 1977), these face problems of partial or biased
sampling and can serve as guidelines only (see Cribb 1984b). The task of
finding and interpreting settlement evidence of early nomad occupations
is one that cannot be evaded.
Others have implicitly acknowledged the need for settlement evidence
of this kind and see the absence of such data as inhibiting the progress of
research:
Archaeologically there is virtually no data with which to test such a
hypothesis [about nomads and decision hierarchies] . . . Thus far no
sites which can be identified as herding camps have been discovered
on the Susiana Plain itself.
(Johnson 1973, p.159)
While no one has completely overcome the formidable problems of
locating nomad sites and assessing their relative density . . . no
researcher has claimed increased evidence of pastoralists early in the
fourth millennium.
(Wright 1977, p.348)
After proposing the nomadization of the entire Late Bronze Age popu-
lation of Mesopotamia, Adams admits:
But like virtually everyone else, I havn't [sic] yet really faced the
underlying problem or systematically sought for data that would
clarify it.
(1974, p.9)
Not only have nomad sites failed to materialize, but there appears to be
no firm indication of what such a site may look like or how it might differ
from village or hunter-gatherer sites (see Smith 1983, p.85). As Crawford
(1978, p. 131) admits, 'no criteria exist at present for identifying the
remains of nomadic settlements'. This in turn raises the possibility that
nomad sites have been discovered but not recognized as such:
If a nomadic site is located it may well be misinterpreted and attribut-
ed to an earlier period because of the paucity and simplicity of the
material remains.
(Crawford 1978, p. 130)
This observation is important in view of the presence of a small body of
settlement evidence which may have a bearing on the issue of early
nomadism - if only the means of evaluating it were at hand. A number of
caves and rockshelters in mountainous areas of the Near East show signs
of having served as makeshift corrals or temporary campsites (Hole and
Flannery 1962; Solecki 1964, 1979; Dupree 1963b). Flat settlements such
as Zawi Chemi Shanidar in northern Iraq (Solecki 1981) and the basal
levels of mounds in the Zagros Mountains, such as Tepe Sarab (Braid-
wood 1961) and Tepe Guran (Melgaard etal. 1963; Mortensen 1964), have
evidence of pastoralism and temporary, seasonal settlement but they
occur very early in the development of food production, well before the
period suggested by most theories of nomad origins. Surveys conducted
in areas of southwest Iran where nomadism is conspicuous today have
generally failed to detect sites that can be identified unambiguously as
nomadic (Hole 1962, 1968; Thrane 1964; Mortensen 1974). Even where
such sites have been explicitly sought the result has usually been the
discovery of still more village mounds (Hole 1979; Zagerell 1975).
To date there is only one site, Tepe Tula
;
i in Khuzistan, that could be
identified by the excavator (Hole 1974) as a seasonal pastoral campsite
containing what appear to be tentsites. Significantly the site was discov-
ered quite by chance in the course of a salvage excavation of a Sassanian
complex. The 8,000-year antiquity claimed for Tula'i (Hole 1974, p.237) is
still in dispute as the stratigraphy and ceramic associations are far from
clear (see Chapter 11).
The dimensions of our problem are now becoming clearer. It is not a
simple matter of nomad sites being present or absent. On a practical level
there is a need to develop appropriate techniques for the location of such
sites. This in turn presupposes the existence of clear criteria for the iden-
tification of a site as 'nomadic' or 'pastoral'. Finally, such criteria need to
be grounded in explicit definitions of concepts such as 'nomadism' and
'pastoralism', such as those discussed in the previous two chapters,
together with operational definitions of 'nomadic campsite
7
, 'pastoral
camp
;
.
The organization of nomad material culture
Nomad material culture is best conceived in terms of three key dimen-
sions. The first of these concerns the degree to which items of material
culture exist permanently on a site - whether occupied or unoccupied - or
are circulated from one site to the next. This may be dichotomized into
fixtures on the one hand and portables on the other, the main consideration
being the function, size and weight of the item. The concept of fixtures
used here corresponds closely with Binford's (1978a) understanding of
'site furniture'.
The second dimension of material culture ranges from durables on the
one hand to perishables on the other, according to the likelihood that items
will deteriorate through time. This affects the archaeologist's perception
of material culture in that highly perishable items are likely to be continu-
ally renewed rather than circulated, but are less likely to materialize in the
archaeological record.
A third dimension concerns the value of items, measured in terms of
the difficulty or cost of acquiring or replacing them (i.e. valuables as op-
posed to expendables). The former are more likely to be curated or pre-
served in systemic context and transported from site to site. The latter are
more likely to be discarded on the site and, if durable, preserved in
archaeological context.
The position of any item with respect to the three axes will reflect both
its role in the organization of material culture and its chance of surviving
into archaeological context. For instance items which are portable, perish-
able and valuable (like carpets) will have virtually zero archaeological
visibility. Fixtures which are both durable and expendable and of low
intrinsic value (such as stone hearths) will be site-specific and have a
much higher visibility quotient. Intuitively one would expect nomad sites
to contain a very high proportion of fixtures as opposed to portables and
expendables as opposed to valuables. In what follows an attempt will be
made, using these dimensions as guidelines, to build up a profile of
nomad material culture with a view to assessing its visibility and identify-
ing those variables most pertinent to archaeological investigation.
Nomad and village material culture compared
While there may be a bias towards lighter, more portable materials, the
range of objects that may be observed in a nomad camp is comparable to
that observable in Near Eastern villages. A comparison of material inven-
tories from five different communities - both nomadic and sedentary
(Table 5.1) - bears this out.
Hasanabad and Shirdasht (Watson 1966, 1979) are both in the Kerman-
shah Valley in western Iran, within a few kilometres of each other though
separated on economic and ethnic criteria. The Hasanabadis are Laki-
speakers (a dialect somewhere between Farsi and Kurdish), while the
Shirdashtis are Kurds, the former share-cropping cultivators with a few
animals, the latter predominantly pastoral. According to Watson (1966,
p. 19) 'Most of the household equipment used in the Kurdish village is
very similar to that at Hasanabad
7
. This is in spite of the fact that the
inventory shown in Table 5.1 was recorded at the Shirdashtis
7
spring tent
camp. Apart from the use of modern plastic items, the inventory for
Sanaydin Yayla in southern Turkey does not differ in its essentials from
these Iranian examples in spite of the great geographical distance and
ethnic differences.
Also notable is the relative absence from the inventories of items
specifically connected with herding. We are reminded that herding as an
activity requires virtually no tools (Hole 1978, p. 166). The physical nomad
household, like its village counterpart, is primarily concerned with repro-
duction and consumption rather than production, though animal products
are sometimes processed near tents. The most obvious material evidence
of pastoral activity on most nomad camps I visited - apart from stone
corrals, bones and deposits of animal droppings - was perishable wool
clippings, bits of cloth (for tying the legs during shearing) and small bot-
tles which had contained veterinary preparations (cf. Murray and Chang
1980). Self-sufficiency in material paraphernalia appears to be the rule,
with minimal lending and borrowing of common household items even
among close relatives (Barth 1961, p.3), the only exception being for
newly established households (Beikqi 1969). In contrast to one of the
earlier myths about pastoral society, property and domestic goods are
individually owned by each household and not communally.
Ethnohistorical accounts of nomad material culture
Although often fragmentary and impressionistic, ethnohistorical descrip-
tions of nomad material culture suggest the same basic inventory. Most of
Table 5.1 Inventories of items of material culture, Near Eastern nomadic and village communities
Sanaydm Yayla
Summer Camp, South Central Anatolia. (Fieldwork,
Metal:
Shield for baking bread (sag)
Cooking tripod
Poker
Aluminium pots & bowls
Heavy, engraved brass serving tray
Teapot
Cutlery, knives, teaspoons
Shovel
Sheep shears
Shotgun
Axe
Kerosene lamp
Pocket knives - wood & metal
Gas cooker & cannister
Wood:
Large tripod for churning cheese & yoghurt
Loom - 3 heavy beams
Woven bread basket
Bread board & rolling pin
Wooden spoons
Mortar & pestle
Sieve for flour - together with wire netting
Large wooden chest containing clothing
Board supporting chest
September and October 1981.)
Ceramics:
2 or 3 small pots
teapot & tea saucers
Glass:
Tea glasses
Medicine bottles
Plastic:
Bowls
Large basins, buckets
Water cannisters
Clear polythene plastic - multiple uses
Textile:
Mats
Kilims or rugs
Storage sacks
Donkey bags
Bedding
Leather:
Skin container for churning
Shoes
Alikanh
Nomads, Eastern Anatolia (Besjkcj 1969:112, table 27). (Observed in summer camp in Nemrut Dag.)
Metal:
Iron plate or convex shield - baking bread (sac)
Iron tripod to support plate (sag ayak)
Large dish - mixing dough
Large cauldron - iron
Small cauldron - iron
Crockery and cutlery - copper
Tray for serving meals (sini)
Tin container for water
Ewer- vessel with handle & spout
Copper bowl (tas)
Tea pot
Tray for serving tea
Lamps and lanterns
Shovel
Sheep shears
Wood:
Large boxes - storing belongings
Comb for wool
Loom (spi)
Spindle (tefi)
Mallet - for driving in tent pegs
Ceramics:
Tea pot
Glass:
Tea glasses
Bottle for keeping paraffin
Textile:
Mattress
Quilt
Cushions
Felt mats (kilim)
Goat-hair bags
Leather:
Skin bags - churning
Skin bags - all-purpose containers
Suitcases
Other:
Broom
Comments:
Besjkcj does not mention the use of large ceramic
cooking pots, such as those sunk into pits to bake
bread observed at ND-1. However there is no
doubt that these are in regular use.
Qashqd'i
Nomads, South West Iran (after Marsden, 1976:33,55). (Note: not confined to household items; excludes
jewellery, horse trappings, etc.)
Metal: Wood:
Cooking tripod Tent lattice - willow cane
Kettle & tripod - copper, iron Tent pins
Tongs - iron Tent buckles
Exterior of open box Tent poles
Cooking pots (4) & lids (2) - copper Tripod - for churning yoghurt
Mallet for pegs - wood & metal Looms
Trays - tin & brass Pestle & mortar
Cooking pot & lid - copper Bread board & rolling pin
Kitchen knife Samovar box
Ladle - aluminium Baby shade, frames
Bread turner or shield - iron Flutes
Cooking tray-iron Ceramic:
Plates (2) - aluminium
I n s i d e of o p e n b o x of f i r ed c l a y
Water jug - brass Porcelain teapot (repaired with wire)
Teaspoons Porcelain saucers (made in Japan)
Sugar hatchet - steel
Pi p e
(
p
j
us t i n & p l a s t i c
components)
Club-headed stick Opium pipe
Pipe - metal & wood
Dl
.
Tongs-brass f
astlc:
.
Drum-aluminium
Wa t e r
)
u
Branding iron Textile:

Sheep shears Goat-hair cloth
Sheep/goat bells Tent decoration
Storage bags (2)
Bed covers (3)
Cushions (2)
Prayer mat
Shirdasht
Spring camp of Shirdasht village at Duzaray, W. Iran (after Watson 1979: 263).
Metal: Ceramic:
Iron plate for cooking bread (saj) Cloth-covered pot lids (2)
Fire tongs Small ceramic stew pot with perforated loop handle
Iron pincers - to support vessel over fire Saucers for tea cups (3)
Iranian pots (4) - tinned copper Textile-
Long-handled frying pan - tinned copper Carpet
Small brass tray C As or rugs (2)
Small, heavy metal bowls (3) Quilts (2)
Light aluminium bowls
Bo l s t e r s
(
2
)
Large shallow pan - for mixing dough
Wo o
j
b l a n k e t s
(
2
)
Tin sieve - flour
Bu n d l e of e x t r a b e d d i n g
Tin tea kettle
L
Tin samovar ?ther:
Tin can-tea container Basketry trays (3)
Brass bowl - to hold tea glasses & pot Comments:
Short-handled adze (sugar hatchet) The interior of the tent is kept very clean with all
Kerosene lantern bedding put away during the daytime and all
Wood- unused utensils in their place' (Watson 1979: 263).
Large wooden spoons (2)
Wooden sugar bowl
Twig broom
Table 5.1 continued
Hasanabad
Sedentary village (after Watson 1966:1814).
Metal:
Iron plate for cooking bread
Metal support for fire
Tongs; poker
Pots; pans
Small metal bowls (1 or 2)
Metal tablespoon
Tea kettle
Teapot
Sugar hatchet
Steel awls, needles
Axe or adze
Kerosene lamp
Pocket knives
Tin container
Bowls & pots - tinned copper
Wood:
Bread board
Flour sifter
Large wooden spoons
Small tray
Sugar bowl
Meat beater
Spindles (2 or 3)
Matches
Mortar & pestle for salt
Simple vertical loom
Ceramic:
Imported jars
Plain bottle-like jars
rUcc.
Vofldbb.
Tea glasses (2 or 3) & saucers
Textile:
Woven rugs (1 or 2)
Felt mat
Quilts (2 or 3)
Bolsters (2 or 3)
Woven bag to hold salt
Leather:
Goatskin bag
Basket:
Wicker work pot lids
Basket tray - for draining rice
Stone:
Rotary quern
Yoruks
Nomads, Western Anatolia (Bent 1891:271-5). (Observed within occupied camp.)
Camel pack saddles - textile & leather Wooden dishes
Skin churns Wooden bowls
Churning tripod - wood Copper utensils
Wooden stirrer Copper heirlooms
Wooden mortar - for pounding coffee
Bakhtiari
Nomads, Central Zagros, Iran (Thesiger 1979:123). (Observed during migration.)
Tents
Bedding
Pots - metal
Pans - metal
Sacks of grain
Baharvand Lurs
Central Zagros, Luristan, Iran (Baharvand 1975:57).
Bags
Bedding
Pots (not specified whether metal or ceramic)
Other cooking utensils
Pack bags - for grain
Carpet bags
Goatskins - for water
Lamb & kid skins - for butter
Blankets - placed under the loads carried by animals
Ropes
Lurs
Nomads, Central Zagros, Iran (Stark 1933:250). (Observed in camp.)
Convex metal shield - for bread baking
A few copper vessels
A rug or two
Some goatskins - for carrying water
Comments:
'Poverty had simplified their household furnishings' (Stark 1933: 250).
Basseri
Southern Zagros, Fars, Iran (Barth 1961:11,123). (Observed during migration period.)
Rugs
Blankets
Pails - milk
Skins - milk
Cooking pots
Pack bags
Other equipment
Kirghiz
Pamir Mountains (Hedin 18981:423).
Metal: Ceramic:
Large iron cooking pot China basins
Iron or copper cans with handles or lids Other
Potstand & poker - iron j
e n t
Hatchets-iron
S a d d
i
e s
Wood: Bedclothes
Flat wooden dishes Carpets
Loom Sacks of grain & flour
Kneading trough Goat bags
C o r
s i e v e
Comments:
j , , 'Household goods are not many... accommodated
Fiddle & guitar
b y 2 o r
3
ya
k
s
' (Hedin 18981:423).
these observations have been made in the course of migration when
nomad material culture is 'on display', and the impression is usually one
of structured chaos and highly eclectic modes of transportation (e.g.
Mounsey 1872, pp.247-8). One early military observer provides the fol-
lowing vivid account of the Kurdish Herki tribe on migration where the
borders of modern Iran, Iraq and Turkey intersect:
A long, straggling string of laden travellers, mules, horses and cattle
. . . They travel in a leisurely fashion, two or three families apparently
travelling together, their impedimenta of sacks of corn, tents, rugs,
felt mats, clothes etc. loaded onto horses and cattle while here and
there a sick sheep or calf will be tied onto the top of a load. The
women plod along in rags, carrying on their backs an odd assortment
of cradles, pots, piles, trays, butter-making skins, gourds, samovars,
gear for weaving and spinning and the inevitable baby.
(Dickson 1910, p. 13)
Other Kurdish groups on the march in the early 1920s are described as:
driving along thousands of sheep and goats, their tents, cooking pots,
sacks of grain and household impedimenta piled up on the backs or
ponies, cattle and women.
(Edmonds 1957, p. 13)
oxen and donkeys laden with black tents, poles, reed screens, huge
cooking pots, skins of rhon (yoghurt), cradles and babies.
(Edmonds 1957, p.366)
Casual observations made in tents suggest that nomad material culture
may have been somewhat simpler in the recent past than at present,
though the economy of space used in stacking items and concealing them
under rugs can be deceptive to all but the most dedicated observer. Freya
Stark
;
s descriptions of Luri tents in the 1930s suggest a relatively impover-
ished material culture: 'Poverty simplified the household furniture. A few
copper vessels, a rug or two and some goat skins for water was all I could
see' (Stark 1933, p.251). So too in the Elburz Mountains near the Caspian
Sea she talks of only the 'bare essentials' in summer campsites (Stark
1934, p.423). It should perhaps be borne in mind that this was the period
of Reza Shah's sedentarization campaign and not a time of great prosper-
ity for nomads in general. However earlier observations (e.g. Hedin 1898
I, p.423) seem to confirm a paucity of material culture. For instance the
Hamawand Kurds were described as: 'not much better than armed gip-
sies. Their tents are filthy and they have very little of the commodities
which pass for riches in that country' (Dickson 1910, p.376). It should also
be noted, however, that comparable observations in villages of the period
have also yielded an impression of equally spartan furnishings (e.g. Bran-
denberg 1905; Mordtmann 1925).
Although any assessment is bound to be tenuous, the ethnohistorical
evidence suggests that, questions of relative wealth and poverty aside, the
range of items in the average nomad household inventory is comparable
with that observed today.
Changes in inventories
Most items of nomad material culture are portable, though heavy items
such as tents, poles, shovels and even axes may be cached. Many items
are of metal and therefore potentially durable - these are also valuable and
will be curated and repaired and will have a low rate of entry into
archaeological context. Even today small groups of tradesmen make a
viable living travelling from campsite to campsite fixing metal pots,
repairing shoes, etc., as well as performing circumcisions (e.g. Barth 1961).
The high proportion of metal recorded among debris on some of my
southern Anatolian campsites was due to the ready availability of cast-
offs from nearby modern settlements - petrol cans, jam tins, metal strips,
nails from packing cases, and wire.
Prior to the advent of relatively cheap tin and aluminium containers it is
possible that functionally equivalent items were made of more perishable
materials such as wood or skins. Among the Baharvand in southwest Iran
metal trays and dishes have to an extent replaced wooden precursors
(Baharvand 1975, p.57; Hole 1978, p. 149). A similar process seems to have
occurred in Anatolia
;
if early travellers
;
reports are to be believed. Among
Yoriiks on the Mediterranean coast wooden artifacts such as mortars for
pounding coffee
;
dishes and bowls were said to be 'most generally in use',
although 'each tent has its heirlooms of copper utensils which are mended
with great care and handed down for generations
7
(Bent 1891, p.31).
In recent years plastic has begun to replace metal and wood, particu-
larly for large bowls, basins and buckets. It has the advantage of being
light and portable, but wears out rapidly. In the course of numerous visits
to campsites I found that plastic cannisters and buckets were among the
most appreciated gifts. Plastic scrap formed a high proportion of debris on
the campsites where surface recording was carried out. Plastic containers
were used for carrying and storing water, though drinking water was kept
cool in aluminium jugs. Skins were still used for churning yoghurt and
cheese.
One view of the impact of plastic on nomad material culture might be
that it represents a modern corruption of a traditional culture. However it
serves as ample illustration of the priorities according to which nomad
material culture is organized. The rapid adoption of a material which fits
the key criteria of portability, both in terms of its lightness and robustness
(resistance to breakage), has important implications when we come to
study the role of pottery, functionally equivalent but possessed of the
opposite physical properties.
The role of pottery in nomad material culture
The possibility that pottery may have been more extensively used by
nomads in the past than it is today has recently been raised by Hole (1978,
pp.150-1). Assuming that high-quality metal containers were in short
supply in the distant past, wooden functional equivalents might have
been employed though - significantly - not in operations involving heat-
ing, cooking or boiling. With the availability of new materials such as
enamel or aluminium there has been a trend away from the use of pottery
for these purposes so that the relative scarcity of sherds on modern
nomad sites may well be deceptive in terms of our assumptions about
older sites. Observations of abandoned Bedouin campsites in the Syrian
Desert seem to confirm this: 'If the encampment is an old one, a sherd or
two may also be found, but if recent there will be none as modern
Bedouin generally use enamel or aluminium vessels' (de Schauensee 1968,
p.36). However a recent impoverishment in ceramic technology and
decline in usage has also been noted in settled communities. Hole (1978,
p. 149) notes that, except for ceramic jugs to cool water, the household
inventory of settled Iranian villagers includes very few ceramics, although
the archaeological record attests to the fact that this was not always so in
the past. Watson (1966, 1979) also found that her sedentary and pastoral
communities differed little in the extent of their use of pottery.
Some preliminary hypotheses
While the large cooking pots described in the passages quoted above were
almost certainly of metal, pottery use among Near Eastern nomads is
widely known. Ceramics occupy an interesting position in nomad ma-
terial culture since, in terms of our model, intact vessels are highly 'perish-
able
7
in the sense that they are easily broken. This property also places
them low on the scale of portability - one would not expect to find large
ceramic pots on nomad baggage trains. However the sherds produced by
the breakage of a pot are themselves highly durable. While potentially
portable, they are of such low value that they become, in effect, site
fixtures. Two types of ceramics might therefore be expected to occur on
nomad sites. Small portable items such as teapots, cups, jars or clay pipes
- most of which would be regarded as valuables - will be circulated from
campsite to campsite, only occasionally entering archaeological context
through breakage or loss. Large items such as cooking pots, storage jars or
bowls might be expected to remain on particular sites as fixtures and to
sustain a much higher rate of breakage or abandonment and incorpora-
tion into archaeological context. Ceramic cooking pots are known to have
a relatively short use-life (de Boer and Lathrap 1979) and would be dis-
carded on occupied campsites at a relatively constant rate.
It is now possible to put forward a number of preliminary hypotheses
concerning the analysis of pottery on nomad sites:
(1) Pottery use is unlikely to be as intensive as for settled sites sharing the
same material culture complex.
(2) The range of sizes and types of vessel represented is likely to be much
narrower than is the case for sedentary sites sharing the same cultural
complex.
(3) The distribution of sherds in terms of vessel size should be bimodal,
with many sherds from large vessels (fixtures) and a smaller concen-
tration at the lower end of the size spectrum.
(4) Depending on the extent of use of pots as fixtures, we might find a
size distribution skewed towards the upper or lower end of the range.
These hypotheses suggest the kinds of variables that might be of inter-
est to an archaeologist wishing to distinguish between nomad and seden-
tary sites on the basis of ceramics scatters alone. The data with which
they might be tested would require a much more detailed recording and
collection of sites, ancient and modern, than I was able to attempt. How-
ever scattered observations of contemporary campsites by archaeologists
suggest that they may be pointing in the right direction.
Evaluation of the hypotheses
Many campsites observed by myself and other archaeologists appear to
contain very few sherds, widely scattered and of small size. Watson
(1979, p.267) noticed 'a piece of tea saucer' lying in the Medan campsite
above Shirdasht village, and describes a small ceramic stewing pot with
perforated handles (ibid., fig. 10.4) in use by one tent-dwelling family.
Many of the southern Anatolian campsites studied contained just a few
scattered sherds from small vessels such as cups or teapots. China teapots
and a few medium-sized ceramic jars were used at Sanaydin Yayla and
some of the sherds recorded in the midden areas were from such vessels.
Glass sherds from tea glasses were also common in and around tentsites.
At one summer camp on Sultan Dag in western Anatolia, abandoned for
around six months, a concentration of sherds from a single thin-walled jar
was found in situ immediately in front of the kitchen area of a tentsite
where someone had dropped it (Fig. 5.1a). Sherds were also found thinly
scattered around other tentsites at Sultan Dag.
In sharp contrast, the abandoned summer campsites recorded at
Nemrut Dag in eastern Anatolia contained an abundance of coarse, black-
ened sherds from large cooking pots or bread ovens which are sunk into
the ground outside the tents (Fig. 5.1b). The vessels had obviously been
Fig. 5-1 Examples of
ceramics on nomadic
campsites.
(a) Sherds from a single
vessel at a campsite in
western Turkey. The vessel
was painted with a white
geometric design.
(b) Coarse sherds from
cooking pots at a summer
campsite at Nemrut Dag in
eastern Turkey. The sherds
are lying in a stone-walled
tent enclosure near a
recessed hearth. A small
grinder manufactured from
local low-grade obsidian is
also shown.
78
Fig. 5-2 A large ceramic
churn for yoghurt
manufacture from Kerman,
western Iran, in the last
century. Note the
construction of the tent in
the background, of alacik
type (see Chapter 6).
(Reproduced from Sykes
1898, plate opposite p. 155.)
imported into the area which contained no suitable clays, but had been
installed as site-specific fixtures rather than being moved from site to site.
These examples are highly suggestive in terms of the fourth of the
hypotheses outlined above. The western Anatolian sites contained small
quantities of mainly fine ware and glass sherds falling at the lower end of
the range of vessel size
;
while those in eastern Anatolia contained large
quantities of coarse sherds from very large vessels. Paradoxically the
Kurdish tribes responsible for the latter assemblages are 'nomadic
7
to a far
greater degree than are the Yoriiks of western Anatolia, for the most part
living under the tent for the entire annual cycle. The different assemblages
represent alternative strategies in the organization of material culture -
constant circulation of valued, portable items in contrast to the installa-
tion of more common and cumbersome vessels as fixtures in particular
campsites, to be used seasonally.
These modern observations are borne out by ethnohistorical examples.
Among some nomadic groups large ceramic vessels were used as churns
in the production of cheese, though a goatskin container swung from a
tripod is the more usual method (e.g. Bent 1891, p.31; Ferdinand 1959-60,
p.36). One of the more intrepid and observant nineteenth-century travel-
lers, Lady Ella Sykes (1898, p.155), displays one such churn in use near
Kerman in western Iran (Fig. 5.2). The large pot, resting on a piece of
Fig. 5.3 Grindstone and
slabs from a campsite at
Nemrut Dag in eastern
Turkey.
cloth
;
is being rocked backwards and forwards by hand. Lynch (1901,
p.323) observed a similar device in use for the same purpose, though
apparently suspended from a tripod, not far from Nemrut Dag: 'A young
woman . . . is engaged in swinging to and fro a large vessel of earthen-
ware, which they use for making cheese'. Some of the surface sherds on
the abandoned campsites at Nemrut Dag may have come from such a
vessel though I did not observe any in use, nor are they mentioned by
Beikgi (1969).
Stone artifacts
Only at Nemrut Dag did I observe stone grinders and slabs. These were
found inside the abandoned dwellings, apparently in their location of use
and represent items of site furniture or fixtures (see Fig. 5.3). Hole (1978,
p. 154) also notes that metates and manos are not found on Luri campsites,
cereals being obtained in ground form from mills, though acorn smashers
are frequently found near procurement locations.
Projecting backwards to when lithic technology was widely used, it is
possible that this would tend to raise the overall visibility of nomad sites
where lithics were used or manufactured. However, in view of the dif-
ficulties involved in distinguishing nomad from sedentary inventories, the
same difficulty would arise in attempting to distinguish between lithic
industries. The kinds of indicators suggested above in relation to ceramics
would be less applicable here. Similarly, with nomad and hunter-gatherer
sites, any such size/portability function would be equally applicable to
both. Indeed as Hole (ibid., p.166) acknowledges, it may well be impos-
sible on the basis of lithics alone to distinguish the campsites of nomadic
pastoralists from those of hunter-gatherers.
Stratigraphy and architectural remains
Although the shallow stratigraphy of nomad sites has been stressed,
observations in some of the larger summer campsites in eastern Anatolia,
which are occupied regularly and for long periods of time, indicate that
well-defined stratigraphic sequences may develop, though these may be
confined to external hearth and midden areas. The bread-oven pit shown
in Fig. 5.4 contained not only sherds from the cooking pot which had
once occupied it but also, observable in its walls, a complex stratigraphic
record of earlier occupations.
The assertion by Childe (1936) that nomad architecture is perishable
and insubstantial is questionable, as we have seen above. The frequency
with which stone tent footings or walls are employed by contemporary
nomads and the ready availability of stone suggests that such practices
may also have existed in the past. In the course of fieldwork not only
were long-abandoned tentsites frequently encountered but also whole
campsites. The campsite shown in Fig. 5.5 consisted of more than a dozen
highly disturbed stone arrangements whose dimensions suggested that
they were the remains of tentsites. The fact that some were almost sub-
merged beneath layers of alluvium, together with an almost total lack of
surface artifacts, indicated a respectable antiquity.
The issue of 'household impedimenta
7
We have already seen how nomad material culture tends to reflect that
employed by related sedentary groups and how at least some of the
problems of maintaining an adequate level of material welfare can be
solved by caching strategies and by fitting out campsites with fixed facil-
ities and site furniture. However this does not alter the fact that a very
substantial proportion of essential items needs to be transported, particu-
larly heavy and cumbersome perishables such as tents, rugs, bedding and
foodstuffs for day-to-day subsistence. The use of pack animals such as
donkeys, horses, mules, camels and even cattle has provided the solution
for many generations of nomads. But what of that critical period in the
evolution of nomadism when these species remained undomesticated or,
in the case of the mule, non-existent? To propose alternatives such as the
use of sheep or goats to carry small loads as reported for Tibet (Ekvall
1961) or women as beasts of burden is to evade the central issue and
deflect attention from this key logistical problem - the main limiting
condition by which the nomadic option is circumscribed.
Fig. 54 Micro-stratigraphy
revealed in a bread-oven pit
outside a tentsite at Nemrut
Dag in eastern Turkey.
Sherds from large cooking
pots are scattered around
the edges of the pit. The
remains of a broken
cooking pot are embedded
in the pit.
Fig. 5-5 A long-abandoned
campsite at Ala Dag in
the highlands of central
Turkey. The concentrations
of stone represent old
tentsites now partly
submerged under the
alluvium.
In arguing for an early origin of nomadic pastoralism in western Iran
;
Hole (1978, 1984) claims that pack animals are in principle not essential to
a nomadic system, that their presence merely 'encourages the nomads to
build inventories of equipment. . . and makes longer migrations possible
7
(Hole 1978, p.150). This implies that household impedimenta are some-
how peripheral to the essential nomadic way of life and can be shrunk
down to the bare minimum to be carried on the backs of the people
themselves. First to go is the tent, to be replaced by a rough shelter, or
kula, constructed entirely from local materials at each campsite. Next to
go is bedding, through careful scheduling of migrations to avoid extremes
of cold. Then the sacks of grain or flour, noted in nearly all migration
trains, are jettisoned and replaced by a diet of wild acorns which today
serve as a back-up resource. With respect to the last point, the use of
acorns to make a kind of bread has been reported widely elsewhere in
Iran (Stark 1933, p.251) and in Anatolia (Bent 1891, p.273) but, signifi-
cantly, Stark also notes that sustained reliance on this diet is 'fatal to
many of the children'. So it is with the other solutions as well.
A scenario such as that proposed by Hole is untenable due to a basic
misunderstanding of the role of material culture in the lives of Near
Eastern nomads. Certainly the average nomad is a hardy customer used to
long spells of night grazing with nothing but the hard stones and a rough
blanket for a bed. But the blankets and eiderdowns, the cushions, kilims
and embroidered rugs - indeed the very tent itself - are much more than
just home comforts. In a sense they come as a complete cultural package,
a transformation of the same standards and models of household organi-
zation that apply in sedentary village society. In much the same way as
that outlined for East African pastoralists (Hodder 1982), they offer a
medium for the affirmation of tribal identity as well as the expression of
subtle shades of status, rank and wealth. It is impossible to imagine a
pastoral nomad aspiring to the level of simplicity idealized in, for
instance, studies of the !Kung bushmen (Lee 1979) or Australian Abo-
rigines (Gould 1980). Unlike the bushman he cannot give away all his
material possessions in return for the esteem of his fellows. The ethic of
generosity characteristic of hunter-gatherer society stands in sharp con-
trast to the code of hospitality which applies in nomad society, which
implies asymmetric reciprocity and the expression of dominance and
rank. Far from being incidental to nomad life such an ethic, together with
the material means for its expression, is fundamental to the organization
and mobilization of a nomadic community, and a relatively high profile of
material culture must be seen as an ideal, though perhaps not always
realized, which is built into Near Eastern nomadism. A nomad lacking the
wherewithall to entertain a 'guest of Allah' is not worthy of the name.
Consequently, even if a group of herders could scrape by for a season or
two in the manner proposed by Hole, it is doubtful whether this would
represent a durable and stable adaptation. Pastoral production, combined
with a pattern of consumption based on wild resources, would inevitably
result in major strains and conflicts between the schedule for exploiting
wild resources and that necessary for successful herding - except in the
happy circumstance that both kinds of resources are abundant in the same
localities at the same time. In an economy centred around the single-
minded pursuit of pasture there are obvious advantages in a pattern of
consumption which is independent of the resources available in any par-
ticular area through which one is passing. In short, there exist powerful
constraints and imperatives which would, in the course of time, trans-
form Hole's 'herder foragers
7
into either full-blown nomadic pastoralists
with an independent food supply or hunter-gatherers who just happen to
keep a few goats.
Conclusion
Thus although we are now able to move beyond the simple assumption
that 'nomads leave no traces', it is equally clear that the material dimen-
sion is an important, and in many ways a limiting, factor in any nomadic
system. We are prompted to inquire: If nomad material culture is as
developed as has been suggested, then why are nomad sites so difficult to
detect? The answers lie in a better understanding of the processes by
which material remains are distributed over the landscape and the factors
which control this distribution. It is necessary to consider in some detail
the organization of particular nomadic pastoral systems in time and
space.
6
NOMAD
ARCHITECTURE AND
DOMESTIC SPACE
As I approached Ali's winter camp all illusions about the simplicity of my
task began to crumble. The tent - if it could be called that - was fashioned
out of a mixture of rough limestone boulders and dressed blocks from a
nearby Byzantine complex (Fig. 6.1). Its walls were nearly 1.5 metres
high, and it was entered via a short passageway and a rickety wooden
gate held by lengths of twisted wire. The structure was surmounted by
wooden beams and a mixture of tentcloth
;
straw and polythene plastic.
The interior of the dwelling contained the now-familiar array of rug-cov-
ered platforms though its proportions were less elongated than the norm.
In the front wall, adjacent to the doorway, was a recessed fireplace beauti-
fully constructed out of Byzantine building rubble and capped by a large
limestone block covered by floral bas-reliefs. In summer Ali would be up
in the Taurus Mountains living in a black tent with only the barest of
stone footings. The following year at about the same time (early Septem-
ber) I found him camped some 200 metres away in a small beige-coloured
tent whose interior was almost identical to that observed in the previous
winter, but which was devoid of any foundation other than a cleared
earth floor and a small hearth consisting of three stones.
The term nomad architecture may appear to contain an inherent con-
tradiction. In fact there is a sizeable literature on the subject (Fagre 1979;
Andrews 1981; Ferdinand 1959-60; Feilberg 1944; Edelberg 1966-67).
Much of this is confined to a discussion of fabrics and supports, those
portable elements which are least likely to survive in archaeological con-
text. The distinction drawn in Chapter 5 between portables and fixtures is
highly relevant to any discussion of nomad architecture. Much of the
present discussion will focus on fixtures and the more durable elements of
tent architecture. However, while tentcloth and tentpoles are perishable,
the very size and shape of nomad tentsites have been influenced by the
inherent potentials and constraints imposed by woven fabrics and
supports.
84
Nomad architecture 85
Fig. 6.1 Ali's winter tentsite,
southern Turkey. The
stone-walled tentsite was
surmounted by a
temporary structure of
straw, tentcloth and
polythene plastic.
What is a tent?
In view of the difficulty of defining precisely where tent forms end and
house forms begin I have frequently had recourse to the neutral term
'dwelling
7
. Bedouin tents have been defined as 'an eminently practical,
completely portable house demonstrating all the principal elements of
permanent architecture
7
(de Schauensee 1968, p.32). Most other defini-
tions also rely on analogies with permanent architecture, though that
used by Hole (1984), which permits the term 'tent' regardless of 'whether
or not the space . . . was actually covered with a woven fabric', ap-
proaches closer to an archaeologist's understanding. For our purposes a
tent may be defined as a prefabricated structure consisting of a flexible covering
and structural supports temporarily brought together to form an integrated architec-
tural unit. As indicated above, tents are probably best regarded as covering
a certain range on a continuum from extremely temporary arrangements
to more permanent dwelling forms. As archaeologists, rather than archi-
tects, what interests us most are the dimensions, features and configura-
tions of household space which arise where the tent form is employed.
These in turn may depend on the type of portable structure employed.
Types of nomad tents
Nomad tents may be divided into a number of classes, each of which
contains its own implications and limitations in terms of floorplans and
internal organization. The Near East is the meeting place of two great
tentage traditions of entirely independent origins and principles of con-
struction, the one based on the beehive-shaped Central Asian yurt or
kibitka, the other based on the locally evolved black tent. There has been
a certain amount of hybridization, but for our purposes the following
categories may be discerned.
Central Asian types
Tents known as topak ev (literally, round house), or alacik in Anatolia,
consist of a rigid wooden frame over which is draped an inert covering of
felt (see Fig. 6.2; also Andrews 1981; Duly 1979, pl.88; Rappoport 1969,
p.110). The frame is usually a hemispherical structure of curved ribs
plugged into a central wheel at the top (see Land 1966, fig.3). The wheel
is supported by a central pole and secured by a pair of ropes twisted
together at high tension and fastened to a stout wooden stake driven into
the centre of the floor to prevent wind uplift. The walls may consist of
ribs only, as in the Shahsevan tent (Land 1966; Tapper 1979) or the ribs
may be shorter, fastened to the top of a collapsible, cylindrical lattice to
form the 'trellis
7
tent (Andrews 1981; Ozkan 1978). A wickerwork or reed
screen is then placed loosely around the felt-covered walls. The term
alacik was initially used to describe this screen and retains that meaning
among the Qashqa'i (Marsden 1976, p.26). More commonly the term
stands for the tent as a whole, as among the Shahsevan (Land 1966) and
throughout Anatolia.
This is perhaps the most functionally specialized of all tent types, the
product of a long evolution on the Central Asian steppes, perfected some
time before the Turkic migrations into the Near East in the eleventh and
twelfth centuries (see Andrews 1981). Such is the skill involved in its
manufacture that it was often custombuilt by specialists. One old man
living in a topak ev in central Turkey told me that all the tentframes in the
camp had been made by a single carpenter in the provincial capital. This
kind of structure is designed for protection against cold and strong winds
rather than rain as the thick felt covering is slow to dry out. Its distribu-
tion is confined to Central Asia, Mongolia and the northern region of the
Near East among Turkic-speaking groups such as the Yomut of the
Gurgan Plain (Irons 1975), the Shahsevan of Azerbaijan (Tapper 1979c),
Uzbeks and Kirghiz in northern Afghanistan (Shahrani 1979; and Mi-
chaud 1977) and scattered groups of relatively recent immigrants to
Anatolia (Dominian 1915).
The black tent
The Middle Eastern black tent, kara qadir (Turkish) or siyah chadour (Per-
sian), by way of contrast, is a tensile structure consisting of tentcloth,
usually woven goat-hair, supported by vertical poles and anchored by guy
ropes (see Fig.6.3). Its principle of construction differs from the Central
Asian type in that the cloth itself plays a role in holding up the structure
(Evans 1983). The tentcloth consists of a series of standardized strips
fastened together by wooden pegs (see Baharvand 1975, p.58; Watson
1979, figs. 10.1 and 10.2). Due to the properties of this material and the
nature of construction, the black tent is well designed for protection
Fig. 6.2 A topak ev or alaak
tent form from central
Turkey. These frames are
made in a nearby town by
specialist craftsmen.
Fig. 6.3 Black tents, eastern
Turkey. The black tent is
able to accommodate
changes in the size and
composition of households.
against both heat and rain. In hot
;
dry weather the loosely woven fabric
permits the circulation of air within the tent but
;
when wet, the goat-hair
fibre expands to form a fairly waterproof shield (Baharvand 1975, p.58).
Alternative tent forms are easily achieved by varying the numbers and
arrangement of poles and strips of tentcloth to produce anything from the
small tig direkli gadir (three-poled tent) used by Yoriiks in southern Anatolia
(Giirdal 1976; Johansen 1965; Kademoglu 1974; Johnson 1969; Bates 1973)
to the huge ten- or twelve-pole structures of Kurdish tribes in eastern
Anatolia (Ozbek-Koroglu 1980; Beikgi 1969) and the Qashqa'i of south-
western Iran (Marsden 1976).
Such an architectural form is highly responsive to the variable require-
ments of seasonal settlements, fluctuating household size and the de-
mands of hospitality, so that variations in size and form may occur not
only between ethnic groups but also within individual encampments.
This structural generalization means that the black tent does not lend
itself so readily to classification by type as does the Central Asian form.
Though more adaptable than the latter, the black tent is also less self-
contained and may require the addition of stone or mud walls to make it
habitable during lengthy stopovers.
The precise historical origins of the black multi-poled tent are uncertain
(Daker 1984). It may well reach back into prehistoric times, but its evolu-
tion is most probably linked with that of village architecture - the tent-
cloth providing a convenient roofing material for sets of pre-existing
walls. It is also the prototype for a much more elaborate form of 'royal
tent' used by rulers in the Near East from early historical times (Evans
1983). Examples of such royal encampments have been described by
Andrews (1981).
Barrel-vaulted tents
This elliptical or semicylindrical form shares elements of those described
above - more or less rectangular in plan but semicircular in section. On
structural criteria, barrel-vaulted tents may be divided into two types. The
first is a variant of the Central Asian yurt (Andrews pers. comm.). Instead
of a central wheel, a straight ridge-piece with a row of sockets on each
side runs down the spine of the roof, supported by a pole at each end.
Ribs, similar to those used in the alaak or topak ev are fitted into this to
produce something analogous to the inverted hull of a boat. Many of the
components are interchangeable with the hemispherical form (see Rap-
poport 1969, fig.5.12), the same structural elements being used to produce
tents with either rectangular or circular plans.
The second form is the 'bender
7
(Andrews pers. comm.) or gatma ev,
similar in external appearance to that described above, but differing fun-
damentally in its mode of construction. There is no central ridge-piece or
vertical supports. Instead curved hoops, standing parallel to each other,
are fastened to horizontal stays and other curved pieces arranged concen-
trically at each end (Figs. 6.4 and 6.5). Such tents, also known as alaak,
have been described in the central Taurus Mountains: The tents of this
oymak (Kulfalli tribe) are made of felt . . . Their shape is round and long
like a tunnel. The inner frame of the tent is criss-crossed with long sticks
and these are covered with felt
7
(Yalman 1977, p.214, my translation).
Other reports mention both yurts and black tents in a Central Anatolian
village (Naumann 1893). It is often difficult to discern whether gatma ev or
Central Asian forms are being described. For instance, Mordtmann (1925,
p.257) states 'Die Zelte der Jliriiken sehen wie Frachtwagen aus
;
, and
photographs by Brandenberg (1905, p.12) are ambiguous on this point.
Libby and Hoskins (1905) have described a single campsite in northern
Fig. 6.4 Frame of a qatma ev
or alaak at Sanaydin Yayla,
Taurus Mountains, Turkey.
The frame was left
standing for the winter.
Note the horizontal stays,
curved end pieces and
wickerwork screen.
rr s
Syria apparently containing both circular and rectangular forms which are
definitely of qatma ev type:
These [Turkmen] shelters differ from all other tents in Syria in having
no centre pole and no ropes. Five or six huge ribs
;
shaped like wagon
bows, are stuck firmly into the ground, sometimes crossing each
other, thus making a round tent, but more often the ribs are placed
parallel to each other, forming an oval tent. A screen or wall of
papyrus, about three feet high, is planted like a picket all around the
bows with an opening left for the door. The black hair covering is
then thrown over the bows and tied firmly down to them and the
papyrus picket.
(ibid., p.105)
Similar tents are also found in northwestern Iran (d'Allemagne 1911, pi.
onp.100).
According to Andrews (pers. comm.) the 'bender
7
represents a local
development within the Near East, not a simplification of the Central
Asian form. It may be considerably more ancient than the latter. In
Turkish-speaking areas this form is known as alaak or qatma ev (thrown-
together or improvised house) and has a circular counterpart in the form
of the 'rib-strut tent
7
(Andrews pers. comm.), a crude arrangement of
concentric ribs, with or without a central pole.
The barrel-vaulted bender is based on the same principle of construc-
tion as a variety of barrel-vaulted huts found in oases and marshlands in
the Near East (Duly 1979, pl.86; Thesiger 1964). Either palm ribs (Ferdi-
nand 1959-60, p.44) or reeds (Nissen 1968, p.109) are tied together in
bundles and bent to form arches, then lashed together with horizontal
stays of similar construction. The ends are rounded off with a semicircular
arrangement of ribs tied to the frame. This frame is often covered with
palm or reed mats and may also be plastered with mud. Dwellings of this
kind are known from at least Sumerian times and are still employed
today.
Fig. 6.5 Diagram of a gatma
ev or alaak, southern
Turkey.
(a) Frame and floorplan.
(b) Cutaway view of a
typical occupied alaak.
Note the juxtaposition of
public (lounge) and private
(kitchen) domains.
poles tied
h
stone platform
(yiikluk)
wicker
screen
plastered
ênt rance
bedding;
platform ' .
ALACIK CONSTRUCTION, ~~SV-1
. - platform -r-
felt
open
for
smoke
goat hair
tent I cloth
\ bread
basket
3m
ALACIK INTERIOR, SV- 1
Ridge-pole tents
The ridge-pole tent
;
common in the Taurus ranges of Antolia and east to
Baluchistan (Ferdinand 1959-60)
;
consists of two uprights over which a
pole is placed. Over this is draped the same goat-hair tentcloth employed
in the black tent.
Qardaks or Kulas
A 'bower
7
of vertical poles topped with branches is commonly employed
throughout the Near East by both nomads and villagers during the hottest
months (Edelberg 1966-67; Hansen 1961, p.22). Known as a gardak (Turk-
ish) or kula (Persian), it is often used instead of a cloth tent in the summer
camps of eastern Anatolia (Frodin 1943-4, p.285; Sykes 1908, p.455; Ains-
worth 1842 II, p.238) and western Iran (Hole n.d.; Edelberg 1966-67;
Stark 1933, pp.247-8; Loffler and Friedl 1967). Similar 'huts made of
branches
7
have been reported from as far east as Nuristan (Edelberg and
Jones 1979, p. 100). This form is of particular interest as it is often used as a
functional equivalent of the black tent or bender, may possess a similar
floorplan and is frequently surrounded by the same wickerwork screen
(Stark 1933, p.248; Loffler and Friedl 1967, pl.6). It is ideally suited to hot,
dry conditions. Its open sides permit free circulation of air, while the roof
is a more effective sun-screen than tentcloth, though not as impervious to
rain.
Implications of variability in tent form
The implications of this short excursion into tent typology are, first, that
principles of construction help to determine the shape, floorplan and
range of possible variation in floor size. Second, we are nevertheless
reminded that different principles of construction can result in similar
floorplans.
There is ample evidence that tent form is linked to ethnic affiliation and
culture complexes (Patai 1951) and that the distribution of tent forms can
throw light on ethnic migration patterns. However there are also in-
stances of groups adopting new tent forms as they enter new areas. This
has occurred on a large scale in the course of Turkic migrations into Iran
and Anatolia. Some of the more southerly groups of Turkic-speakers, such
as the Qashqa'i and Yoriiks, at some time switched from the Central
Asian form to the black tent or bender. Other equally dispersed Turkic
groups have retained the Central Asian form. Environmental factors may
have played a part here. Those retaining the Central Asian form are to be
found permanently on the high plateau or the margins of the Inner Asian
steppe, while those whose migration track includes the Mediterranean
littoral or Mesopotamia (i.e. those subject to warmer, wetter winter con-
ditions) are more likely to have adopted the black tent.
However within any single region it is not uncommon to find two or
more tent types in use by different ethnic or tribal groups (Johnson 1969,
p. 158). For instance Pashtuns in Afghanistan using goat-hair tents rub
shoulders with Uzbeks who employ Central Asian yurts (N. Tapper 1977,
p.165). Ferdinand (1959-60) recorded a variety of tent forms employed by
different ethnic groups in the Sistan region of Baluchistan. Moreover
different tent forms may coexist within a single ethnic or tribal unit. In one
of my fieldwork areas in southern Turkey I found camps of black tents
and alaak tents within a few kilometres of each other, both belonging to
Yoriiks, and in one case both types were present within a single campsite.
Andrews (pers. comm.) also found black tents and bender or alaak tents
in the same campsites in the Elburz Mountains of northern Iran. Once
again the point is driven home that the connection between ethnic
categories and material indicators is at best problematic.
Fig. 6.6 A plastered stone
hearth inside an alaak at
Sanaydin Yayla in southern
Turkey. Yufka bread is
being turned on a metal
plate.
Fixtures
The kinds of fixtures employed in tent architecture are subject to less
variation than for portable elements, though there are degrees of size or
elaboration depending on how long the tentsite is occupied.
Hearths: chaleh (Persian), ocak (Turkish)
Even in the most ephemeral transit camp some kind of hearth is bound to
be present. Minimally this will consist of two or three hearth-stones or a
shallow firepit (Barth 1961, p.12; Loffler and Friedl 1967, p.112). In longer-
term seasonal campsites hearths are frequently surrounded by a protec-
tive wall of stones which may be plastered, while other fixed campsites
contain quite elaborate recessed hearths with chimneys (see Figs. 6.6 and
6.7). The hearth is frequently the most conspicuous surface feature on an
abandoned tentsite.
Two hearths - interior and external - are commonly employed in
summer camps, the smaller internal one for brewing tea (e.g. Hole 1968,
p. 151), the larger external one for cooking and boiling. A small internal
and larger external hearth are also common in Qashqa'i (Marsden 1976),
Yoriik (Kademoglu 1974) and Bedouin (de Schauensee 1968, p.36) tent-
sites. Alternatively, subterranean ceramic cooking pots may be employed
for baking bread, a widespread practice in Kurdistan (Lynch 1901,
pp.301-4) and also among nomads in Morocco and Baluchistan (Andrews
1971, p.141).
Stone storage or bedding platforms: chul (Persian), yiikliik
(Turkish)
A low platform of stones or mud generally runs along the rear wall of the
tent to act as a dry foundation for storage sacks or bedding materials (see
Nomad architecture
93
Fig. 6.7 Stone-built
fireplaces from tentsites in
southern and eastern
Turkey.
(a) External hearth structure
from a summer camp at
Sultan Dag in western
Turkey.
(b) Recessed hearth with
vent inside a tentsite at
Nemrut Dag, eastern
Turkey.
94
Figs. 6.8 and 6.9). An additional stone platform may be found along the
front wall (Hole 1978, pp.151-2), or the platform may encircle the tent on
three sides. Platforms are sometimes plastered or entirely of mud con-
struction (Audouze and Jarrige 1981). Stone platforms are common even
in short-term transit camps
;
though sometimes platforms of twigs and
branches are used during short stopovers (Barth 1961, p. 12), possibly
where field stones are absent. According to one observer in the Syrian
desert: These [stone] platforms are usually the chief evidence of deserted
Bedouin encampments, sometimes associated with the ruins of a sheep
enclosure
7
(de Schauensee 1968, p.36).
Fig. 6.8 Plan of a tentsite
with internal and external
hearth, Sanaydin Yayla,
southern Turkey. This
is a typical floorplan for
tentsites in the region. The
internal hearth is employed
for baking bread, brewing
tea and smoking meat,
while the external one is
used for heavy cooking,
boiling water in cauldrons,
oo rral
Fig. 6.9 A long-abandoned
tentsite with levelled floor
and disturbed stone
platform, in the Taurus
Mountains, southern
Turkey. Nearby villagers
could not recall nomads
having camped there in the
last 20 years.
Levelled floors
Particularly where tents have been pitched on a slope and occupied for
any length of time, the floor area is levelled out by cutting and filling
(Ehmann 1975; Digard 1975, p.120) and lined with stone margins and
baulks. According to Hole (1984) this was not practised by the Baharvand,
possibly because the tentsites observed were transit camps (also Barth
1961, pp.15-16). Additional platforms or terraces may be constructed in
front of the tents, also through cutting and filling. A drainage ditch is
sometimes placed along the uphill margin of the site. If occupation is
lengthy and regular, floors are smoothed and compacted or even plas-
tered. Even tents of the Central Asian variety can leave traces of this kind.
The Shahsevan dig a shallow trench, which contains a stone hearth, from
the entrance to the central pole, (Land 1966, p.241) and, when on sloping
ground, construct circular cut and fill terraces, in some cases lined with
kerb stones (Andrews pers. comm.).
Walls
The use of substantial stone walls to enclose tentsites is so common that
it must be considered a standard feature in the repertoire of tent architec-
ture, and ethnohistorical accounts indicate some antiquity for this prac-
tice. Stone-walled tentsites have been reported among Turkmen tribes in
southern Anatolia from the early nineteenth century (Aswad 1971). A
black tent pitched over 4-foot-high stone walls is described by Burkhardt
(1822, p.636) and 2-foot-high walls surrounding a Kurdish tent near
Erzurum in eastern Anatolia were observed in the mid-nineteenth cen-
tury: 'bis zwei Fuss iiber dem boden sich erhebende die Zeltwande bildet
7
(Wagner 1852, p.267). At the bare minimum, the perimeter may be out-
lined with kerb stones which can also serve to secure a wickerwork
screen. Stone walls are used in winter camps or high-altitude summer
camps to screen out cold winds (e.g. Imhof etai, 1970, pl.68; Frodin 1943-
44, p.258). Where stone is unavailable, mud brick or pis is often substi-
tuted: 'I could see the mud walls which surround the winter tent sites of
the Tarhanis on the farther side [of the river] built up on salty limestone
foothills' (Stark 1933, p.253). The Lurs are recorded as plastering mat walls
or wickerwork screens with mud to make them windproof (Fagre 1979,
p.46; Edmonds 1922, p.448). Substantial mud tent walls occur in arid areas
of Afghanistan (Ferdinand 1962, p.131; Jentsch 1973, pp.226, 229) and
Baluchistan (Audouze and Jarrige 1978, 1981). Mud walls may also en-
close kulas or qardaks (e.g. Baharvand 1975, p.387; Stark 1933, p.249).
Storage structures
Apart from the stone bedding platforms already mentioned, specialized
storage structures in the vicinity of the tent are not uncommon. Edelberg
(1966-67, p.388) describes grain bins and pots adjacent to tentsites while
Hole (1978, p. 153) reports grain storage bins 'close to fields and threshing
floors rather than alongside tents'. Stark (1933, p.248) describes 'mounds
of earth which cover up the winter fodder or straw
7
immediately outside
Luri tents. Although the sites left by Central Asian tent types may be
ephemeral, these are often accompanied by stone storage huts for storing
fodder (Michaud and Michaud 1977, pi. 14) and this practice is also known
from the ethnohistorical record: They build houses which are used as
stables and granaries, but for dwelling places they prefer always the raised
tent in the courtyard
7
(Vambery 1868, p.303). During Reza Shah's seden-
tarization campaign in western Luristan in the 1930s, Freya Stark (1933,
p.258) noticed that Luri nomads stored grain in the small huts 'which the
government has made [them] build but which [they] cannot be induced to
live in
7
.
Corrals
Stone-built corrals are common features on nomad sites and also have
counterparts of mud in parts of Iran and Afghanistan (Jentsch 1973,
p.229). Some of these may be actually roofed over with a large black tent
of the same kind used for dwellings (see Fig. 6.13c) so that it may be
difficult to distinguish corral walls from tent footings apart from the
absence of hearths and platforms and the presence of animal droppings.
Brush or thornbush is often used for corrals in short-term transit camps.
Composite dwellings
Tents accompanied by substantial fixtures - referred to henceforth as
composite dwellings - represent a trade-off between the demands of
mobility and flexibility on the one hand, and the need for a degree of
security and comfort on the other. The portable and perishable super-
structure may be either carried from one campsite to another or cached
nearby. Tentpoles are often cached on or adjacent to a campsite. The
entire frames of topak ev structures may be left at summer and winter
campsites (i.e. two sets of complete frames are kept by each family)
(Ozkan 1978, p.30). The more durable fixtures form the substructure and
may be expected to remain more or less in situ whether or not the camp-
site is' re-occupied. The composite dwelling exists only when a set of
portables - tentcloth, ropes, poles, screens - is placed over a set of fixtures,
or when a set of fixtures is constructed to fit the assembled portable
elements. In terms of our formation process model, while portables exist
more or less permanently in systemic context, but enter a site only season-
ally, fixtures reside permanently on the site but are activated (i.e. enter
systemic context) only when the site is occupied. Therefore fixtures alter-
nate between systemic and archaeological context according to the ebb
and flow of nomad migration.
The use of composite dwellings is not confined to tent-using nomads.
An interesting example occurs among some Kurdish villagers where the
valuable roof timbers were carefully conserved while mud walls were
considered expendable. The villagers frequently moved roofing material
onto existing substructures or built new ones: 'If a Kurd does not like the
site of his village, he simply pulls off the roof, loads the wood on his
donkey and moves elsewhere
7
(Hay 1921, p.45).
Tents and houses
It has already been noted that tents of different types may display similar
floorplans and fixtures. Nor should it now surprise us that in some regions
the organization of space within both tents and village houses is very
similar. Although permanent dwellings often consist of multiple rooms,
most of these are for storage or livestock, while much domestic activity
takes place within a single living room (see Watson 1978; Kramer 1979;
Jacobs 1979). While construction materials differ radically, the similarity
in patterning of functional space to that found in nomad tents is often
striking and has led one observer (Watson 1979, p.280) to draw close
parallels between the two. In part the similarity may be due to the persis-
tence of nomad traits among sedentarized village populations. However
cases have been reported of newly settled nomads imitating the design
and layout of existing village houses (Sweet 1974; Bates 1973, p.193).
Where seasonal dwellings of the same group of people are concerned,
the conventions governing the use of space and deployment of household
goods will generally apply equally to an enclosed tentsite or a perma-
nently roofed dwelling - this was observed for both tents and huts at
Sanaydin Yayla (see Chapter 9). The organization of living space observed
in the Hulailan Valley is remarkably consistent, although the structures
involved - zemga, tent and kula - are of markedly different construction
98
Fig. 6.10 Floorplans of
tentsites and houses
employed by villagers in
western Iran.
(a) Stone-walled, single-
roomed village house with
a markedly 'tentlike'
floorplan.
(b) Floorplan of a tent set up
in the courtyard adjacent to
the house in anticipation of
the spring migration.
(c) Tentsite in a nearby
summer campsite. (After
Watson 1979, fig.10.)
pans
Wa
~^^
bedding platform
hearth .
3 <b^# stone
n platform j
/ ^
wicker *
screen
x
bedding
platform
stacked
pots &
wool
hearth
samovar
wooden chest
mud
storage
chest
heart h
wall niches
V//////A m
(Edelberg 1966-67), (see Fig. 6.16). The same is true of seasonally used
house and tent plans of a single family in Luristan (see Fig. 6.10; also
Watson 1979) and of a tent floor and house plan located side by side in the
same enclosure from Baluchistan (see Fig. 6.11; also Audouze and Jarrige
1978, 1981). But there are exceptions. Examples of tents and huts
employed by the Beritanli tribe in eastern Anatolia display variations in
their internal organization, though the range of variation between tents is
also considerable (see Fig. 6.12).
Is it possible to distinguish between tents and houses on the basis of
floorplans alone, independently of materials used or mode of construc-
tion? Hole (n.d.) has suggested that nomad tentsites are, on average, larger
Fig. 6.11 Floorplans and
elevations of adjacent
tentsite and hut from
Baluchistan. Note the
similarity in dimensions,
orientation and internal
organization. The only
archaeologically visible
distinction would be three
depressions for tentpoles
as opposed to a single
posthole in the case of the
hut. (After Audouze and
Jarrige 1981, fig.5.)
than village living rooms. At the same time the amount of living space per
person is quite small. Variability in tent size was found to be due mainly
to variation in length rather than width, perhaps because of the relative
ease of adding more tentpoles as opposed to increasing the span of tent-
cloth. However the small size of many of the tents encountered in the
course of this study argues for caution in the use of such formulae for
distinguishing tent from house plans. Furthermore the extremely large
size of some tents in eastern Anatolia is often accompanied by the inter-
nal division of living space, suggesting that the 'indivisibility
7
of space
within a tent (Hole n.d.) is a local rather than a universal feature.
The spatial organization of the tent
As the tent generally lacks the cellular structure of the typical village
house in which rooms may be added to accomodate specialist activities or
new social units, the organization of space within it needs to be carefully
regulated. Kinetic studies of spatial organization in unplanned settlements
(e.g. Fletcher 1977) have found that each community or culture develops a
kind of conceptual map of the dimensions and scale of architectural
features and that cultural preferences, guided by social and practical
considerations, tend to develop strong regularities through time. The
compromise involved in achieving a satisfactory 'fit' between portable
and fixed architectural elements imposes obvious constraints on the use
of internal space. As Fagre (1979, p.7) points out: The space within the
ordinary nomad tent is not large and so must be carefully organized. This
organization is always a reflection of social organization and determines
where people are seated and where possessions are kept\
Within tents of rectangular or elliptical plan, the internal arrangement
of household possessions and activities is remarkably consistent. There is
invariably a pile of storage sacks and household items running down the
rear wall. One end of the tent may carry an additionai storage platform,
while kitchen utensils and a hearth occupy the other end. One side of the
tent is generally reserved for more formal social activity such as meals and
entertainment, while the other side - the kitchen end - is given over to
food preparation. It is possible to infer the location of these zones from
stone platforms, hearths and other surface traces on almost any aban-
doned campsite and, by extension, any occupation floor which might
emerge on an excavated campsite.
Fagre (1979, p.7) maintains that tents are always divided along the lines
of the division of labour between men and women, and Qashqa'i tents
are also said to be divided into two parts: 'the left or west side of the tent
is the woman's domain, where domestic and family activities take place,
while on the right and east side the men congregate and entertain visitors'
(Marsden 1976, p.25). The Baharvand maintain the same pattern (Hole
n.d.; Baharvand 1975, p.58), and also the Bakhtiari, though apparently in
the reverse order (Digard 1975, p.128). In addition to men's and women's
quarters there is often a separate section within the tent for animals
Qaubert 1921, p.82; de Morgan 1894-1901 II, p.32). These sections are
often divided by reed screens (Lynch 1901, p.323; Ozbek-Koroglu 1980)
though the use of stone partitions is not unknown (Figs.6.12, 6.13) and
appears to have some ethnohistorical depth: Tinterieur, une cloison trans-
versale de pierres divise la maison [sic] en une grande piece, a gauche pour
les femmes, et une plus petite, a droite, pour les homines, devant laquelle
it peut y avoir encore une petite piece pour une cheval' (Burckhardt 1822,
p.636).
Whatever the internal divisions, the tent is rarely a self-contained spa-
tial unit. Activities and their associated paraphernalia tend to spill outside,
particularly in the case of open-fronted summer tents. It is convenient to
envisage the division of space in and around a tent not in terms of fixed
zones but rather as adjustable and overlapping domains. The 'men's side-
women's side' division is but one of a number of possible arrangements,
and domains may be reconstituted to serve different social occasions
through the rearrangement of materials or the installation of temporary
screens or hangings. Domain boundaries can be shifted at will and it is
possible for two domains to successively occupy the same physical space
- guest area during the day, domestic area at night. Some, such as kitchen
and work domains, may extend wholly or partially outside the tent itself.
Two or more domains may be integrated with each other such as where
stacks of stored belongings serve as back-rests on a kind of divan made up
of mats and cushions.
Indications of wealth and status
As a general rule it may be accepted that all nuclear families within a
certain cultural context require roughly the same amount of space for
domestic concerns. Larger tents become necessary either to house co-
residing members of large extended families or to meet the demands of
extra entertaining and hospitality. Wealth or status and household size
appear to be correlated due to the fact that a large labour force is necessary
in order to generate wealth. At the same time, as seen in Chapter 4,
wealth of a household head may tend to delay the separation of new
nuclear units (Bates 1973; Beikgi 1969; Irons 1975). Casual observers of
tent architecture have long been aware of the correlation between wealth
or status and tent size. Around the turn of the century it was observed
that among the Moukri Kurds:
La grandeur des tentes varie avec l'importance de la familie qui
l'habite. Cette tente de chef 13 m. de long, est la plus grande qu'ait.
(de Morgan 1894-1901 II, p.32)
This is well within the size range of the larger Alikanli tentsites observ-
ed by the author in eastern Anatolia. And more recently:
The size of these tents [Hakkan, southeast Turkey] depends on the
status and income of the family within the a$iret. Some of the tents
are large enough only for 3-5 people, while others could accommo-
date [seat] 40-50 people.
(Hakkan II Yilligi 1972, p.93; my translation)
[Among the Qashqa'i] tent size varies slightly according to income,
indicated by the number of poles in front.
(Marsden 1976, p.25)
Wealth or status may be indicated in other ways. The larger Beritanli
tents possess a separate area for entertaining guests and, in some cases, a
special sleeping area for guests, though an alternative arrangement is
often found in the form of white, circular guest tents situated close to the
tents of tribal notables. A connection between tent size, and therefore the
diversity of domains within it, and the prominence of the occupying
household is suggested by Baharvand
;
s (1975, p.58) observation that larger
tents and guest tents among the well-to-do were the result of the de-
mands of hospitality rather than wealth per se. He goes on to say that only
the wealthy could afford to amass the numbers of pack animals and
manpower needed to transport larger tents.
Fig. 6.12 Variability in
dwelling forms among the
Beritanli, eastern Turkey.
(a) Stone-walled tentsite
and hut.
(b) Tentsite enclosing both
living areas and corral.
(c) Winter corral tent: there
are no internal features.
(Based on drawings
provided by Meral Ozbek-
Koroglu, METU (not to
scale).)
barley
storage area
storage
platform
firewood
store
entrance
sleeping area
hand
washing
large cauldron
for boiling
water
entertaining guests
s[eeping area
and living area
straw and
cushions"
walls
180 cm high
50 cm thick
dung
storage-
entrance
bowl for
hand washing
yukluK (storage platform)
entrance

forsheep
b 1 m high stone walls
reed screen partitions
male
corral section
entrance
VtaaoaBOBCOBCB
1 m high stone walls
cloth
rope
Fig. 6.13 Seasonal variation
in Yoriik tig direkli gadir
(three-poled) black tent
plan and facilities, southern
Turkey.
(a) Winter tent plan: note
enclosing stone footings.
(b) Summer tent plan with
storage platforms only.
(c) End elevation of a
winter tent. (After
Kademoglu 1974 (not to
scale).)
stone
walls
I did not find such great variations in tent size among the Yoriiks in
western Anatolia. This may be partly due to the nature of their construc-
tion particularly in the case of the alaak, although the same lack of size
variation was observed among users of the tig direkli gdir, or three-poled
black tent, which is potentially expandable to four or more poles. Neither
did there appear to be as great a specialization in domains. Both of these
features may reflect the relatively low level of ostentatious hospitality
among the Yoriiks, which in turn may be connected to a decline in the
institution of chieftainship and reduction of pan-tribal structures. Simi-
larly the camps of smaller Kurdish tribes to the west of the Beritanli lacked
any marked variations in tent sizes as did those of the non-tribal Kurds of
Shirdasht in western Iran (Watson 1979,ch.8).
Tent size varies both according to culture or ethnic affiliation and
;
within cultural/ethnic groups
;
according to differences in household size,
wealth, status and political office. All of these latter variables appear to be
inter-correlated so that it is not possible to state categorically that larger
tents are due to larger households or, alternatively, to greater wealth or
power. Large tent size, the partitioning of space within tents and the
appearance of specialized units such as guest tents, appear to derive from
an increase in the variety of activities, causing domains to become fixed
and identified with functionally specific areas. The area under a tent is
likely to reflect cultural standards or household size as much as status. A
more accurate measure of household wealth and status might be the
variety of domains and the presence of a range of specialized domains and/
or structures within or around the tentsite.
Towards a typology of dwelling forms
Continuous variation in dwelling forms may be defined in terms of
our three primary dimensions - portable/fixed, perishable/durable and
valuable/expendable - the most ephemeral occurring where conditions
selecting for portable, perishable and expendable elements are involved,
the most substantial involving fixtures, durables and valuables. It is also
possible to define arbitrary types of dwelling according to where they lie
along this continuum. Bear in mind that we are concerned here with
actual building components rather than floorplans (see Fig. 6.14).
Dwelling type 7
The most basic dwelling form is the tent unaccompanied by any surface
features or fixtures apart from a few peg holes and depressions left by
tentpoles. This is rare, as even in the most transitory of camps hearth
stones and concentrations of ash are also present.
Dwelling type Z
Here the tentsite may be marked by a storage platform and a stone hearth
or firepit. This is commonly the case even in transit camps.
Dwelling type 3
This would consist of a levelled terrace outlined with stones, perhaps
surrounded by a drainage ditch, and storage platforms. Two hearths,
internal and external, may be present, together with special storage struc-
tures and stone-built or wickerwork corrals.
Dwelling type 4 the composite dwelling
Substantial walls of mud or stone enclose the tentsite, leaving a narrow
entrance. Storage platforms and hearths are built into these walls. The
tent itself serves as a temporary roof over this structure and side flaps or
wickerwork screens may be dispensed with. In plan the structure will
closely resemble a permanent dwelling.
Fig. 6.14 A typology of
dwelling forms: tents,
composite dwellings and
houses. The elaboration of
architectural features varies
according to seasonality
and sedentism.
TYPE 3
TYPE 4
TYPE 5
TYPE 6
1V1 Mi VI I
v
S3
TYPE 7 IF
Dwelling type 5
The fixtures are comparable with type 4, the main difference being that a
portable superstructure is now directly supported by the walls. The actual
covering may be either of tentcloth, matting, thatch or, in contemporary
times, polythene plastic. A type 5 dwelling will contain no tentpoles,
though one or more central posts may be used to prop up the roof.
Dwelling type 6
Permanent walls extend to full height and now bear a fixed superstruc-
ture, for example, a series of beams crossed by rafters and topped by
thatch or mud. The dwelling may still be composite to an extent, as in the
case cited above of the Kurdish villager who carts his roof poles from one
set of house walls to the next.
Dwelling type 7
We now have a more or less permanent village house. The roof is almost
as durable as the walls and the structure may have been extended by
adding more rooms. Storage and other specialized structures begin to
proliferate.
This typology is not intended to be exhaustive, nor should it be taken
as an evolutionary scheme of development from simple to more complex
architectural forms. It is a classification which is hopefully sensitive to our
key variables of portability, durability and expendability. Considerably
more than environmental conditions, such as the availability of building
materials and cultural preference, appear to be involved in the choice of
dwelling type (see Hole n.d.; Cook and Heizer 1968). The nomad case is
of particular interest in that it involves the operation of our key variables
on two different time scales - the seasonal cycle on the one hand and
long-term changes in the degree of mobility on the other.
It was stressed in Chapter 4 that characteristic nomad flexibility in
organization and group formation operates on two levels and over two
time scales. On a local scale, and within the range of a single annual cycle,
seasonal changes in residence, environment and community organization
are brought into focus. On a regional scale, and over a much longer
timespan, our perspective shifts to progressive changes in migratory
orbits and the degree to which a group is tied or untied in its commitment
to a particular region. The architectural typology outlined above is but a
particular case in which these two analytical levels may be applied.
Variation in dwelling types over the seasonal cycle
Seasonal change in residence is frequently accompanied by a change in
dwelling form. While this practice is by no means limited to nomadic
pastoralists (see Orme 1981, ch.2), it is certainly one of their distinctive
traits. While the change may involve no more than slight alterations in
portable components, such as the deletion of side cloths while on migra-
tion (Barth 1961, p. 11), quite radical changes in the extent of fixtures and
the use of portable items such as tentcloth are more common.
Among the Qashqa'i three types of tents are employed. During migra-
tion a simple lean-to consisting of a strip of tentcloth and a few poles is
set up. In summer an open-fronted summer tent is used, while in winter
the living space is enclosed by stone walls except for a small entrance at
the side and the tentcloth is sunk into the mud at the base of the walls to
keep out draughts (Marsden 1976, p.25). Alternatively some families
move into ordinary village huts or houses for part of the winter. The
Baharvand spend three months of the year 'in tentsites enclosed on four
sides' (Hole n.d.), and similar winter quarters are known among the Bakh-
tiari (Digard 1975; Cooper 1928) and other Lurs (Feilberg 1944, fig. 12) who
may also move into houses. During summer these groups occupy type 2
or type 3 tents.
The Alikanli in eastern Anatolia - of whom we shall hear more pres-
ently - employ two completely different tents in winter and summer
(Beikgi 1969). The winter tent is left behind in the care of village neigh-
bours and a different and lighter tent taken to the summer quarters,
though in both seasons substantial stone foundations are employed. The
same tent fabric is employed by Yoriiks in western Anatolia, but there are
differences in the extent of elaboration and manner of arrangement of
stone fixtures (see Fig. 6.14; also Kademoglu 1974). Such seasonal varia-
tions have some historical depth and consistency through time as indi-
cated by ethnohistorical accounts:
These people [eastern Anatolia] live in ordinary Kurdish tents in
summer on the Taurus slopes, in winter they proceed to fixed camps
about 30 miles to the west of Killis. The fixed camps have stone walls
for the tents.
(Sykes 1908, p.481)
From here it is but a short step to the use of permanently roofed
structures or fixed villages in winter (e.g. Chantre 1924, p.12). As indi-
cated in Chapters 3 and 4, this in itself need not serve as an automatic
disqualification from nomad status. In many cases the use of permanently
roofed structures as opposed to walled tentsites does not accompany any
essential difference in livelihood, settlement pattern or the pattern of
migration.
The Lurs in the central Zagros region illustrate well some of these
ambiguities (Edelberg 1966-67) (see Fig. 6.15). Although characterized as
'farmers', these people also keep moderately sized herds of goats. Their
migration cycle, all within the same valley, follows four stages, and their
architectural repertoire includes three distinct dwelling forms. Spring and
autumn are spent in black tents, but in the hottest summer months tents
are abandoned in favour of kulas which may be set up close by. The third
type of dwelling, known as a zemga, is employed in winter and is an
archetypal example of a type 5 composite dwelling (Edelberg 1966-67,
fig. 112). While certain sections - stable and fodder storage rooms - are
roofed, the actual living quarters are covered with tentcloth and resemble
in their layout the plan of a typical tent, or kula. In spring the tent is
removed and set up nearby. A somewhat similar cycle occurred among
the Baban Kurds in the early part of this century. From October to Febru-
ary they dwelt in villages in Upper Mesopotamia, moving into tents from
May until early June (spring), whereupon 'they lay up their tents and
construct bowers of green wood [kulas or qardaks] in which they live until
the autumn nights grow chilly, when they return to their villages' (Sykes
1908, p.454). The practice of shifting between houses in winter and tents
in summer is a long-standing one in the Near East. It is often taken as an
indication of 'transhumance' or 'semi-nomadism
7
and a by-product of
recent sedentarization. While the latter may be true in some cases (e.g.
N. Tapper 1977), such a pattern can also be stable and enduring (Evans
1983).
Groups of people who make seasonal shifts in residence can be charac-
terized according to the combination of dwelling types employed by
them in different seasons. In archaeological terms, the presence of differ-
ent dwelling forms in contemporaneous settlements occurring in different
environmental zones within the same region may indicate seasonal shifts
in residence rather than the presence of two adjacent 'cultures'. Archae-
ologists have been aware of this for some time (e.g. Hole 1978, n.d.; Orme
1981) but have been less receptive to the possibility that the very combina-
tions of dwellings employed may change over time in response to much
the same set of factors.
Nomad architecture
109
Fig. 6.15 Seasonal variation
in dwelling form among
villagers in western Iran.
(a) Zemga : a composite
dwelling extended to
storage rooms and
courtyard, employed in
winter.
(b) Kula, employed in
summer.
(c) black tent used in spring
and autumn. (After
Edelberg 1966-67.)
(a) Zemga
1. Stone wall, plastered
2. Hearth in kitchen
3. Manger for oxen
4. Forked main posts for roof
5. T-shaped tent posts
6. Goat skins for water in a niche in
the wall
7. Containers of clay for skin filled
with ghee
8. Containers of clay for floor or grain
9. Box
10. Stand for bedding and carpets
11. Store for fodder
12. Room for livestock
13. Open yard for goats and sheep
14. Rush mats
15. Fence of dry oak-branches the
leaves of which will rustle when
touched by approaching wolf or
thief (the wall around 13 is
furnished with oak-branches too)
(b) Kula
1. Sack for wheat and horse bag
2. Wrought iron tripod, yoke and
wooden jar for xu/
3. Rolled tent cloth and string bag for
carrying straw
5. Iron griddle for baking bread
6. Fuel consisting of droppings from
goats
7. Stand for bedding
8. Stone platform with four water
skins
9. Stone platform for milk products
surrounded by rush matting
10. Stone platform for flour sack and
bread plate
11. Carpets
12. Felt covering hearth lajd out for the
reception of goods
13. Cushions
14. One of the forked posts
15. Entrance
(c) Siah cador
1. Stone recess for broody hen
2. Stone platform for waterskin
3. Stone bed for carpets and bedding
4. Stone platform for flour sack and
skin containing ghee
6. Hearth in guest room
7. Droppings from lambs and kids
8. Pile of stones indicating where
children have been playing
9. Peg used to tether oxen
10. Peg used to tether calf
11. Sticks for attaching rush mats
12. Manure from oxen
13. Stone recess for dog
14. Entrance
15. Furrow for draining rain-water
from tent cloth ,_ , . _. , ._.
(Edelberg (1966-67)
Long-term processes influencing dwelling
forms
An important factor governing the degree of elaboration of fixtures has to
do with the likelihood of being able to re-use these fixtures in successive
years. This in turn depends on factors such as fluctuations in the availabil-
ity of pasture from year to year, the stability of the migration track and,
above all, on the security of tenure in seasonal pastures. Where access to a
given set of pastures may be denied, there is little point in investing much
effort in the construction of facilities in those camps from which the
pastures are exploited. However, where access is assured for the forsee-
able future, there will be fewer constraints on the tendency to make one's
habitation as congenial as possible.
Under modern conditions in the Near East access to pastures may be
secured in three ways. The pastures may be owned by a corporate group,
as is often the case where village communities have joint rights in distant
summer pastures. This is very common throughout Anatolia where vil-
lages, or sections of villages, migrate as a unit to traditional summer yaylas
which often contain permanent, but seasonally abandoned, houses or
huts (Bruinessen 1979, pp.45-7; Tuncdilek 1962, 1963). Systems whereby
tracts of pasture are individually owned are also known (Tapper 1979b). A
second means of gaining secure access to pastures is through the estab-
lishment of a tribal territory, usually held in the name of the tribal leader
and, in theory at least, distributed on an annual basis among tribal mem-
bers (Digard 1979; Fazel 1973). In practice the pattern of allocation tends
to remain fairly stable from year to year. Finally, where pastures are
obtained on a rental basis the establishment of a stable, contractual rela-
tionship with the landlord or community owning the pasture is in the
pastoralist's best interests. The undesirable consequences of being forced
to rent pasture on a piecemeal basis have been described by Bates (1971,
1973) and will be illustrated by a case study in Chapter 7.
Among the Beritan tribe in eastern Anatolia there exist great variations
between camps in the degree of elaboration of fixtures (Ozbek-Koroglu
1980). The Kosan Kabile, which owns its summer pastures, has con-
structed fixed summer campsites with high stone walls and corrals. Other
tribal sections, which rely on rented pasture, construct only the bare
minimum of storage platforms and hearths though all groups spend much
the same length of time in the same place. Although relying on rented
pasture, the Alikanli summering on Nemrut Dag also build sturdy stone
tentsites. Here, as described in Chapter 10, there is considerable fluidity in
the pattern of camp group formation from one year to the next. Neverthe-
less the yaylas used by the tribe are constant so that any facilities built in
the course of one summer will be used by other Alikanli the following
year (Beikgi 1969).
Notwithstanding a moderate turnover in camp membership it follows
that, given assured access to regular seasonal campsites, a 'settling in
;
process may commence. Whether or not such a process leads in the long
run to a seasonally occupied village or complete sedentarization depends
on other factors - in general, the criteria for selecting a site for permanent
Fig. 6.16 Schematic diagram
of long-term changes
in dwelling form in
response to the interplay
between sedentism and
nomadization. Nomadic
groups mentioned in the
text are characterized
according to their seasonal
variations in dwelling
types. The dashed line
represents hypothetical
changes in seasonal
dwellings such as might be
experienced by a group
undergoing nomadization
followed by
sedentarization.
settlement differ fundamentally from those involved in the selection of
campsites. But whether or not seasonal campsites are slowly transformed
into villages, the net result of an extended settling-in process would be a
regional shift towards a more extensive use of fixtures and durables. Just
such a process may be occurring at Sanaydin Yayla (see Chapter 9), a
summer camp in the Taurus Mountains, where some families are aban-
doning tents and moving into stone huts (i.e. from type 3 to type 5
dwellings). The retention of the zemga type of composite dwelling in
Hulailan could indicate a lack of commitment to a permanent base, par-
ticularly in view of the unstable environmental and political conditions in
the region.
The combination of dwelling types employed is influenced not only by
the seasonal cycle, but also by the relative position in a much longer-
amplitude cycle of nomadization and sedentarization. Seasonal variations
in dwelling type employed by ten nomadic groups in Anatolia and Iran
are shown in Fig. 6.16. These groups may be seen as occupying locations
in a succession from more sedentary to nomadic patterns, shifting up or
down the spectrum of dwelling types in response to changes in extent of
mobility and security of tenure. For example a group may begin by alter-
nating between a type 6 hut and a type 4 walled tentsite. With declining
security of access to both winter and summer pasture, a shift may occur
to a type 2 tentsite in summer and a type 4 tentsite in winter. Such a
pattern might well be maintained during a period of shifting migration
tracks and inter-tribal rivalries of the kind outlined in Chapter 4. As stable
conditions return, successively more permanent forms are adopted until
CO
t o ^ ^ t m m m c J r ^
used In transit
to
t 2 s 5
Juila t 3
s 11
TYPE 7 H i l l
W
kula
w
JL
11
w
w
w
\ w
sp*
t 4
sp-a
w
w
w
t 4
finally the group settles into a village of type 7 houses, with some families
employing a type 4 tent in summer.
Few insights into these processes are likely to be forthcoming from
ethnographic studies of contemporary nomads as the processes operate
over too long a time scale to be detected within the span of a single
generation. Greater insight can be obtained by comparative studies of
historical; ethnohistorical and ethnographic accounts in varying environ-
mental and sociopolitical contexts. In the final analysis it is the
archaeological study of settlements over successive occupations that will
probably provide the best documentation of such processes over a suit-
able time scale (see Plog 1974
;
p.44).
7
ALI'S CAMP:
A NOMAD
HOUSEHOLD
CAMPSITE
Fig. 7-1 Regional map of the
southern coast of Turkey
around Silifke with
locations of sites mapped
or visited.
Along Turkey's southern Mediterranean coast, in the area known to clas-
sicists as Rough Cilicia (Fig. 7.1), small numbers of nomadic pastoralists
continue to set up camp for the winter. During two successive autumns -
1980 and 1981-1 was able to observe the comings and goings of a single
household and carry out a detailed analysis of their abandoned 1980-81
campsite.
SILIFKE REGION:
SOUTHERN ANATOLIA
A campsite
village
highway 0
secondary road
track
113
The region
The small village of Karakegi, which served as a base for much of my
fieldwork, lies strewn among citrus groves, overshadowed by the battle-
ments of a Crusader castle and the ruins of what must have been a
sizeable city in Hellenistic, Roman and Byzantine times. Limestone strata
rising abruptly from the sea climb tier upon tier towards the Taurus
Mountains in a karst landscape heavily dissected by seasonal water-
courses, faulted by massive sink holes up to 200 metres deep and drained
by subterranean systems of swallow holes. Unable to retain surface
water, this stony landscape has little agricultural potential except where
small patches of alluvium or swampland occur at the mouths of streams.
Straggly stands of winter wheat and heavily irrigated citrus orchards
clothe the lower slopes. Precipitation occurs between December and May
along with moderate winter temperatures, and snowfalls are almost un-
known, while summer temperatures hover around 35 C.
In the Hellenistic period the region lay at the boundary of the kingdom
of Olba (see Mackay 1968) whose tall stone-built watchtowers can still be
seen in the hills overlooking the sea, spaced at roughly 2 kilometre in-
tervals. The capital of Olba, now Uzuncaburg, was connected to the coast
by a paved road running into the hills behind Karakegi and this road, now
used as a migration track by nomads, continues on to the Anatolian
Plateau. In Roman times the city and port of Korycus served the Anatolian
hinterland where large estates produced wool and grain for export (see
Mitchell 1974, p.242).
That the region once enjoyed a far higher population density is con-
firmed by the ubiquitous ruins of the Classical, Byzantine and Crusader
periods. For approximately 20 kilometres along the coast building founda-
tions and tottering walls, stone quarries, rock-cut tombs and limestone
sarcophagi crowd the narrow modern highway. A highly sophisticated
aqueduct system, drawing on permanent mountain streams some 30 kilo-
metres to the northeast, terminates in a massively constructed stone cis-
tern within whose interior boundary lines and goal posts have recently
been set up. From the sheer walls of a nearby valley about a dozen bas-
relief figures of local notables, carved into the solid rock and each about
4 metres high, survey the current desolation. It was near here that Mark
Anthony and Cleopatra sojourned prior to the battle of Actium, and the
apostle Paul was born. The castle, originally established by the kings of
Armenia, was refurbished as a major stronghold of Frederick Barbarossa
(Bulucu etal 1977).
With the decline of the Byzantine Empire and the establishment of
Turkic emirates on the Anatolian Plateau much of the region reverted to
malarial swamp, dangerous to human health in summer, and inhabited
only by wintering Turkmen nomads whose herds of goats were able to
survive off the rough grazing. According to Siimer (1980, pp.153, 175) the
Taurus foothills from Silifki to Adana were then dominated by a tribal
confederacy known as Varsaklar, whose name survives to this day among
smaller tribal segments to the west. Permanent settlement along the coast
became possible during the twentieth century with the eradication of
malaria, and the present population consists largely of sedentarized
A nomad household campsite 115
nomads (Aswad 1971, p.32; Bates 1973, ch.VTI; Eberhard 1953a, pp.40-1).
Even today many villagers with strong pastoral traditions continue to
migrate to yay las or summer quarters (Tuncdilek 1962).
Past nomad populations
Scattered among the ruins can be found the remains of numerous long-
abandoned campsites, readily identified by the villagers as eski Ttirkmenler
(ancient Turkmen). Nineteenth-century travellers have described such
camps in other parts of the southern Anatolian coast:
Many of them [nomads] adopt a semi-sedentary life, and dwell in
huts built of rough stone, with walls three or four feet high, and a
round thatch roof without central support.
(Bent 1891, p.270)
During this [winter] season many of these nomads adopt a semi-
sedentary life among ancient Greek ruins, in huts built of reeds or
wicker work or in their own black tents.
(Garnettn.d.
;
p.l99)
These foundations were remarkably standardized, with stone rubble
walls built to a height of about a metre and approximately 4 metres on a
side. A low stone platform (yukluk) ran around two or three sides, though
in many cases this was concealed beneath earth and rubble. The entrance
was usually located in the southwest corner with a recessed hearth (ocak)
to the east and a further recess for food storage in the southeast corner. A
stout wooden pole up to 4 metres in length, used as a roof support, was
frequently found lying nearby (Fig. 7.2).
The ancient ruins act as a magnet for such temporary settlements. The
rubble provides ample building material, and dressed limestone blocks -
sometimes containing inscriptions or motifs - have found their way into
the walls or been used as door jambs. A few well-placed clumps of
thornbush could easily convert a Byzantine courtyard into a corral.
According to informants some of the Byzantine water cisterns remained
in use until well into the present century when careless villagers began
throwing rocks in, destroying the sealed bottoms.
In the mountainous regions inland from Karakeqi I observed tentsites
closely conforming to the above pattern though lacking the encircling
stone walls. Those which were still occupied were surmounted by tents
supported by heavy cross-poles resting on two upright posts, and in one
case the tent was entered through a rickety wooden gate. These were the
summer and transit camps of people who occupied the kind of dwelling
described above during winter.
Around Karakeqi the dwellings occurred in groups of from three to
seven. Other observers of southern Anatolian nomads (Bates 1973; John-
son 1969) have noted that winter camps tend to be smaller and more
dispersed than in summer and Bates cites the scarcity of winter grazing as
the main contributory factor. Altogether I located 34 abandoned dwell-
ings, grouped in eight main clusters, within an area of approximately one
square kilometre though, as this was not the result of a systematic survey,
Fig. 7-2 Plans of abandoned
campsites around Karakegi,
tentsites were often found
in association with Roman
or Byzantine ruins, rubble
from which had been
incorporated into the walls.
A large wooden pole for
supporting tentcloth or
temporary roofing was
frequently found nearby.
0zBS
3
ancitnt
--;/iarzophaQM
htarth
m
KEY
ancient wall
dressed block
rubble wall
0 1 2 3m
many more may have been missed. Any estimate of settlement density is
however confounded by the probability that not all of these structures
were in use at any one time.
Two tribes - or tribal segments - are reported as wintering in the region
of Karakeqi during the 1920s and 30s. The Aya, consisting of around 100
tents with a total population of 750, clustered around the Silifki-Mersin
road, dwelling half in tents, half in huts, and practising pastoralism, agri-
culture and bee-keeping (Yalman 1977, pp.194-8). They migrated to Bul-
gar Dag in the Taurus Mountains in summer. Their livestock holdings are
put at 3,800, giving an average of 38 per household, far fewer than would
be expected of fully nomadic pastoralists. Indeed the contemporary vill-
age of Aya, just up the coast from Karakegi, is almost certainly the result
of a settling-in process. The Boynuinceli, consisting of 200 to 300 tents,
wintered to the west of Karakeqi and moved to summer quarters around
Magara (see Fig. 7.1). They are reported as owning 21,130 livestock, yield-
ing a mean of about 70 per household, which is far more consistent with a
pastoral and nomadic bias (ibid., pp.206-11).
A case study
Ali was born in a mountain village about 50 kilometres west of Karakegi.
The family, consisting of Ali, his wife and seven children (out of ten
births) had been nomadic for nearly ten years. The eldest son, in his early
twenties, had completed military service and returned to take over the
main task of herding. The youngest child, a boy, was born in 1980. Those
children of school age attended the local school during the autumn and
winter months and this was itself a factor to be considered in the schedul-
ing of migrations.
Nomadism for Ali was a rational choice made in response to a critical
lack of grazing in the vicinity of his home village and was undertaken
with the explicit intention of improving his economic position. Nomad-
ism was seen as a means to an end, the strategy being to accumulate as
much pastoral capital as possible and sell out at the top of the market in a
year when animal prices were high. At the time of fieldwork animal
prices had been falling steadily for two successive years, enabling pas-
toralists to buy up additional stock in the hope of better times ahead.
Three distinct herds were maintained. The 'commercial herd
;
consisted
of 20 sheep and an equal number of goats, mainly angora goats raised for
their hair. Most of these had been recently purchased and were being
brought up to prime condition before being resold. The second, a sub-
sistence herd, contained goats only and was divided into a core of around
100 breeders and 5 studs, together with 90 young or juveniles destined for
the meat market. About 80 young were born in February each year and,
according to Ali, all female kids were sold immediately and the males
kept for a year. These were joined by a further 50 males purchased from
other pastoralists to make up a juvenile herd or toklu of around 90 animals,
all sold on the meat market as yearlings in February. Such a system of
herd splitting appears to be common among nomads in southern Anatolia
(see Bates 1973, ch.VI; Roux 1970).
Although not able to read or write, Ali displayed a keen and well-
informed interest in both local and international market trends and the
micro-economics of herding. In response to my queries about the annual
turnover of stock, births, sales and prices per head, Ali reached into an
elaborately embroidered camel bag and produced a small electronic calcu-
lator on which he proceeded to knock out some rough estimates.
Other animals owned included one milch cow, two donkeys, a dog, a
cat and a few chickens. The household practised no cultivation but made
use of wheat stubble in the rented fields for fodder. Summer is spent
under the tent in the yayla at Azen, high in the Taurus Mountains on the
ancient route to Karaman (see Fig. 7.1). During the autumn migration Ali
follows this ancient trail to the village of Magara, a traditional crossroads
of pastoral migrations, and then on to the coast at Karakegi. The herds are
supervised by the older sons who move them slowly over roadside graz-
ing, while the wife and younger children are transported by hired tractor
and trailer together with household belongings. Camels are still employed
by some nomads, but the majority have converted to motorized transport
which has had significant social effects, particularly in enhancing the
entrepreneurial role of the household head (see Chatty 1980; Bates 1980).
Ali rides ahead on an ancient motorbike to enter rental negotiations
before the arrival of the herds.
In October 1980 I found Ali installed at campsite KK-1. The site and
pasture were rented from a local landowner for 25,000 TL (about 100
pounds sterling). Ali had reached an agreement with two of the local
landowners by which he would rent pasture from each in alternate years.
This suited the landowners, who not only benefited from the income but
also from the deposition of animal droppings on their stony fields. The
dwelling had been substantially renovated and a stout corral constructed
adjacent to it. In addition, part of a large nearby Byzantine complex was
used as a makeshift animal pen and a smaller corral was being put togeth-
er from building rubble. In the course of this an existing tentsite, part of an
abandoned camp of six tents, was almost completely obliterated. Ali was
well pleased with this location and outlined plans to build another corral
nearby for use in this and subsequent seasons. He was joined by a relative
from a nearby town who was accommodated for a week in a small
canvas army tent kept by Ali for use during migration.
In June of 1981 I again visited the area and made a pilot study of this
campsite while the family was absent. During August and September I
carried out a thorough surface recording of the 1980 winter campsite, and
in the first week of October, while visiting a tent about 6 kilometres
inland along the ancient road, I encountered Ali's eldest son who was
grazing the herd nearby. Ali himself turned up in the teahouse at Karakeqi
on the same day and set up a temporary camp not far from the previous
year's campsite. The family slept in the small canvas tent, though all their
belongings were arranged under a nearby tree in much the same manner
as that observed in a typical tent or hut. The main subsistence herd and
toklu were still being kept in the hills above Karakegi under the super-
vision of the eldest sons, and Ali explained that he had yet to conclude
negotiations with the landowners. He complained that the landowner
whose fields he had hoped to rent was asking too high a price and that he
was considering staying on the present site and building a new set of
stone foundations from scratch. This situation had not altered when I left
Karakegi a few days later.
Some weeks later, during a brief stopover, I learned that Ali had shifted
to a new campsite a few kilometres inland where grazing fees were not so
high. Apparently negotiations with the landowners in Karakegi had
broken down.
Instability and opportunism in southern
Anatolian nomadism
This case illustrates a number of points about nomadism already touched
on in Chapter 4. First, insecurity in access to grazing results in a highly
unstable settlement system with little consistency from one year to the
next, though this need not necessarily prevent considerable investment in
the construction of fixtures, given that the camps are used continuously
for five to six months of the year. The large number of stone foundations
may be explained if they are considered as fixtures, redeemable for a
season and discarded in the following year depending on the circum-
stances. Like the relatively unmodified tentsite platforms encountered in
summer camps, they are not owned by any particular household. How-
ever it is possible that in previous centuries, when sedentary occupation
was much sparser on the coast, wintering nomads had greater security of
tenure over pastures.
Second, the case study highlights the highly opportunistic nature of
nomadism in this region, both in terms of short-term or tactical responses
to variable access to resources and longer-term economic strategies. A
number of settlers around Karakeqi owe their current affluence to a spell
of nomadism undertaken to raise sufficient capital to make a start in citrus
orchards or small business. A move from pastoralism into commerce is
quite a common career pattern among Yoriiks (Bates 1973, p.26). More
seems to be involved here than the recent impact of capitalist market
forces for this kind of attitude is hardly new. Nomadism in the nineteenth
century was by no means a pristine condition in which independent tribal
units engaged in pastoral production for subsistence as has been claimed
by some (e.g. Hole 1978). Evidence from nineteenth-century observers
suggests a complex chain of transactions from the producer, through the
middle man or agent, to distant markets, as well as the presence of forms
of pastoral tenure and contract herding:
Often a well-to-do citizen of some town furnishes a body of
Yourouks with a flock by contract, the Yourouk to provide so many
okes of milk, cheese and butter etc., whilst the tribes get what milk is
over, the hair etc. and the contractor agrees also to keep up the flock if
by cnance it diminishes. In this way the Yourouks often amass flocks
of their own, and in time pay off tne lender.
(Bent 1891, p.272)
Finally, Ali
;
s continuing affiliation with the village in which he was
born in no way contradicts his nomadic status. Although contacts with
the village are maintained (it is not far west of his annual migration route)
he has not resided there for a decade and his younger children have never
seen the village. However his summer camp is located within the yayla of
this home village. This was found to be a common pattern among tent
dwellers in the region who also claimed village affiliations but denied
residence there. Those referred to were invariably mountain villages with
strong pastoral traditions and an established pattern of migration to sum-
mer yay las (Tuncdilek 1962, 1963). The shift to a migratory cycle involv-
ing absence from the village in both winter and summer appears to be the
outcome of a local shortage of winter grazing combined with economic
conditions favouring the accumulation of livestock.
In accordance with the model of alternating cycles of nomadization
and sedentarization outlined in Chapter 4, it is suggested that under
favourable conditions migratory groups tend to aggregate in villages at
some point on their migration track. Seasonal migrations continue, albeit
tied to the village base. Increased populations and pressure on grazing
land, combined with market forces, will frequently induce the adoption
of more intensive agriculture at the expense of pastoral production. But,
by the same token, economic incentives favouring the expansion of pas-
toral production will induce sections of the village population to resume
an untied migratory orbit, with the option of moving into relatively unex-
ploited areas. Specific instances of re-nomadization are known. A group
to the east of Karakegi, the Kulfalli Oymagi, are reported to have settled in
1869 but returned to nomadism soon after (Yalman 1977, p.215). This line
of reasoning leads to the apparent paradox that the village may constitute
a vital component in long-term migratory trends as well as short-term
schedules.
Such long-term processes may not be obvious to the people involved
nor easily discerned using standard ethnographic techniques (e.g. Eren
1980). Nevertheless the gradual eastward drift of Yoriiks along the moun-
tains and coastline of southern Anatolia in the course of the last century
(Aswad 1971; Bates 1973, pp.36-7, 197) does seem to have left a partial
record in the distribution of tribal and village names. The processes of
tribal segmentation and territorial expansion discussed earlier (Chapter 4)
are clearly discernable: The various places through which the Yoruk
spread later will be shown to coincide with the formation of named
descent groups' (Bates 1973, p.36). Moreover such tribal designations are
also frequently applied to the villages in which such named descent
groups settle. Tribal names in Turkey are generally composed of a root
followed by the suffix -// which implies ' of or 'belonging to
;
(Dogru
1978). Thus a tribe may aquire the name Haciahmetli by way of a found-
ing father named Haci Ahmet. Alternatively some characteristic or nick-
name such as sari kegi ('yellow goat') may be reified into the tribal name
Sankegili. The fact that many village names contain precisely the same
structure simply reflects the fact that tribal and village designations are
frequently interchangeable. When asked about their tribal affiliation,
Yoriiks will frequently show puzzlement but may eventually say, 'Well,
we are from the village of Deli Ahmet so we are Deliahmetli'. Nor is it
Fig. 7-3 Historical Yoriik
migration routes in
arrows show the directions
of spring/summer migra-
tions of nomadic and
semi-nomadic groups. The
dotted lines indicate
possible connections on the
basis of similar tribal names
(not to scale).
inconceivable that pastoral sections of a home village bearing such a name
might, on migrating into new areas, adopt that village name as a tribal
designation.
The same tribal names often occur at widely separated points and,
similarly, villages bearing identical tribal names are often found in widely
separated locations. Such a pattern could well have been produced
through a sequence of nomadization, segmentation, settlement of some
tribal segments in permanent villages, followed by subsequent re-
nomadization of sections of the village population and a recurrence of the
cycle. There is certainly some evidence for an eastward trend in migration
routes. One nomadic group to the east of Karakegi, the Bahi Yuriikler,
have a tradition of having migrated from the region of Ermenek, some 100
kilometres to the west, in 1773 (Yalman 1977, p. 221). Further examples of
this kind are suggested by Fig. 7.3, derived from a comprehensive map of
the migration routes of Yoriik tribes over the last century. The most
common pattern of sedentarization throughout Anatolia is for closely
related families, often a tribal section or camp group, to establish a new
village to which the name of the tribal unit is then applied.
Most villages in Anatolia have been established relatively recently and
few can trace their origins back further than 300 years (see Eberhard
1953b). A high turnover in the establishment and abandonment of vil-
lages, together with frequent changes of name, complicate the investiga-
tion of village and regional history, but may also throw light on past
population movements in so far as village names tend to reflect tribal
affiliations. Other criteria are also important in the genesis of village
names and frequently new tribal segments are named according to the
region or village with which they are associated (de Planhol 1959; Dogru
1978).
MIGRATION ROUTES &
MIGRATORY DRI FT:
SOUTHERN ANATOLIA NORTH
A
spring migration to yayla
connections: tribal/village
town
n a m e s
SILIFKE
Under such a system of nomadism, punctuated by phases of settle-
ment, it follows that splinter groups from the original tribal body or
villagers returning to a nomadic lifestyle may have carried the name into
new areas. The processes investigated here raise important questions
about the interaction between nomadism and sedentism. Nomadism may
perhaps be viewed as a mechanism for facilitating the spread of sedentary
settlement through segmentation and colonization (Tuncdilek 1962;
Coon 1965; Eberhard 1953a) under conditions of low population density.
Fig. 7-4 Ali's winter
campsite (August 1981).
The walls are constructed
out of loose field stones
and rubble from ancient
Byzantine ruins. The
recording zone is shown to
the left of the dwelling-
corral complex. The site of
a small visitor's tent is
indicated at upper left.
Ali
;
s camp: site structure at the household
level
Having placed the Karakeqi camps in their regional context we now turn
to the question of their archaeological profile. Ali's camp was a good
candidate for such an ethnoarchaeological study due to the presence of
substantial features, a detailed surface collection, some observation of
on-site activities in the previous season and a good deal of contextual
information (see Fig. 7.4).
The title of this chapter recalls 'Millie's Camp
7
, an experimental study
carried out in the first flush of the new archaeology (Bonnichsen 1973).
The differences in the conclusions drawn between that and similar
studies (Longacre and Ayres 1968) and the present one reflect not only
different subject matter but also changes in the aspirations of archaeol-
ogists as well as the techniques they employ. The objectives of the former
were to assess the likelihood of recovering information about the activ-
ities carried out on the site, the numbers of individuals present and their
Fig. 7.3 Interior views of
Ali's dwelling when
occupied (October 1980).
(a) Kitchen section showing
recessed hearth. Note the
careful fitting together of
stone blocks.
(b) Rear section with
covered storage sacks filling
the stone platform on three
sides. Note the light joists
of the roof construction.
demographic structure. My own objectives, while including the above,
were primarily to search for some underlying pattern of spatial organiza-
tion on the site. Any such pattern, if present, should be detectable
in archaeological contexts of any age, independent of arguments by
ethnographic analogy.
The dwelling itself was built mostly of rough limestone blocks, to-
gether with shaped stone taken from the ruins, with walls about
1.2 metres high, the east wall resting on the foundations of a Byzantine
structure (see Fig. 7.4). The hearth, deeply recessed into the south wall,
was surmounted by a kind of chimney. At the entrance was a wooden
gate loosely hinged with wire. The roof rested on a stout pole crossed by
wooden joists and covered by polythene plastic and straw.
The interior of the occupied dwelling was organized according to a
familiar pattern. Cooking and other kitchen utensils were stacked around
the hearth while the rear wall and sides contained the family's belongings
stored in camel bags draped with kilims (Fig. 7.5). In addition to the more
traditional items of material culture such as metal cooking pots and con-
vex shield for baking bread there was a wide variety of modern items:
cutlery, frying pans, a gas oven and metal gas cannister, a kerosene lamp,
aluminium and plastic bowls and dishes, glass bottles, tea glasses and a
china teapot. Plastic containers were used for storing water and metal
gasoline cans for carrying water to livestock. Wooden packing cases scav-
enged from the village and tourist resort were used as kindling wood,
leaving behind concentrations of wood chips and nails. A summary of
these materials is contained in Table 7.1.
Table 7.1 Classification of materials recorded in recording zones ofAli's camp (KK-1)
Material Code Durability Definition
Animal bone
Pottery
Glass
Hard plastic
Polythene plastic
Metal
Nails
Wire
Rubber
Leather
Textile
Binding
Wood
BONE
POTT
GLAS
PLAS
POLY
META
NAIL
WIRE
RUBB
LEAT
TE)Cr
BIND
WOOD
durable
durable
durable
durable
perishable
durable
durable
durable
perishable
perishable
perishable
perishable
perishable
Charcoal, ash CHAR durable
All discrete occurrences, complete or
fragmentary.
With one single exception (teapot handle) all
ceramics derive from Roman/Byzantine
occupation.
Glass sherds scored as 1.
Whole vessels scored as 5.
All articles and fragments of rigid plastic.
All polythene sheeting and thin, flexible plastic
All metal fragments, batteries, metal strip
(scored as 1) and whole vessels (scored as 5).
Loose nails or those embedded in wood.
Wire of various thicknesses. Scored twice if
extending over adjacent quadrats.
All types.
All animal hide and skin products.
All discrete occurrences of cloth, fragments of
clothing, etc.
All cotton, string, cord and rope.
Woodchips, twigs and sticks, recorded
individually where possible; major
concentrations indicated.
Single occurrences and patches recorded.
In terms of behaviour, two main activity sets were identified following
the division between domestic and herding concerns. Food preparation
and consumption, cleaning, and domestic refuse disposal were confined
to the dwelling itself or immediately outside. Activities associated with
herding were more extensive and may be divided roughly into three
concentric zones - inner corrals, butchery zones and outer corrals. Table
7.5, summarizing the faunal elements recorded in the butchery area, indi-
cates the presence of a small number of individuals in the assemblage.
The surface collection was carried out in 1 metre quadrats across the
discard and butchery areas to the west of the dwelling (see Fig. 7.4). Apart
from the ubiquitious Roman/Byzantine potsherds, the only ceramic item
recovered was a small teapot handle (cf. Watson's 1979 Duzary campsite).
The functionally equivalent material, glass, was well represented and
strongly clustered in the form of sherd scatters or as whole bottles. A
glance at Fig. 7.6 is sufficient to show that, while there is differential
Fig. 7-6 Distribution of
items in surface recording
of Ali's camp, (a) Stone;
(b) Potsherds; (c) Bone;
(d) Glass sherds; (e) Plastic
scrap; (f) Loose nails;
(g) Metal scrap; (h) Wire;
(i) Polythene scrap;
(j) Leather scrap; (k) Rubber
scrap; (1) Textile scraps;
(m) Binding (string, cloth);
(n) Wood and charcoal.
m
patterning in the item distributions; the patterns are generally not strong
enough to permit the spatial characterization of the area by visual inspec-
tion. Nearest neighbour tests on each distribution and bivariate tests of
association between pairs of distributions (Table 7.2) in general failed to
add significantly to this picture. Such techniques
;
depending on a null
hypothesis of randomness or random association (see Dacey 1973;
Hietala and Stevens 1977; Hodder and Orton 1976; Orton 1982) may
inform about the degree of clustering or randomness of a distribution but
cannot tell us about the shape of a pattern. For example, it is all very well
to know that polythene has a highly clustered distribution (with an r of
0.520), but this does not inform us that there are two main clusters
located in the upper and lower part of the upper study zone, information
that can be obtained by a glance at the raw distribution in Fig. 7.6i.
In view of the difficulty of envisaging more than two spatial patterns at
any one time, further analysis of spatial organization on the site required
the use of multivariate techniques which are capable of extracting sum-
maries of the multi-way associations between distributions. For this
purpose the items were represented as quadrat counts within a 2 metre
grid. In conducting such analysis we are looking for two things. First, we
Table 7.2a Nearest neighbour statistics for selected materials at Ali's camp, indicating the degree of clustering
Distribution r-Value Number
Bone
Plastic
Glass sherds
Metal scrap
Nails
Wire
Rubber
Polythene scrap
Textile scrap
0.486
0.613
0.487
0.712
0.383
0.666
0.706
0.520
0.679
89
71
152
111
65
40
33
62
87
The r statistic ranges from 0.0 (maximum clustering) through 1.0 (random distribution) to 1.4 (systematic
arrangement)
Table 7.2b Test for segregation between pairs of item distributions at Ali's camp. Scores for the most segregated pairs of items are emphasized. They
indicate that bone is segregated from all other distributions
Bone
Bone
Plastic
Glass sherds
Metal scrap
Nails
Wire
Rubber
Polythene scrap
Textile scrap
Plastic
0.747
0.430
0.788
0.960
0.928
0.811
0.918
0.920
Glass sherds
0.492
0.230
0.617
0.436
0.288
0.621
0.244
Metal scrap
0.433
0.662
0.497
0.456
0.790
0.471
Nails
0.333
0.071
0.219
0.584
0.251
Wire
0.293
0.397
0.637
0.595
Rubber
0.447
0.608
0.260
Polythene scrap Textile scrap
0.509
0.317 0.646
The S-statistic ranges from 1.0 (maximum segregation) through 0.0 (random association) to -1.0 (complete association)
A nomad household campsite
127
Fig. 7- 7 Principal
components analysis of
spatial distributions at Ali's
camp for all materials. A
degree of spatial coherence
may be detected.
(a) Component 1: a general
mix of concentrations of
materials.
(b) Component 2:
highlights a marked
concentration of polythene
plastic scrap in the upper
part of the study area,
indicating a specialized
work area.
(c) Comparative test result
using randomized quadrats.
need to know the composition of the abstract summaries obtained and to
be able to infer their meaning. Second, we are interested in the degree of
spatial coherence displayed by our units when grouped according to these
dimensions.
One such method is that of principal components. Principal component
and factor analysis have been widely used in archaeology to identify
groups of variables forming tool kits (Binford and Binford 1966), ceramic
styles (Frankel 1974) or funerary complexes (Rowlett and Pollnac 1971).
The statistical results of principal components analysis for the above dis-
tributions are shown in Table 7.3. Where a spatial locus can be assigned to
each case, as is common with archaeological data, a data summary can be
arrived at by contouring the distribution of component or factor scores for
each case. Fig. 77 tells us that Principal Component 1, involving textiles,
component. 1
Table 7.3a Results of principal components analysis ofAli's camp (KK-1) - correlation coefficients for durables and perishables
Bone Pottery Glass Plastic Polythene Metal Nails Wire Rubber Leather Textile
Pottery
Glass
Plastic
Polythene
Metal
Nail
Wire
Rubber
Leather
Textile
Binding
0.1910
0.0045
-0.1695
-0.1376
-0.2349
-0.1963
-0.2529
-0.0471
-0.1481
-0.3000
-0.0894
0.0488
-0.0119
-0.1222
-0.0099
-0.0732
0.2081
-0.0050
-0.0058
0.0149
0.1585
-0.0047
-0.1420
-0.0130
0.0603
0.0317
-0.0670
-0.0755
0.441
-0.0613
0.0567
0.3224
0.0191
0.0324
0.1190
0.0444
0.2439
0.2332
-0.0500
0.0090
0.0120
0.0199
-0.0917
0.0667
-0.1074
0.4068
0.3189 0.3917
0.0981 0.1621 0.0687
0.1836 0.2769 0.0624 0.3213
0.1833 0.0935 0.2966 0.1738 0.2840
0.3024 0.0849 0.5013 0.1507 0.1518 0.5095
Higher values are emphasized in bold text.
Table 7.3b Results of principal components analysis ofAli's camp (KK-1) - component loadings on variables
Bone
Pottery
Glass
Plastic
Polythene
Metal
Nails
Wire
Rubber
Leather
Textile
Binding
Eigenvalue
% variance
1
-0.227
0.004
0.000
0.163
0.006
0.404
0.277
0.432
0.129
0.205
0.434
0.458
20.74
220.83
Binding
Textile
Wire
Metal
All materials
(12 variables)
Principal components
2
0.171
0.579
0.095
-0.015
-0.128
-0.003
-0.028
0.137
-0.017
-0.054
0.072
0.116
10.38
110.48
Pottery
3
-0.025
-0.002
-0.029
0.116
0.353
-0.024
-0.253
0.000
-0.110
-0.215
0.067
0.122
10.28
100.67
Polythene
4
0.112
0.047
-0.148
0.009
0.000
-0.069
-0.126
-0.080
0.351
0.191
0.027
0.039
10.20
90.97
Rubber
All recent materials
(11 variables)
1
-0.234
0.000
0.165
0.007
0.406
0.281
0.426
0.134
0.208
0.436
0.456
20.74
240.89
Binding
Textile
Wire
Metal
2
-0.017
-0.015
0.106
0.309
-0.023
-0.059
0.002
0.092
-0.243
0.071
0.141
10.28
110.64
Polythene
3
-0.003
-0.339
0.022
0.074
-0.034
-0.048
-0.156
-0.343
0.198
0.002
0.000
10.22
110.11
Rubber
Glass
Durables
(6 variables)
1
-0.309
0.003
0.144
0.580
0.492
0.462
10.99
330.16
Metal
Nails
Wire
2
-0.024
0.178
-0.584
-0.041
0.147
0.126
10.10
180.30
Plastic
Higher values are emphasized in bold text.
binding, wire and metal, is distributed as an arc occupying the upper
study zone. While the distribution is spatially coherent, the functional
significance of such a complex of materials is far from obvious. Compo-
nent 2, dominated by ceramics - almost entirely Roman-Byzantine -
may be disregarded. Component 3, loading positively on polythene and
negatively on leather and nails, makes more intuitive sense. Essentially it
tells us that where the former occurs the latter tends to be absent, and vice
versa. However principal components analysis has not enlightened us a
great deal about the general spatial organization of the site. While we are
not now trying to assimilate 12 distributions at the same time, we are still
dealing with three separate components one at a time.
Cluster analysis (Hodson 1970; Blashfield and Aldenderfer 1978) has the
advantage over principal components analysis of producing a single solu-
tion and more informative spatial plots, though the meaning of the sum-
maries or clusters may be less clear. In a variation of a technique
pioneered by Robert Whallon (1984), the 2 metre quadrats were subjected
to cluster analysis by Wards method and average linkage (see Cribb 1983,
1984a). It should be pointed out that there is no perfect clustering method
and that, unlike principal components analysis, different results may be
obtained via different techniques.
The results of the cluster analysis are shown in Fig. 7.8. Its details do not
concern us here. What is important is that, for a number of different
clustering techniques as well as for principal components analysis, the
same basic patterns emerged. There occurred a central zone of general
discard located immediately to the west of the dwelling, flanked by
Fig. 7-8 Spatial cluster
analysis of distributions at
Ali's camp by 2 metre
quadrats.
(a) Spatial representation of
these results. The most
noticeable features to
emerge are linear patterns
or arcs across the central
study zone.
(b) A similar cluster map for
durables only. Linear
patterns are also
prominent.
all recent materials
5 5 5 5 \ 1 2
T\5 S 5) 1 1
durables
peripheral zones in which one material predominated. Even when perish-
able items were deleted from the analysis the trend was not significantly
altered. This juxtaposition of generalized and specialized zones recalls
Yellen's (1977) analysis of !Kung bushman camps in the Kalahari. But in
addition to the distinction between 'nuclear
7
and 'special activity' areas
there emerged clear evidence of zonation within the general discard area
itself. Moreover the zonation appeared to follow a distinct pattern of
concentric arcs located around the external hearth (Fig. 7.8c). The arcs,
corresponding to the four strongest clusters, were quite distinct from one
another in terms of their proportions of key items (Table 7.4) and may be
summarized as follows.
Group 7
Located at the northern rim of the zone of general discard, this group was
dominated by metal, together with considerable quantities of plastic and
Table 7.4a Chi-sauare tests for significant difference between cluster groups on major constituent materials at Ali's
camp (KK-1) - groups 1 and 4
Group 1
%
Group 4 (Exp)
(Obs)
Plastic
16
20
7.8
26
Metal
64
80
31.2
13
Total
80
39
i = 53.1
1 degree of freedom
H
o
of no significant difference rejected at the 0.001 level
Table 7.4b Chi-sauare tests for significant difference between cluster groups on major constituent materials at Ali's
camp (KK-1) - groups 3 and 4
Group 3
%
Group 4 (Exp)
(Obs)
Glass
75
68.2
30.0
5
Plastic
19
17.3
7.6
26
Metal
16
14.5
6.4
13
Total
110
44
1 = 72.1
2 degrees of freedom
H
o
of no significant difference rejected at the .001 level
small amounts of other materials. The nails and metal strip were the by-
product of the reduction of packing cases for kindling wood. The distribu-
tion of Group 1 quadrats exhibited a high degree of spatial coherence.
Group 2
This group also contained a high proportion of metal, particularly nails
and wire
;
together with glass sherds. It was less spatially coherent than
any of the other three groups, but the four constituent quadrats formed an
almost perfect arc around the external hearth.
Group 3
This was an almost continuous strip composed of a mixture of glass
sherds, plastic, metal and cloth, less spatially coherent towards the eastern
end of the discard zone and with an outlier in the lower recording zone.
Group 4
This was another continuous strip, contiguous with Group 3, and charac-
terized by a mixture of plastic, metal and cloth, differing from Group 1 in
the relative proportions of each.
A number of hypotheses were advanced to account for these patterns.
In view of the relatively small number of quadrats involved and the
confined space within which they occur, it is possible that much of this
apparent organization was the result of random processes. A major dis-
advantage of the unconstrained clustering technique is the difficulty of
testing the significance of whatever spatial patterns emerge, a problem
stemming directly from its main advantage - the lack of a priori assump-
tions (Whallon 1984). The development of tests for spatial autocorrelation
in the distribution of clusters, components or discriminant functions
should be high on the list of priorities in spatial archaeology.
A second hypothesis, based on the behavioural model of Schiffer
(1976), was that the bands or arcs may be the result of direct discard of
materials deposited in situ. A third possibility is that they represent 'toss
zones' (Binford 1978a) from a central area of activity around the hearth.
There may be elements of both present but, whatever the events giving
rise to such observable patterning, we are led to consider a most intrigu-
ing proposition: that human occupation of such impermanent sites nor-
mally results in a patterned distribution of debris which, though difficult
Fig. 7- 9 Spatial patterning
of distributions, as
summarized by spatial
cluster analysis, in relation
to structures and features of
Ali's camp. The linear
zones of concentrated
material detected in the
cluster analysis form
concentric arcs around the
small external hearth
within a roughly 10 metre
by 20 metre activity zone
which includes the
habitation. This is flanked
by special activity zones
(polythene processing,
butchery).
cutting rubber O / " \
,'*y \ bone refuse
K
cutting up ^ \y*
s
/ / \
polythene
sheeting
KEY
* ash e charcoal
<&& wood scrap
,** activities
progressive
reduction of
kindling wood
limits of
nuclear area
anaent sarcophagus
chicken coop
butchery area
(threshing
ACTIVITIES
10m
to interpret in functional terms, reflects the structural organization
of a household unit. While the effects of pre-depositional and post-
depositional events may be impossible to unravel, their interaction bears
the unmistakeable imprint of organized life-space.
This impression was reinforced when the study zone was considered
as part of a wider context. The distribution of metal and glass containers
continued as arcs outside the immediate study zone. A final summary of
Ali's camp appears in Fig. 7.9, illustrating the area of general discard
surrounded by specialized activity zones involving butchery and discard
of animal bone (see Table 7.5) and processing of polythene sheeting. The
central zone of discard covered an area of approximately 10 metres by 10
metres which, together with the dwelling, formed a rectangular unit
measuring roughly 20 metres by 10 metres. This domestic complex, equiva-
lent in some ways to Yellen's (1977) nuclear area, represents the core area
of household organization and day-to-day consumption, surrounded by
Table 7.5 Faunal elements (capra) from recording zone at Ali's camp (KK-1)
Element
Mandible
Humerus
Radius
Ulna
Metacarpal
Phalange
Femur
Tibia
Fibula
Frequency
1 (+ fragments)
2
1
1
2
0
I(dist.),2(pro42(frag.)
1 (dist.), 2 (piox.), 1 (frag.)
0
Element
Metatarsal
Calcaneum
Astragalus
Scapula
Rib
Vertebra
Pelvis
Longbone fragments
Unidentified
Frequency
0
2
1
3 + 4 fragments
8
33 (mostly fragments)
2
15
14
specialized areas of productive activity. The domestic complex will be
analysed in more detail in Chapter 9 where observations were made
across a number of household units.
Conclusion
The detailed study of a single household unit has given us some idea of
the factors and constraints governing the formation of tentsites and their
associated domestic space. Both here and in the previous chapter certain
regularities have been observed in the size
;
orientation and division of
internal space as well as the dimensions of living zones, discard zones and
the location of specialized work zones. These findings support the ap-
proach taken by Yellen (1977) in defining organizational units such as the
'nuclear area', which tell us not so much about the nature of activities as
about the rules and constraints which circumscribe human activity in a
particular social setting. A similar set of constraints appears to operate at
the next level in the nomad residence hierarchy, the campsite, to which
we now turn.
8
THE STRUCTURE AND
LOCATION OF NOMAD
SETTLEMENTS
The tribe was camping in Hassan Agha's estates near a clump of mulberry
trees. They had pitched their long black tents in a neat, orderly file, and this
did not escape Hassan Agha's notice. Just as if they were founding a new
village, he said to himself with growing anxiety.
(From The Legend of the Thousand Bulls by Yashar Kemal)
We have seen that the low archaeological profile of nomad sites cannot be
attributed to the absence of material remains alone. But while nomad
material culture and architecture may be comparable in variety and dura-
bility to that of more settled communities, the distribution of these
remains occurs over a much wider range and in greatly reduced densities.
Moreover the manner in which fluid patterns of residence group forma-
tion and fortuitous shifts in migration tracks are translated into archaeo-
logical assemblages will vary according to time and place. It is possible
nevertheless to make some broad generalizations about what sets a
nomad settlement system apart from a sedentary one and how nomad
campsites differ fundamentally in their internal structure from sedentary
communities.
Nomad settlement systems
The term 'settlement system
7
has been carefully chosen as against 'settle-
ment pattern
7
in order to distinguish a system of controlling variables
(Flannery 1976b, pp.162-3) from a physical pattern of settlement (Chang
(ed.) 1968; Trigger 1968). The latter approach applied to nomad camps
would yield a picture of segmented settlement units located in relation to
each other according to patterns of kinship, tribal affiliation and economic
cooperation. What we are interested in is not so much the form itself as
the whole system of cultural preferences and logistical constraints which
go into its making - the set of rules which governs the location and
formation of campsites. The same set of rules may well produce different
patterns in different environments. The system consists of variables
which are ranked in a kind of hierarchy - some may override others,
133
some may come into play only if some other factor is present. The major
factors affecting the location of nomad campsites are now discussed and
an attempt will be made to assess their relative importance.
Altitude
In mountainous areas of the Near East summer pastures are sustained by
the melt-water from heavy snow drifts and rarely occur below l
;
500
metres. There appear to be no definable upper limits short of the perma-
nent snowline. In Anatolia the major plains on the central plateau
(1,000-1,500m) are rarely used by nomads
;
though short-range village
transhumance may occur (Miiller 1938, p.47; Alagoz 1938; Frodin 1943-
44, pp.232-4). Well-known and named yayla areas (Tuncdilek 1962,1963)
follow the parallel chains of the Taurus Mountains and the belt of lofty
volcanic cones lying to their immediate north. Yoriik nomads in western
Anatolia are found in summer at altitudes of from 1,500 to 1,800 metres
(Johnson 1969, p.29) and slightly higher further east, between 1,500 and
2,000 metres (Bates 1973, fig.2) or 1,700 and 3,000 metres (Frodin 1943-
44) depending on the heights of the main local ranges. Minimum altitudes
increase towards the east, following a rise in the elevation of the plateau,
until east of Malatya where yaylas are rarely below 2,000 metres and even
the upper slopes of Nemrut Dag, Siiphan Dag and Agri Dag (Mt Ararat)
are grazed in late summer (Frodin 1943-44; Beikgi 1969; Imhof et al.
1970). Altitudes of summer pastures (sarhad) in Iran also tend to be high,
particularly towards the south where decreasing latitude has the effect of
raising the minimum altitude (see Barth 1959, 1961; Sunderland 1968).
Winter pastures (Turkish ki$lak, Persian garmsir) are generally located at
the lowest altitude possible along the coast of western Anatolia, the
Mesopotamian steppe in eastern Anatolia and Iraq, and the Zagros foot-
hills in southwest Iran. The altitude of Basseri winter quarters is given as
2,000 to 3,000 feet (Barth 1961, p.4) or 700 to 1,000 metres. Some nomads
wintering at higher altitudes, in order to avoid lengthy and dangerous
migrations to winter pastures or as a result of conflicts, construct huts or
houses or some kind of composite dwelling as refuge from harsh winter
conditions (see Watson 1979, ch.lO; Zagerell 1975; Edelberg 1966-67).
Such a pattern, also reported among Kurdish groups at the turn of the
century (Sykes 1908), need not imply sedentarization and appears to be a
long-standing practice. The stone-built settlement of Shirdasht (Watson
1979, ch.8) is a good example, regarded by its inhabitants as little more
than a winter refuge.
Although it is sometimes possible for winter and summer pastures to
occur within a short distance of each other within a single valley system
(Watson 1979; Edelberg 1966-67; Fazel 1973), the overall effect of altitude
on site location is to segregate winter and summer camps into two paral-
lel and mutually exclusive bands of territory - discontinuous in places -
following the major mountain chains and corresponding to the zones of
greatest climatic extremes (Hole 1978, p. 165). Here will be found the
most prolonged occupations while spring, autumn and transit camps
established in the course of migration between these zones are generally
of shorter duration and are less substantial.
Structure and location of settlements 135
Access to grazing
Within these broad seasonal zones the major consideration is access to
specific tracts of grazing land. The density of campsites will depend on
the overall amount and the pattern of distribution of pasture (whether in
continuous or dispersed tracts)
;
its quality and the ratio of humans to
animals. Winter camps of the Shahsevan in northern Azerbaijan ideally lie
at the centre of an 'estate
;
of about 8 kilometres radius (i.e. 16 kilometres
apart) (Tapper 1979b
;
p.107). Due to the higher quality of summer grazing
on the slopes of Mt Savalan in summer quarters, summer camps are much
closer together. Among the Basseri and Qashqa'i, summer camps are also
closer together than in winter, facilitating a higher level of interaction
(Barth 1961, p.25; Marsden 1976, p.14). The location of Alikanli summer
camps is highly responsive to variations in the amount and quality of
pasture throughout the season - some of the higher pastures may not be
used at all if those lower down are not exhausted by September (Beikgi
1969; Johnson 1969, p.7). For most nomads access to winter pasture is
more of a problem and may impose an upper limit on livestock numbers
or increase the dispersal of nomad population. This may result in the
under-use of summer pastures as animal numbers become pegged to the
carrying capacity during the worst season.
The effects of agriculture and sedentary settlement
As frequently stressed (Bates 1971, 1973; Beck 1980), the adjustment of
nomadic pastoralism to systems of sedentary agriculture - at whatever
level of integration, whether household, lineage, village, tribe or region -
is not a simple ecological balance but an unstable compromise in which
the apparatus of political power may favour one or the other party. How-
ever most observations of nomad settlement patterns have been made
under conditions of population growth, agricultural expansion and state
ascendency during which the burden of compromise has fallen most
heavily on the nomad party.
Under such conditions campsites may be confined to areas of non-
arable land use, particularly valley slopes or valley bottoms above the
spring line and the upper limits of irrigation. This is apparent even where
pastoralism and cultivation are closely integrated within the same com-
munity, as at Sanaydin Yayla, where the camp itself and pastoral facilities
and grazing are located above the spring and irrigation system serving
cultivated plots occupying the valley floor. Campsites located on the high
margins of cultivated fields are extremely common. A typical location of
this kind is described by Stark (1933, p.253) in Luristan 'on barren lime-
stone foothills just above the plowed river lands'. Aerial photographs of
the same region (Schmidt 1940) show many campsites in such locations.
Fig. 8.1, adapted from one such photograph, is typical. About a dozen
abandoned campsites ranging from five to 20 tentsites occupy ancient
agricultural terraces, possibly dating from the second millennium BC,
above the present zone of cultivation surrounding an adjacent village. As
the shots were taken during the 1930s at the height of Reza Shah's seden-
tarization programme, these sites may well have been permanently rather
than seasonally abandoned and the village itself may have been a product
136
J:
DESERTED CAMPSITES:
LURISTAN
0 50 m (approx)
A I
s l ope
Fig. 8.1 Abandoned Luri
campsites in the Pusht-i-
Kuh, Zagros Mountains,
Iran: 11 campsites are
visible. The site plans
resemble the zemga (stone-
walled winter dwellings
partly covered by tentcloth)
employed by some Luri
pastoralists and cultivators.
Note the rectangular layout
of campsites nos. 3 and 8,
implying the presence of
herding units. (Based on
aerial photographs taken in
1937 by Schmidt 1940, pl.117.)
of sedentarization. This settlement pattern clearly monitors the decline of
agricultural activity in the valley since ancient times.
Pastoral pursuits are somewhat less likely to clash with cultivation in
high altitude summer pastures. However, during winter, which is often
spent in close proximity to intensive agriculture, the situation is more
ambivalent. On the one hand, grazing land is scarce and the threat of crop
damage is a source of much tension between nomad and cultivator (Bates
1973; Barth 1961). Crop damage can also be a problem for nomads who
engage in seasonal cultivation (Spooner 1964, p.63). On the other hand,
the interests of both cultivators and pastoralists are often served through
the practice of pasturing flocks on fallow stubble fields which are fertil-
ized by their droppings. Particularly in autumn and early winter, tent
camps may be found on the newly harvested fields themselves. Winter
campsites are therefore subject to both maximum dispersal and a ten-
dency to cluster in the vicinity of fields or settlements (Schumann 1962,
p.30). Both tendencies are especially marked in the case of the Alikanli
where small groups of four or five tents regularly attach themselves to
villages each winter (Beikqi 1969).
Terrain
Within broadly defined pastoral zones, and subject to the constraints
imposed by other forms of subsistence, specific campsite locations tend to
favour human needs or, as Hole (1978, p. 165) suggests, 'most camps are
sited to accommodate the needs of humans who are herding animals'.
Preferred locations are generally those combining a stretch of relatively
flat and unbroken land with shelter in the form of steep adjacent slopes or
rock outcrops (Marsden 1976, p.14; Stark 1933, p.255; Hole n.d.). Ravines
and dry stream beds are also popular, though the effects of a sudden
downpour upstream can be disastrous. In limestone country sinkholes
provide shelter (Johnson 1969), while in volcanic areas the broken terrain
and precipitous margins of lava flows afford ideal locations for campsites
(Lynch 1901, pp.324-5). In the course of fieldwork I frequently came
upon tents in steep-sided ravines, in sheltered valleys, or on flat ground in
the lee of a steep hillside (see Fig. 8.2). Larger enclosed plains and alluvial
valleys in eastern Anatolia frequently contained substantial camps.
Another favoured type of location is a flat terrace on a steep hillside. Just
such a location was recognized as typical by a nineteenth-century ob-
server in the Taurus ranges south of Malatya:
This [Kurdish] encampment occupied one of the usual peculiar sites
selected by the mountaineers: a mere shelf on the acclivity of the hill
receding far enough to allow the dusky tents being pitched in a line in
its remotest part, with only the customary cross poles in front of
each, on which the women churn their butter, ana without even a
fragment of the camp being visible from below.
(Ainsworth 1842 I, p.249)
This could easily have been the campsite shown in Figure 8.2a.
Travellers
7
accounts also describe tent camps located at the head of
high, open valleys (Sarre 1896, p. 116; Ains worth 1842 I, p. 116). In fact,
although data are not available in quantifiable form, it is clear from these
and other travellers
7
accounts (e.g. Sheil 1856; Morier 1837; de Bode 1845;
Rawlinson 1839) that the kinds of locations favoured as campsites by
nomads have not changed appreciably over the last 150 years.
Water and fuel
Hole (1978, p.151,1984) plays down the importance of water sources as a
factor in campsite location, and Edmonds (1957, p.373) noted 'I was sur-
prised to find how far from water Jaf camps were
7
. Nor does Barth (1961,
p.53) stress the importance of access to water in the location of Basseri
camps. However many of these observations were made in the course of
migration when plentiful supplies of drinking water are not crucial. While
a lake or soak at a distance of a few kilometres may serve as an adequate
138
Fig. 8.2 Typical campsite
locations on narrow shelves
of flat land.
(a) Two black tents on the
edge of an escarpment
sheltered by large boulders,
Taurus Mountains,
southern Turkey.
(b) A small campsite on a
shelf with nearby spring,
Ala Dag, central Turkey.
^
:
watering point for livestock, campsites which endure for any length of
time require a reliable source of drinking water, usually a spring or run-
ning stream, close at hand (e.g. Marsden 1976, p. 14).
Sources of firewood within easy walking distance of a campsite are
required not only to keep the domestic hearths burning but also in the
preparation of milk products (Martin 1980, p.24). This can pose problems
in heavily deforested areas occupied for lengthy periods. While animal
dung (tezek) may sometimes serve as an alternative, nomads are normally
too mobile to build up stocks of this material which requires careful
stacking and a lengthy drying process.
The interaction of locational factors
Rather than ranking locational factors in a strict order of precedence - for
instance Hole (1978, p. 151) lists terrain, pasturage and water in descend-
ing order - 1 would argue that different factors come into play at different
scales of resolution: regional, local and site-specific. Sets of factors form a
nested series in which broad topographic and climatic constraints impose
limits within which access to specific grazing tracts further narrows down
the range of choice. Of the areas left, those under cultivation will most
probably be given a wide berth unless some trade-off of dung for stubble
grazing can be worked out with the local peasantry. Given that a group of
nomads is able to exploit a particular area, they will then set about siting
their camp or camps according to terrain and local resources. In moun-
tainous areas they will make straight for an expanse of flat land beneath
an overhanging slope, having first checked that the nearest spring holds a
sufficient supply of water. In all likelihood they will find the foundations
of earlier tent camps neatly laid out there. In more open country a grove
of trees, a ruined building, an archaeological tell or relic of Roman, Byzan-
tine, Sassanian or Seljuk architecture may provide at least the semblance
of shelter. On the basis of my observations in Anatolia, the ideal summer
campsite would be located at about 2,000 metres on the edge of an
extensive tract of grazing land, well above the limits of cultivation, in a
sheltered side valley or in the lee to the south of a steep slope or rocky
outcrop. It would be within half a kilometre of a spring and within
moderate distance of a watering point for animals. While foliage is most
probably absent in the immediate vicinity due to previous camping
episodes? - there would be a wooded slope or ravine nearby.
While not all of the above factors need come into play in every case, the
advantage of such a nested model is that, when linked to a particular piece
of archaeological territory, it could form the basis for a survey design
geared to detecting surface indications of ancient campsites in optimal
locations. Of course the order of precedence of these factors may change
in response to external constraints, for example an expansion of cultiva-
tion may restrict access to both pastures and campsites. It is fairly certain
that while such middle-level factors may vary greatly from one historical
period to the next, the lower order criteria of terrain, shelter and aspect
are likely to have remained constant.
The internal structure of nomad campsites
No one familiar with Near Eastern tent encampments can fail to be im-
pressed by their overall visual impact. In some of the Kurdish camps of
eastern Turkey the long black tents drawn up in close formation are
reminiscent of battleships deployed in line astern. There is a pronounced
military flavour about many campsites and, whatever the condition of the
tents themselves and the mixture of apparent chaos and lethargy in camp
life, one has a distinct feeling that nothing is arbitrary - no tent has been
placed without careful consideration of its relation to other tents, no
activity occurs outside a regular and finely tuned schedule. Many features
of campsite organization may be attributed to environmental factors,
others are more likely to be the result of social factors.
Due to the flexibility and vulnerability of the tent as a dwelling form,
the environmental constraints of any given campsite are immediately
Hilhil Yatak
F/g. 5.3 Principles of
campsite spatial
organization. Tents tend to
be aligned parallel to each
other and to form up in
rows. (Not to scale.)
(a) A summer camp of the
Beritan Airet
;
eastern
Anatolia. Note the
alignment and grouping of
tents. (After Ozbek-
Koroglu 1980, fig.6.)
(b) Spring camp at
Duzaray, in the Zagros
Mountains of western Iran.
(After Watson 1979,
fig.9.1.)
SKETCH MAP OF SHWDASHT CAMP
O Tenis
A
North
reflected in the physical arrangement of tents. Tents are frequently ori-
ented along an east-west axis so that the sun passes over from one end to
the other. They may consistently face in the same direction (aspect), to
the south in Baharvand and Qashqa
;
i summer camps (Hole n.d.; Marsden
1976, p.26). Wind direction may interfere with this preferred alignment,
and prevailing southerly winds seem to be the main factor causing Beri-
tanli and Alikanli summer tents to face north (see Fig. 8.3). Sometimes
Structure and location of settlements
141
Fig. 8.3 (c) Plan of a
settlement in Baluchistan
consisting of pise
foundations roofed with
either palm leaves or black
tents. Note the tendency
towards clustering and
consistent east-west
orientation. (After Audouze
and Jarrige 1981, fig.2.)
topography will tend to produce such a pattern of consistent orientation
as tentsites are often terraced onto slopes through cutting and filling, in
which case they will all face downhill and follow the contours of a gentle
slope. The effect of slope will normally prevail over other tendencies
towards alignment, bending rows of tents around in a sweeping curve as
the direction of slope changes. It has been noted that the formal arrange-
ment of Qashqa'i tents in straight rows applies only 'unless the terrain
prohibits this
7
(Marsden 1976, p.26).
Tents are often aligned in parallel lines, sometimes constrained by
restricted space such as in valley bottoms (Evans 1983), but also on rela-
tively flat and open terrain. A common pattern is a row or rows of tents
aligned on level or slightly sloping ground along the base of a steep slope.
As Barth (1961, p.42) notes, locations often restrict the possible distribu-
tion of tentsites, particularly in the case of small patches of level ground in
otherwise hilly terrain. Other examples, such as the four successive sea-
sonal Bakhtiari campsites recorded by Digard (1975; see Fig. 8.4), display
no discernible pattern of orientation or alignment. It is not possible to
offer any set of hard and fast rules applying to all campsites and there are
insufficient quantitative data to determine whether or not particular pat-
terns vary according to tribal affiliation or seasonality. For instance it is
reported that the Boyr Ahmad, neighbours of the Qashqa'i, may choose a
variety of patterns - in rows at the foot of a steep slope, in circular
formation or in apparent disorder (Loffler and Friedl 1967, p. 103). All that
is certain is that settlement patterns within campsites are highly respon-
sive to simple mechanical factors such as slope, shelter, aspect and wind
direction. All may act together in such a way as to produce a strong
pattern of regular alignment in the distribution of tents. Conversely,
where such factors tend to counteract each other, we would expect
greater variations in tent alignment.
It is interesting that camps of circular yurts are often arranged in a
Fig. 8.4 Variability in
campsite organization
among Bakhtiari nomads.
Plans of four successive
Bakhtiari campsites. Note
the turnover in camp
membership and variations
in the location and
orientation of individual
tents. Households are
numbered 1 to 16.
Household no.12, that of
the camp headman,
occupies two tents.
(a) Spring camp, mid-May
to mid-July.
(b) Summer camp, mid-July
to mid-September.
(c) Autumn camp, early
October to end of
December.
(d) Winter residence, end of
December to end of March.
Winter dwellings have
substantial walls and some
are roofed. (After Digard
1975, figs 2-5.)
J3
0 19 20 m
y{ Funnel shaped structure for milking'
O Corral for milking
0
St o n e walls enclosing front of
C.jtent (summer)
Enclosure for horses (autumn)
Grain storage (autumn)
En d o s u r e f or smal | ani ft
circular formation. A monastic encampment observed in western Mon-
golia (Ambolt 1939
;
p.38) consisted of around 100 yurts in a perfect circle
around a large
;
centrally placed black tent. A similar example is found in
Jentsch (1973, p.221). Such an arrangement, though superficially similar to
that encountered in some African settlements, cannot be attributed to
household organization as has been argued by Flannery (1972) in a dis-
cussion of rectangular and circular house plans and also suggested by
Hodges (1972).
The formation of camp groups
In a pastoral system comprising pastures, herds and people the number of
households (tents) that will congregate in a particular camp depends on
two primary factors: the numbers of animals that can be carried by graz-
ing tracts within reach of the campsite, and the average number of ani-
mals per household. The way in which these factors influence camp
group formation is illustrated in Fig. 8.5. The size and placement of camp-
sites will depend on whether grazing is distributed in large continuous
tracts or in dispersed patches. Given a particular distribution, the number
of tents per camp will vary according to the livestock holdings of the
households involved - the more animals per household, the fewer tents.
The camp group is therefore a highly flexible and transient unit able to
mediate between the formal tribal or corporate structures and the con-
straints of a particular environment (Marsden 1976, p.13; Bates 1973,
ch.5). Camp groups may also fluctuate in size on a seasonal basis due to
regular changes in the composition of flocks and the size of cooperative
Fig. 8.5 Schematic diagram
of the relationship between
the size and distribution of
pasture lots and the size of
campsites.
(a) Continuous grazing
tract; 50 sheep per
household.
(b) Continuous grazing
tract; 100 sheep per
household.
(c) Dispersed grazing tracts;
50 sheep per household.
(d) Dispersed grazing tracts;
100 sheep per household.
/
/ , ' .
1 \
1 '
1 ,
\
\
\
V .
1
t *
. . .
>
t
*
' .
% .
/
I
t
1
y '
V ^^
\
i
. 1
>
*
w
/
/ *
" 0. ' * X
. . * ' . * ; \
*r>-
r
-)

# tent
'y.y grazing access to pastures
groups needed to manage them (Hole 1978, p.163; Tapper 1979b). Larger
concentrations of tents tend to occur under conditions in which defence
and security are paramount, although this necessarily involves a trade-off
between length of stay and availability of exploitable pasture. The largest
camps commonly occur during migration when nomad-villager and
nomad-nomad tensions are heightened, and when short sojourns in any
one area place fewer demands on pasture. Where herds and people are
massed in constricted and heavily populated valleys during migration,
shortage of pasture and lack of security will force them to move rapidly,
clustering together in large overnight camps.
Summer camps of between four and 20 tents are common under pres-
ent conditions, though large camps still occur in eastern Anatolia where
strong tribal organization permits the efficient exploitation of large tracts
of pasture. For the Kosan Kabile of the Beritanli tribe in eastern Turkey the
large size of the camp is due to the fact that much of the land is owned by
the kabile chief (Ozbek-Koroglu 1980) - as the pasture area covers a single
large block and access presents no problem, much of the kabile is able to
congregate in a single large encampment (see Fig. 8.3a). Shortage of graz-
ing and competition with village agriculture in winter quarters is often
responsible for a dispersed pattern of small, widely separated clusters of
three or four tents (e.g. Basseri, Yoriiks, Alikanli) while restricted summer
pastures, under conditions of relative security, will produce the same
result in summer camps (Yoriiks). Although I observed a number of iso-
lated tents in western Anatolia strung out along migration routes or in
coastal winter quarters, single-tent camps are reportedly uncommon in
other parts of the Near East and any tract of grazing land sufficient only
for the needs of a single household may be passed over (Barth 1973a,
p.121).
Camp groups may be built up in modular fashion from herding units or
may coincide with a single herding unit. In fact it is often assumed that
the one stands for the other (Barth 1961; Swidler 1973). However if the
herding unit is defined as a cooperative group brought together for the
optimal management of household flocks in a single composite herd (i.e.
an economic rather than a residential unit) then it is clear that herding
units are often absent. Moreover, even if present as cooperative groups of
households, herding units need not emerge as discrete spatial units within
a campsite plan. Assuming the minimal herd size for efficient manage-
ment to be around 250 sheep and goats (W. Swidler 1972, 1973), house-
holds whose flocks fall far short of this may be inclined to coalesce into
herding units of four or five tents. However, among groups such as the
Yoriik (Bates 1973), where household flocks are commonly well within
the range of the optimal grazing unit, tents still cluster together in sum-
mer camp groups of minimally three to four, suggesting that the mecha-
nism involved is not so much economic as social. Where extremely large
herds of up to 1,000 are owned by individual households it is not uncom-
mon to find camps of a similar size or larger, composed of the households
of hired shepherds and clients, as among the Qashqa'i (see Marsden 1976;
Beck 1980). Where this occurs campsite organization will tend to occur
along hierarchical lines, with the smaller client tents being placed relative
to that of the dominant household, rather than in modular units.
Whether or not herding units are involved, the physical arrangement of
four to five tents in a quadrangular formation is an extremely common
one in the Zagros region. That this is not a new development is indicated
by early-nineteenth-century descriptions of groups of tents 'pitched in a
quadrangular form
7
(Ker Porter 1821, p.474) and an illustration in Grass,
the epic account of the Bakhtiari migration, showing four tents in winter
quarters pitched in a close square formation (Cooper 1928, plate opposite
p.83). Larger campsites may be built up through the proliferation of such
modules as is superbly illustrated in Watson's aerial shot of the Shirdash-
tis
7
spring camp (see Watson 1979; also Fig.8.3b, this volume). Evans
(1983, pp.75-6) also noted a tendency towards 'clustering
7
in some Kurd-
ish campsites in western Iran, alongside others organized in parallel rows.
Settlement density within campsites
The density of settlement within a camp is the result of a compromise
between opposing tendencies towards nucleation on the one hand and
dispersal on the other. Requirements of sociability and security will serve
to draw tents together (Hole 1978, p.151; Bates 1973, pp.122-4). Tenden-
cies towards dispersal arise through the need for room between tents to
manoeuvre herds of animals and basic requirements of activity space for
domestic chores and trash disposal. It has already been observed in Chap-
ter 7 that an area of approximately 10 by 20 metres operates as the
optimal spatial unit within which a household can function efficiently.
Camps organized in modular fashion through the accretion of herding
units are the outcome of both nucleative and dispersive tendencies oper-
ating at different levels. Within the herding unit itself the joint manage-
ment of livestock typically draws households into tight clusters, often
around a central animal corral. Outside the herding unit factors leading to
the dispersal of units - but also related to animal management - begin to
take over: 'it is convenient to keep the tents of different herding units at a
minimal distance of 20-30 meters from each other to avoid the mixing of
herds
7
(Barth 1961, p.42). In short, tents are located so as to facilitate
interpersonal contact and economic cooperation while maintaining
household autonomy in the domestic sphere. Digard (1975, pp.122-3)
observed that Bakhtiari households tended to be spaced at a distance from
one another suitable for carrying on a normal conversation. This concurs
with Hole's (1984) estimate that Baharvand tents are seldom more than
10 metres apart and with my own observations of the location of domes-
tic complexes in western Turkey. While the huge size of Alikanli tents in
eastern Turkey creates the impression of higher settlement density, actual
measurements reveal a similar modal distance between tents.
Patterns of residential association within camps
Traditional settlement patterns are usually not without kinship connec-
tions (Fraser 1969, p.47), and nomad camps are no exception. Camp
groups are generally based on a core of agnatically or affinally related kin.
Among the Yoriiks it is a generally recognized - though not rigidly
adhered to - rule that sons, fathers and brothers should camp as close as
possible to each other (Bates 1973, p.84) and it is said that 'only a hired
shepherd . . . would normally camp with non-kin
7
(ibid., p. 11). However
not all kinsmen in any given segment are expected to be present in the
one camp and the layout of campsites is rarely a faithful reflection of
agnatic structure. The co-residence of cognates and affines has been wide-
ly documented (Peters 1960; N. Swidler 1972; Barth 1961; Bates 1973),
and although Watson (1979, ch.8) provides no systematic data on kinship
connections in the Kurdish spring camp she visited, she does mention that
her host's tent was pitched next to that of his mother-in-law.
Although nomads themselves often assert that group cohesion is pre-
served in the course of migration from one campsite to another, in fact
variability seems to be the rule (Barth 1961, p.42; Hole 1978, p.151) and
both Bates (1973, p.202) and Beikgi (1969) observed that no camp group
endures intact throughout a complete annual cycle. Four successive Bakh-
tiari campsites recorded by Digard (1975, fig. 150) show a considerable
turnover in membership around a stable core of households and great
variations in the actual spatial configurations of tents (see Fig. 8.4).
More important in understanding the processes by which campsites are
created as archaeological entities is the degree of consistency with which
the same tentsites are re-occupied over successive annual cycles. This will
vary with the stability of migration tracks and security of tenure in sea-
sonal pastures. At one extreme, as among the Sagikara Yorliks, known
campsites may not be re-occupied each year or may be occupied by different
groups:
There is great fluctuation in the amount and distribution of grazing
tracts available each year. No segment of the population - however
defined - returns year after year to the same pasture tract in summer
or winter areas . . . [there is] continual movement of tents among fluid
camp groups as they adjust to the grasslands available each season.
(Bates 1973, p.83)
Where relatively certain access to the same pastures and campsites is
assured, greater consistency in the composition of campsites occurs, as
was observed for the Beritanli and Alikanli. Among their respective Luri
and Kurdish groups Edelberg (1966-67, p.388) and Watson (1966, 1979)
noted that families occupied the same tentsites year after year. Both
cases, like Sanaydin Yayla (Chapter 9), involve village-based groups. It has
already been observed that sedentary life encourages an ossification of
spatial associations within a community. It might be hypothesized that
campsites occupied by groups involved in a more fluid system of pastoral-
ism are subject to different rules. Where groups of different size and
composition occupy the same locality only sporadically, recognizable
tentsites will change hands repeatedly and many, if not all, will be out of
use during any particular season. Long-term archaeological deposits on
such sites will be built up irregularly in spatial terms and spasmodically
through time. It is unlikely that the number of tentsites present would
reflect the average size of the communities that had occupied the site in
the past.
Socioeconomic factors in campsite formation
It has been argued (Chapter 4) that the problem of adjusting interdepend-
ent populations of animals and humans in a given area, within the frame-
work of a pastoral mode of subsistence, gives rise to three characteristic
solutions - egalitarian, stratified and commercial. It is tempting to
extrapolate these socioeconomic forms to the physical organization of
campsites. For instance an 'egalitarian' community might be expected to
display a modular spatial structure as herding units of three or four tents
coalesce into larger, more open campsites. Just such a structure is docu-
mented for the Basseri on migration:
Even on an open, level steppe the tents of herding units tend to form
small semicircles within a larger semicircle, formed by the whole
camp. This group migrates as a unit and its tents are pitched close
together in a more or less standard pattern.
(Barth 1961, p.42)
A very similar modular pattern is found in the Shirdashti spring camp
Fig. 8.3b) and it is worth noting that the average number of animals per
household is given as 50, not far different from the Basseri or, for that
matter, the Baharvand (Hole 1978, 1979), among whom a similar camp
format, lack of stratification and tendencies towards sedentarization were
also found.
A stratified nomad community should exhibit hierarchical rather than
modular organization, and again this is borne out by the arrangement of
tents within a Qashqa'i camp consisting of a few large herd-owning
households, together with their hired shepherds and servants:
Tent groupings are usually based on kinship or economic dependence
and the senior member of a group will choose the place for his tent
first while the positions of the rest will be dependent on the relation
of the owners to him, with his sons and brothers nearest them, at a
distance of perhaps 100 m. or so, affinal kin and furthest away hired
shepherds and labourers.
(Marsden 1976, p.25)
According to Beck (1980, p.336) the position of the shepherding family
within a camp is ambivalent and its relations with the family of the herd
owner highly asymmetrical. The women of the shepherd family may be
required to assist in the domestic tasks of the employer household to a far
greater extent than would be acceptable between independent house-
holds. Shepherd households are not considered full members of the
residence group and this is 'indicated by their placement within encamp-
ments' (Beck 1980, p.340). A similar grammar of spatial organization
operates in Alikanli camps where relatives place their tents with respect to
the dominant household (normally occupying the largest tent) while hired
shepherds and clients are located at a distance (Beikgi 1969, p.76). If
Alikanli camps resemble battleships in line astern, then the chief's tent is
the flagship at the head of the formation. The pattern is epitomized in a
large Alikanli camp photographed in 1939 by Frodin (194344,fig.l4)
which is shown in Fig. 8.6.
In a rare series of plans of Beritanli campsites in eastern Turkey made
by a Turkish architecture student (Ozbek-Koroglu 1980), the reflection of
a strongly hierarchical tribal structure in the spatial stratification of the
camp is clearly illustrated (see Fig. 8.7). The chief of the Kosan Kabile has
his own camp of seven tents a good few hundred metres from the much
Fig. 8.6 A Kurdish camp of
the Alikan Airet in eastern
Anatolia showing stratified
organization and linear
structure.
(a) As photographed in the
1930s. (Frodin 1943-44,
fig.14.)
(b) An approximated plan
of the campsite (not to
scale). Note the focal
location of the large six-
pole black tent, probably
that of the headman.
tent showing
no. of poles
lake
broad valley
larger camp (around 70 tents) of the rank and file (see Fig. 8.3b). In contrast
to the fairly homogenous and slightly modular layout of the latter, the
chief's camp is highly structured, with careful placement of the tents of
relatives, guests and shepherds. Present also are specialized structures
such as a bath-house. While such examples are rare in the ethnographic
record they no doubt persist in those tribal heartlands seldom penetrated
by western ethnographers, and were probably common in the past.
Offering as it does the prospect of re-creating tribal structures through
settlement plans, this line of inquiry should appeal to those archaeologists
who approach ethnography armed with a shovel. A note of caution is
necessary. Even should it be possible to expose sufficiently large areas of a
site and isolate single settlement events from the stratigraphic record, tent
size may be related to other factors than social status, such as the number
149
Fig. 8.7 Beritanli chiefly
camp in eastern Anatolia.
This campsite, occupied by
the chief of the Kosan
Kabile of the Beritan Airet,
was located some few
hundred metres from the
camp of the rank and file
shown in Fig. 8.3a. Note
the spatial organization of
the camp with tents of
relatives, clients and guests
arranged around that of the
chief; also the rare luxury of
a special bath tent at upper
left. (After Ozbek-Koroglu
1980, fig.6, not to scale.)
access path
, G - t e n t ^ f
III//'':-'..:'> :. Kabile chi ef
' / , 's '/\\l/
m
f
%
^ chiefs brother
of individuals in a household, and the logic governing the placement of
tents is not self-evident in the spatial distributions themselves. The
removal of all labels from Fig. 8.7 would leave us with few clues about the
significance of the settlement plan, apart from a suggestion of hierarchy.
The overlap of nomadic and sedentary
settlement forms
The annual appearance of tent camps belonging to nomads of the Kham-
seh Confederacy in the vicinity of the ruins of Persepolis in Fars Province
of southwest Iran (Field 1939, p.549) may be more than just fortuitious.
The plans and mode of construction of the palaces themselves bear more
than a passing similarity to the royal tent enclosures of Central Asian and
Near Eastern tradition (see Andrews 1977), and at least one writer (Herz-
feld 1935) has drawn attention to this. Could Persepolis itself, with its
open architectural plan and serried ranks of pillars like rows of tentpoles,
have been derived from a tent-like blueprint? Are the Persian-speaking
Basseri of the Khamseh Confederacy descendents of original Persian
nomad stock before the time of Darius and Xerxes? Indeed the form of
the palace set atop an extensive stone platform has a modern analogue in
some Qashqa
;
i chiefly tents. These speculations lie outside the scope of
the present inquiry and, besides, one could just as easily argue on stylistic
grounds for a nomad connection in the Parthenon or the Chinese pagoda.
Fig. 8.8 Campsites located
in association with ancient
ruins, western Iran and
eastern Anatolia,
(a) Alikanli autumn
migration camp adjacent to
a ruined caravanserai of the
Seljuk period. Tents have
been placed over existing
stone walls.
But the image of Persepolis surrounded by black-tent encampments is a
useful metaphorical vehicle in another sense. There have been many
instances reported of tent camps in close association with ancient ruins
and archaeological sites throughout the Near East (Ainsworth 1842; Bent
1891; Bishop 1891; Field 1939; Forbes 1831; Garnett n.d.; Hole 1979;
Schmidt 1940) and my own field observations bear this out. An encounter
with Shammar Bedouin tribesmen occupying the ruins of Hatra in north-
ern Iraq is not atypical:
Here we perceived the tents of the Bedwins extending far and wide
within the ruins and without the walls to the south west. The finding
of Arabs here is indeed what may generally be expected of any travel-
ler in search of these ruins. Tne number of halting places which
present what is actually necessary for the Arabs - water and grass - is
not so great . . . For the same reason that cities were built on these
oases in the wilderness, the wandering Arab now resorts to situations
where there are waters, and with them pasturage. Hence the traveller
may be almost as sure of meeting Arabs at Palmyra as at Al Hadhr.
(Ainsworth 1842 II, p. 164)
My first contact with the Alikanli occurred in just such a location be-
neath the walls of a ruined caravanserai of Seljuk vintage where a dozen
or so tents were drawn together in a pre-migration autumn camp (Fig.
8.8a). The resemblance of this to one of Schmidt's (1940) air photographs
of abandoned tentsites and corrals clustered around a ruined Sassanian
palace is uncanny (Fig. 8.8b), and descriptions by nineteenth-century
travellers such as that of Ainsworth (1842 II, p. 339) of a ruined fortress
towering prominently above an encampment of tents like an ancient
feudal castle
7
have a similar flavour. We have already come across refer-
ences to Yoriiks wintering in classical Greek, Roman and Byzantine ruins
on the Mediterranean (Garnett n.d., p.199; Bent 1891, p.271) and seen a
modern example at Karakegi (Chapter 7). Examples from other areas of
the Near East are not difficult to find (e.g. Hole 1978, p.153; Dickson 1910,
p.368).
-' A,
Fig. 8.8 (b) Abandoned
stone tentsites and corrals
adjoining the ruins of a
Sassanian palace,
Firuzabad, western Iran.
(Reproduced from Schmidt
1940, pi. 17.)
In terms of the locational factors examined above
;
it is not difficult to
see why nomads should be drawn to ruined structures. Not only are these
likely to be located close to important resources or access routes, but they
also provide shelter, and rubble furnishes building materials for tent foun-
dations, corrals and hearths. Not only extensive monumental ruins but
also mounds and tells of modest proportions attract nomad encampments
and for much the same reasons. A good example is the small Luri camp-
site in the lee of an archaeological mound and two campsites extending
from the foot of Tepe Guran in Luristan (Fig. 8.9). In respect of the latter
example it is perhaps worth noting that the basal layers of Tepe Guran
were considered by the excavator (Mortensen 1964) to represent an early
neolithic seasonal camp of herders. Among the records of nineteenth-
century travellers in the Near East, the association of tent camps with tells
or ruined villages is extremely common (e.g. Ainsworth 1842 II, p.120).
Camps and villages
Just as fixtures such as tent foundations may be specially constructed by
nomads, often out of the rubble of ruined structures, so existing walls in
abandoned settlements may be pressed into service, as has already been
noted in Chapter 7. There are scattered historical references to recently
abandoned villages being occupied by nomad tents (Mordtmann 1925,
p.531; Frodin 1943-44, p.268; Tchalenko 1953, p.104). Sixteenth-century
settlements on the Amuq Plain, abandoned until well into the twentieth
century, were apparently used in this fashion by wintering Turkmen and
Kurdish nomads: 'there were no longer villages in the plains but only
ruined walls which the nomads often used, in combination with their
tents, as temporary winter encampments' (Aswad 1971, p.18). Abu Marri,
152
Fig. 8.9 Nomad campsites
in association with
archaeological mounds.
(a) Plan of a Luri
encampment near Tepe
Guran, western Iran. Note
the presence of three
rows of tents and close
correspondence of middens
with tentsites. (After
Melgaard ef */. 1963, fig.4,
not to scale.)
(b) Campsite in the lee of
an archaeological tell, Deh
Luran, western Iran. (After
Hole n.d., fig.4.)
zjfi 'i ' ) I \ \ \ .
/
-.Tepe / ' >,
I Guran. '.\-\
TepeGuran
TEPE GURAN
& ash&
midden
corral enclosed
by brush fence
about 30x40 metres
LEGEND
a chul (for bedding)
stones for bags
* cooking fire
.#. dung
am ash
-^tent opening
ditch
o 10
archaeological
site, DL-61
4-5 metres high
a settlement in the Mosul district described by Forbes (1851) as a 'ruined
village
7
, was observed a few years later to be 'now inhabited, but only by
occupiers of tents
7
(Ainsworth 1842 II, p.123). An alternative possibility is
that the 'abandoned village
7
represented a fixed stone-walled campsite,
but the earlier account by Forbes suggests that it was a permanent village.
The implications of such behaviour for nomad archaeology are two-
fold. First, in interpreting the settlement histories of particular sites, make-
shift reconfigurations of architectural features and the reconstruction of
crude shelters out of the rubble of more sophisticated dwellings may well
have been the work of nomads. This does not mean that every site
exhibiting such features was a nomad camp - the criteria for determining
this are by no means clear cut, but the possibility is ever present (Burney
1961; Voigt 1977). Second, a persistent regional pattern of contempora-
neous abandonment or destruction followed by ephemeral settlement
may be evidence of a phase of nomadization. In view of the long history
of migrationist and invasionist arguments, established conventions in the
naming of stratigraphic levels and construction of chronologies, this
should come as no great revelation (Mellaart 1960; Mellinck (ed.) 1964).
Before I am accused of harbouring migrationist tendencies, let me point
out that few migrationists have bothered to address the question of how
variations in architectural forms, site density and accumulation rates can
be used as evidence for regional settlement and population trends. The
connection is simply assumed (e.g. Stronach 1963; Oates 1976). Invasion,
or a breakdown in state power opening the way for invasion, is assumed
to lead to the demise of one culture and population as they are overrun by
another. The latter, being 'nomadic', leaves few material remains. This is
not what happened on the Syrian steppe in the last century, nor in west-
ern Iran during World War II and only a few years ago after the fall of the
Shah. What would a migrationist make of the dozens of abandoned and
burned villages? What of the nomad camps that replaced them? Yet in
both cases - certainly in the latter - the departed villagers and the newly
arrived nomads were in fact the same people! The collapse of state
authority, instead of opening the way for a nomad 'invasion
7
, simply
permitted large numbers of people to resume a preferred migratory life-
style more consistent with their unstable mode of subsistence.
The widespread desolation in northern Mesopotamia recorded by
nineteenth-century travellers, with numerous deserted villages inter-
spersed or overlapping with tent camps or Villages of tents' (Ainsworth
1842; Geary 1878; Ubicini 1970), is consistent with the known facts of
weak Ottoman rule and mounting disorder. But there is nothing to say
that the nomads were not themselves former inhabitants of these villages,
or others nearby, who had simply become too mobile to maintain a
permanent village base. Certainly the entire northern Mesopotamian
steppe witnessed major shifts in tribal affiliation and spheres of influence
at this time (Aswad 1971; Sweet 1974; Eberhard 1953b, Tchalenko 1953).
There is also some suggestion of the nucleation of settled population in
fewer and larger villages and towns - generally walled - with large tracts
of intervening land remaining uncultivated (Geary 1878 II, p. 12). In Iran,
where conditions were equally unsettled, it has been estimated (Hambly
1964, pp.69-70) that over half the population was nomadic. A decline in
the state of repair of irrigation systems and under-cultivation attended
this phase of nomadization and, according to Hambly (ibid., p.70), 'all
observers describe in some detail the deserted villages and abandoned
agricultural land formerly under cultivation'. However while nomadiza-
tion was very much in evidence, and a certain amount of territorial
instability was present, these events could in no way be likened to an
invasion or even a continuous in-migration.
It is curious that the period during which major nomad invasions are
known to have occurred throughout the Near East - the eleventh and
early twelfth century - was one of general prosperity and flourishing
trade with little hint in the historical or archaeological settlement record
of major upheavals or depopulation (Cahen 1968; Turan 1971; Minorsky
1978). Prior to the Seljuk Empire most of this area was Greek- or Persian-
speaking, and afterwards mostly Turkish-speaking, showing how com-
plex are the interwoven strands of nomad migration, ethnic affiliation and
regional economy.
Composite settlements: tents in a sedentary context
It was noted earlier (Chapter 6) that tent-like spatial organization may be
preserved in the floorplans of village houses established by sedentarizing
nomads, but there is also evidence for the actual use of tents within
sedentary settlements either as temporary dwellings or as appendages to
more permanent structures. Instances abound of newly settled nomads
preferring their traditional tents pitched in the courtyard beside newly
constructed houses, the latter being used mainly for storage (Stark 1933,
p.258; Schuyler 1966, p.192; Vambery 1868, p.303). Prior to the spring
migration, the Shirdashtis (Watson 1979, p.243) moved into tents pitched
in the courtyards of their stone-built houses and one family resided per-
manently in a tent. A few families in the nearby village of Hasanabad also
moved into tents on the outskirts of the village during summer (Watson
1979). Fully sedentary Kurdish villagers were accustomed to pitching tents
in their villages to avoid the heat and infestation of vermin (Hay 1921,
p.46). At Tell Toqaan, in northern Syria, two families in the early stages of
sedentarization continued to live permanently in tents on the village out-
skirts, not to be confused with the large seasonal increment of nomad
tents occupying the village common during the summer, autumn and
early winter (Sweet 1974, p. 115). The arrangement by which the Alikanli
and other eastern Anatolian nomads pitch their tents in lowland villages
to become full members of the community for the duration of the winter
has already been described (Chapter 6), and there are indications that
similar practices occur in other areas of the Near East.
We are again in that fuzzy area, already encountered in respect of tents
and houses, where we are dealing with neither one thing nor the other.
The ambiguity is underlined by the use of the term Village' by Audouze
and Jarrige (1981) to describe Baluchi campsites consisting of both roofed
mud huts and tents and the frequent use of the expression Villages of
tents
7
by travellers and casual observers. The composite dwelling has its
counterpart in the composite settlement. It is certain that in past centuries
composite settlements consisting of both tents and houses - perhaps
accompanied by a fortress or public buildings - were a regular feature in
many parts of the Near East (see Ainsworth 1842; Jarring 1939, pp.60-1).
Historical accounts of the Aqqoyunlu Empire (fifteenth to sixteenth cen-
tury) mention the establishment of 'fortified campsites' at those points in
eastern Anatolia where the east-west trade routes and the north-south
pastoral migration routes intersected (Woods 1976). Pastner (1978) also
suggests that a settlement type consisting of a central fortress, permanent
dwellings and - at least seasonally - surrounding tent 'suburbs' was com-
mon in pre-modern Baluchistan.
Even today complexes of yurts surrounded by substantial mud walls
and forming an orderly arrangement of blocks and streets have been
reported from Mongolia (Hodges 1972, p.525). During the last century
summer camps of the more powerful Bakhtiari khans were located around
a central stone fortress (Bishop 1891 I). Such a composite settlement form
is the logical corollary of the integrated tribe and achieves its fullest
expression in the fortified camps of dimorphic chiefdoms (Rowton 1973,
1977) and the royal tent enclosures attached to Central Asian cities
(Andrews 1977). The possibility raised by Adams (1974, p.7), that certain
early Mesopotamian cities consisted of an administrative core surrounded
by a large floating population of tent-dwelling tribesmen, should be
reconsidered in this light.
Settlement density
Although camps and villages may be found in association and although
they display superficial similarities, the rules governing their formation
are profoundly different. As stressed in Chapter 4, the high fluidity in
camp group membership, together with the fact that each camp is a fresh
settlement event, allows full scope for the expression of kinship, social,
political and economic relations between households in spatial terms.
The study of nomad camps can add an important dimension to settle-
ment archaeology, a field represented so far by studies of hunter-gatherer
campsites (Weissner 1982; Yellen 1977; O
;
Connell 1979; Whitelaw 1983),
village communities (Kramer (ed.) 1979a; Jacobs 1979; Watson 1979;
Sumner 1979) and formative cities (Adams 1974; Johnson 1973). Recent
comparative studies (Whitelaw 1983; Fletcher 1981) suggest the operation
of certain tolerance thresholds relating to crowding and communication
networks, the spatial equivalents of Tapper's (1979b) hierarchy of com-
munity types. Whitelaw (1983), using an array of multivariate techniques,
demonstrates that the tolerance threshold of crowding in hunter-gatherer
communities depends very much on kinship criteria. In other words
households are not disturbed by crowding per se, but only crowding by
strangers, a further demonstration of the direct relationship between
social distance and physical distance in such settlements. Quantitative
studies of the fit between patterns of kinship and affinal relationships
between households in a campsite and the spatial relationships of the
corresponding tents are urgently needed to throw light on this question.
Given the constraints under which fieldwork was carried out, I was
unable to undertake such an investigation. Beikgi (1969) collected
detailed information about the kin and affinal ties between household
heads in one Alikanli campsite, but unfortunately the exact locations of
the tents with respect to one another were not recorded. Nevertheless, on
the basis of numerous observations and examples from existing literature,
it appears that tent camps respond in a fundamentally different way
from fixed settlements to increases in population. Whereas the density
of a sedentary settlement might be expected to increase or remain fairly
constant with the addition of new households, the same increase in a
nomad camp will result in an increase in area and a decrease in density
per unit area.
It is therefore of some interest that the only extant density studies of
nomad camps, this time without corresponding kinship data, carried out
by Hole (n.d.) revealed precisely the opposite trend. Hole concluded that
intra-site density in Luri nomad camps was comparable to
;
perhaps even
in excess of, that in sedentary villages in the same region. Moreover there
was a tendency for the smallest campsites to display the highest densities.
This latter finding at least is in line with the hypothesis outlined above,
but perhaps for the wrong reasons. I believe that these results are due to a
fundamental error in the measurement of occupation density. Most of the
nomad camps measured by Hole (n.d., table 2) were small, consisting of
only four or five tents (see Fig. 8.9b). They were apparently herding units
laid out in quadrangular form around a corral, and most were migration
transit camps. In settlement units of this size there are problems of area
definition which would not arise if a much larger number of dwellings
was present. For instance an area occupied by four tents arranged in a
square formation, measured from the outer corner of each tent, would
yield a far higher density that that for 16 tents, the same distance apart,
and measured in the same way. But 16 tents are unlikely to be arranged
the same distance apart as are four. The modular organization of tent
camps referred to above - four clusters of four tents each - would result in
a far larger area and a much lower density. By allowing the results to be
unduly influenced by distorting effects at the lower end of the size range,
the relationship between area and number of units has been obscured.
Well might the author remark that 'the camps are compact, although
because of their small size they seem relatively open
7
(Hole n.d.). The
camps are in fact quite open, and because of the small numbers of tents
involved they give the statistical illusion of being compact. If consolidated
into a larger camp group the tents would not be distributed evenly over
the surface but clustered into herding units, or strung out in parallel lines,
with large spaces between each unit or line. This would have the effect of
substantially lowering the overall settlement density.
The same variables appear to work in the opposite direction in the case
of village settlements - the smaller the village, the lower the population
density, and vice versa. But in order to rigorously test such hypotheses,
settlement data from nomad camps of a much higher quality than exist at
present are necessary.
Sedentarization and settlement
Regardless of whether or not fixtures are present, a campsite is re-
established anew with each annual occupation. Each occupation is a fresh
event, to a large extent independent of previous events. By contrast, a
permanently occupied village, or even one that is seasonally abandoned,
has a history. Each new alteration or addition builds on a sequence of
existing structures. Moreover a sedentary settlement normally passes
through phases of occupation - establishment, growth, saturation, decline
- and its position within the sequence is reflected in its physical appear-
ance, layout and density (see Fraser 1969). The typical nomad tent camp,
like the camps of hunter-gatherers, has no such history but remains per-
manently retarded in the initial stages of the normal developmental cycle.
But nomad camps differ from those of hunter-gatherers in that there is
some interaction with sedentary settlement. Campsites may develop into
villages or composite settlements. Sedentarizing nomads may reproduce
in their newly established settlement the same kind of open plan and
alignments of dwellings that are found in their campsites.
A survey of village settlements in Fars Province, Iran (Sumner 1979),
distinguished three types of village plan: square or rectangular settlements
of high density surrounded by a wall; unwalled and irregular but densely
built-up settlements; and a third type, representing only about 5 per cent
of the sample, characterized by a low settlement density and open plan:
There can be no doubt that cultural preference plays a large role in
determining the plan and layout of villages which in turn affects the
density of occupation. In this case it is known that a number of the
low density villages, composed of scattered houses, are inhabited by
recently settled pastoral nomads. It is probable that most of the very
low density villages are of this type.
(Sumner 1979, p.168)
I am a little sceptical about the role of 'cultural preference
7
. As Sumner
himself points out (1979, p. 167), it is the smaller villages which are the
least densely settled and both variables, size and density, may be depend-
ent on the length of occupation and the stage which a community
occupies in the cycle of settlement development. But the identification of
open-plan villages with recently settled nomad communities is interest-
ing. Many of the aerial photographs taken by Schmidt (1940) show small
villages, consisting of parallel strings of houses arranged end to end,
almost indistinguishable from campsites such as those depicted in Figs.
8.1 or 8.3. While Schmidt also shot numerous deserted campsites with
lines of stone foundations, there are few photographs of camps actually
occupied by black tents. It will be recalled that the 1930s, when these
reconnaissance flights were made, was a period of enforced sedentariza-
tion, and it is highly probable that most of these villages were occupied by
recently settled nomads. Indeed the author describes a number of land-
ings at Bakhtiari villages where he was the recipient of a full measure
of nomad hospitality. Had he flown this way ten years later, he would
most probably have found the same settlements burned and deserted,
their former occupants having returned to the previously abandoned
campsites.
Observations in the Syrian village of Tell Toqaan (Sweet 1974), which
drew much of its population from nomadic tribes in the vicinity, throw
further light on the organizational changes which occur with sedentariza-
tion. At the time of study part of Tell Toqaan was regularly used as a
camping ground by nomads who had tribal and kinship affiliation with
the Tell Toqaanis and two families had only recently made the change-
over from tents to mud-brick, domed houses. The village was still a focus
of sedentarization and can be characterized as a composite settlement.
According to the ethnographer:
At first view the settlement of Tell Toqaan appears open and to have
grown up by random accretion wherever there was space to build . . .
Distribution of the dwellings and compounds of the village is not as
compact as that in much older and more populous places in the area
. . . There are many instances of open spaces between blocks of sev-
eral compounds wnose walls are shared, a number of compounds and
dwelling units stand free. At Zammar and Ras i Ain
;
both tribal
villages of the Bu Layl, the houses and compounds are detached and
do not share walls with their neighbours.
(Sweet 1974, pp.48-51; see also Fig.8.10a)
An open settlement plan was also reported for a new Yoriik settlement
on the Black Sea coast of Anatolia in which the 'tradition of scattered
living' is said to derive from a recent nomadic past (Donmez 1964, p.167).
The sedentarization of Yoriiks on the outskirts of an existing village has
been described by Bates (1973), though he does not trace any subsequent
changes in settlement plan, and Peters (1976) gives an account of the
architectural changes accompanying sedentarization in an east Anatolian
Kurdish community.
While these examples are highly suggestive of the kinds of processes at
work in the course of sedentarization, a full account of the settlement
cycle is not possible on the basis of synchronic observations of settlement
plans in different phases of the sequence. While no such sequence has
been described for Iran or Turkey, changes in settlement pattern follow-
ing sedentarization most probably occurred in a manner similar to that
documented in Algeria:
These new villages differ from the traditional ksour not only in den-
sity but also in the type of house which is eventually built. The
process is gradual ana begins with the tent and its enclosed corral,
spaced at the usual distance from the neighbouring tent. As materials
become available, individual rooms are built inside the corral and
soon the tent is folded for the last time.
(Etherton 1971, p.182)
Such a pattern of accretion appears to have been responsible for the
compounds and dwelling clusters at Tell Toqaan and other recorded vil-
lages, evolving from a terminal campsite whose tent groups ossified into
the present form (see Jarno 1984).
The intensification of settlement in an already established village
through the accretion of new dwelling units is nicely illustrated by an
. abandoned village in southern Iraq (Nissen 1968). The village, established
around 1902, appears to have had a strong pastoral component and may
have been established by settling nomads (Fig. 8.10b). It was abandoned
after a shift in the course of an irrigation canal along which the settlement
had grown up. The dwellings, analogous to some tent forms, have been
described in Chapter 6. Variations in settlement density between the
compact southern and dispersed northern parts suggest different stages in
the settlement's evolution (ibid., p.108). The sequence of construction of
walls and other features indicates that courtyards and ancillary structures
were added to the dwellings and that the crowding together of units in
the southern portion is due to the expansion of courtyards to fill in the
open spaces between dwellings, combined with the establishment of
new dwellings within these spaces. This expansion must be largely attrib-
uted to the accomodation of livestock in the courtyards, recalling
Summer's (1979, p.172) observation that the more dispersed character of
sedentarized nomad villages may be influenced by the need for corral
159
space. The layout of the dwellings alone, minus the courtyards, is not
unlike a typical nomad camp. The presence of a strong pastoral compo-
nent in the subsistence base and of composite dwellings with mud walls
and reed superstructures suggests a highly unstable settlement system. At
the same time the joining up of courtyards into complexes in the southern
section is reminiscent of the settlement pattern described above for Tell
Toqaan.
Through a process of continual infilling and the joining up of courtyards
a densely packed, agglomerative village may eventually arise, examples of
which can be found in Summer's (1977, 1979) and Jacobs
;
s (1979) walled
villages and the communities studied by Kramer ((ed.) 1979a) and Watson
(1979). Such concentrated settlements appear to be preferred among peas-
ant cultivators in Iran and Turkey for the sense of security they confer, as
well as conserving precious agricultural land. Where villages are surround-
ed by arable land there are naturally strong pressures to locate new dwell-
ings within the settlement rather than occupying potentially cultivable
land. Once saturation point has been reached - and this may vary cultur-
ally - any further population increase is likely to spill outwards as low-
density, extra-mural settlement where the process of accretion begins
anew (Jacobs 1979). An insight into village spatial organization comes
from a resettlement scheme after a major earthquake in Qazvin, north-
Fig. 8.10 Two plans of
villages arising out of initial
impermanent settlement,
(a) Plan of Tell Toqaan,
northern Syria. Note the
open but clustered
settlement pattern. Two
tents of sedentarizing
nomad families are present
in the southeast, adjacent
to a camping ground
seasonally occupied by
migrating Bedouin. The
village itself appears to
have been formed through
the accretion of
sedentarizing households.
(Reproduced from Sweet
1974, fig.4.)
Fig. 8.10 (b) overpage
Fig. 8.10 (b) An abandoned
village in Iraq. Note the
variations in settlement
density between the
northern and southern
parts. (From Nissen 1968,
pl.l.)
GQflZH
K H A N A Z I R I Y A
t 4 M !
DWELLING ROOMS
GUEST ROOMS
10 n JO " C u t
l 7 IJ4
ROOMS FOR ANIMALS
UNIT ENCLOSURE
INTERIOR DIVIOIK
WALLS
IG WALLS
SLEEPING PLATFORMS SET ON WALLS
OPEN SILOS FOR STRAW
OPEN SILOS FOR FOOD
FOOOER AND WATERTROUGHS
TENUR.
Plate 1
west Iran. It was found that villagers had definite ideas about the
construction and spacing of houses and many new government-built
settlements remained unoccupied because they did not conform to those
norms: The older villages were built with little space between the
houses; streets were wide enough to allow the passage of animals and
carts. The closer the dwellings, the more secure the villagers felt: animals
had to be kept closely under the owner's eye
;
(Bina and Dyas 1975-76,
pp. 174-5).
It is clear that changes in dwelling type from tent to composite dwelling
to permanently roofed structure are strongly associated with changes in
settlement structure and density. Any attempt to evaluate archaeological
material in terms of house form alone, or settlement plan unrelated to
house form
;
will be sacrificing half the evidence. The sedentarization
process should be archaeologically visible in terms of a system of variables
relating to both the dwelling unit and the overall settlement plan
;
as well
as trends observable at a regional level.
Conclusion
In developing the above settlement sequence I am not suggesting that all
villages in the Near East began as nomad camps. Rather the principles of
nomad settlements may help us understand the early stages in the estab-
lishment and growth of settlements generally. In view of the similarity of
some kinds of locations favoured by both nomads and villagers (e.g. on
the edge of mounds or tells, as in the case of Tell Toqaan) there is reason
to suspect that the transformation of nomad camp into permanent settle-
ment may have been a frequent one. It is in just such locations that
archaeological indications of the interplay between sedentism and
nomadism should be sought. In terms of intra-site spatial organization,
the highly generalized living space around each individual tent will be
partitioned and enclosed within walled compounds as sedentarization
proceeds. The pattern of discard changes from household-specific mid-
dens to specialized communal midden zones. Once defined by perma-
nent stuctures, the organization of living space is better understood in
relation to an overall settlement plan rather than in relation to each indi-
vidual dwelling. In other words the idea of a domestic complex begins to
lose its utility at that point where a settlement begins to acquire a history
and to pass through a developmental sequence.
9
SARIAYDIN YAYLA
Beyond Aladag Mountain is a long valley, densely wooded, with hun-
dreds of springs bubbling forth everywhere, bright, cool, pebbly springs
bedded in mint and heather. It is light that flows from these springs, not
water, but a tinkling brightness. Since time out of mind this valley has
been the summer pasture of the wandering Turcomans, the Yoriiks . . .
(From the Legend of the Thousand Bulls by Yashar Kemal)
From the modern highway crossing the Taurus Mountains, Sanaydin
Yayla appears as a collection of small beehive-shaped tents in a narrow
hanging valley. Closer investigation will reveal stone and thornbush
corrals scattered amongst the tents, a number of mud-roofed huts and
well-beaten paths (see Fig. 9.1). What at first appears to be a stone-built,
roofed corral roughly in the centre of the camp soon reveals itself as a
ruined Seljuk caravanserai (Erdmann 1961; Ozergin 1965), and out of the
stone rubble lining the banks of a seasonal watercourse the practised eye
will discern the remains of a paved road and arched stone bridge. The
paved track winding its way from the valley floor to the Taurus water-
shed, at around 1,600 metres, is part of an ancient trade route running
from Silifki on the coast to Karaman, Konya and ultimately Ankara on the
Anatolian Plateau, mentioned in sources of the early Seljuk Dynasty in
the thirteenth century (Turan 1971, pp.346, 512).
That this area also served as a camping ground or migration route for
nomadic groups of the period is strongly suggested by what can be pieced
together from the historical records. Late in the twelfth century, we are
told, tribes of Turkmen nomads, newly arrived on the Cilician Plain,
began to shift their migration tracks westward into the Goksu Valley,
following a pattern very similar to that outlined in Chapter 4:
Finally, due to population density and the pressures of migration, the
[Turkmen] nomads entered Cilicia and reached Kozan by AD 1187.
According to certain historical calendars it seems that Kilif Arslan
conquered Silifke . . . These migrations from Central Asia increased
the [population] density at the Anatolian frontiers and resulted in
expansion and conquest at the expense of the Byzantines.
(Turan 1971, p.216; my translation)
162
Sanaydin Yayla 163
^- v / W &.r
NK. V ^ , : : ^ ^
F/g. 1 General plan of
Sanaydin Yayla, a summer
camp of Yoriiks based in a
village in the Goksu Valley,
southern Turkey. Note the
ancient road cut by a
stream bed and the ruined
caravanserai, now used as a
pen for cows and donkeys.
The conquest of Silifke at the coastal end of the valley no doubt opened
up the Goksu to regular tribal migrations, and Sanaydin Yayla, occupying
the upper extremity of the valley, would have served as an ideal transit
camp for large groups of nomads who followed in the wake of the Turk-
men forces and constituted both their manpower reserve and productive
base.
Whether tentsites of Seljuk vintage are to be found beneath the
stamped earth floors of the contemporary tentsites is an open question.
Whether there is any direct historical link between the Seljuk tribesmen
and the current inhabitants is also uncertain. The subsequent history of
tribal movements and settlement in the area is imperfectly understood.
The continual process of subdivision, extinction, realignment and move-
ment of similarly constituted tribal units does not yield easily to the
historian's tools of trade.
The camp and its inhabitants
Climate
The appearance of Sanaydin Yayla varies dramatically with the seasons.
Winter will find only the tops of the stone-walled huts and hearths pro-
truding above a heavy snow cover. With spring comes a raging torrent of
melt-water down the stream and springs bursting unpredictably out of
the valley slopes, though deep snow drifts persist on sheltered northward-
facing slopes. By May, when the pastoralists arrive, the last snows have
ceased and the valley floor is carpeted with grass and wild flowers. Sum-
mers are mild and dry except for a few early and late thunderstorms.
During autumn temperatures remain around the 25-30 C mark until mid-
October when they begin to drop sharply and the frequency of showers
and storms increases. One by one the families depart until, by the time
the first snows lightly carpet the valley, the campsite is once again
deserted.
The people
The inhabitants of Sanaydin Yayla claimed no tribal affinity, but identified
themselves as Beyirli, indicating an origin in the winter village of Beyir,
1,500 metres below in the Goksu Valley. On a map of tribal migration
routes in southern Anatolia (see Fig. 7.4) are mentioned two tribal groups
bearing this name, one 300 kilometres west of the Goksu, the other about
half that distance. One might therefore suggest a western Anatolian ori-
gin, making these part of the recent eastward movement of Yoriiks along
the southern Anatolian coast (Bates 1973).
Each year up to 50 individuals may reside in the camp, the majority
originating in the village, although a few families were said to migrate
from the area around Tarsus 150 kilometres to the east. The campsite
itself was owned by the village cooperative, as is commonly the case with
village communities migrating annually to yaylas (Tuncdilek 1963, p.64).
Many of the families were related in some way - or a number of ways.
All the families in the central part of the camp were described by my main
informant, Mustapha Bey, as akraba (consanguilial kin), while those on
the southern edge of the camp were described as kom$u (neighbours).
Two themes relating to marriage, commented on by ethnographers
working with Yoriik populations, were very much in evidence at
Sanaydin. The first of these, kiz kaqirma (literally 'kidnapping the girl
;
or
elopement), has the effect of obviating or substantially reducing
brideprice payments (Bates 1973, ch.III; Kudat 1974). The second is the
institution of parallel cousin marriage, common throughout the Near East
(Barth 1973; Khuri 1970; Murphy and Kasdan 1967). Most of my inform-
ants claimed to have been married through kagrma and the topic seemed
capable of generating a great deal of ribald merriment among both men
and women. According to one man, it was his wife who did the kidnap-
ping, seating him on the donkey and urging haste lest her outraged rela-
tives catch up with them. Another couple claimed to have made kagrma
on the Ankara intercity bus. (My own claim to have made kagrma by
Sanaydin Yayla 165
aeroplane almost brought the tent down.) The presence of cousin mar-
riage was strongly suggested by the fact that kin ties frequently appeared
to be reinforced by affinal ties.
The combination of kiz kaqirma and parallel cousin marriage
;
it has been
suggested (Bates 1973,ch.III), gives rise to a settlement pattern characteristic
of nomads. Since many kaqirma marriages occur between close relatives - the
boy, considering that he has first right of refusal over his cousin, may kidnap
her to prevent an arranged marriage with a non-relative - the resultant
animosity causes a splitting of agnatic camp groups. I have no evidence
with which to support or contradict this claim, however one marriage
practice observed at Sanaydin is worth noting. There was evidence of a
pattern of marrying into villages adjacent to the yayla, which may be part
of a long-term strategy to build up ties of affinity - and later kinship -
with villagers in the yayla area. Another rather intriguing possibility is that
the pastoralists have always maintained closer links with the mountain
villages than with those in the region of their winter village, that in fact
the affinal links have some historical depth, and that close ties of kinship
exist between the two communities - ties which may reflect a common
tribal origin. If this is correct then existing notions about the relationship
of so-called transhumant villagers to their summer camping grounds
(Tuncdilek 1963) may need to be drastically revised. For the people of
Sanaydin Yayla the summer migration did not seem to represent a break
with on-going community ties with which one tends to associate the idea
of sedentism, but a re-establishment of those ties. Viewed such, the win-
ter village or kilak may be seen as a place to sit out the winter rather than
the main focus of kinship and community relationships.
Subsistence
Like many contemporary nomads and transhumant pastoralists, the
inhabitants of Sanaydin Yayla pursued a mixed productive system based
on both pastoralism and agriculture, although certain families tended to
specialize more in one or the other. Gardens and orchards were concen-
trated at the lower end of the valley where an improvised irrigation
system permitted the exploitation of pockets of fertile alluvium to grow
apples, tomatoes, corn, beans and chick peas, most of which were con-
sumed locally. Any surplus not consumed during summer was bagged for
transport to the village.
Of the four species of large animals kept, sheep were the primary
commercial focus. A few families kept a cow for regular milk supply, and
donkeys were used to transport both people and loads, particularly fire-
wood. Goats contributed milk, hair for weaving kilims and tentcloth and
also served as flock leaders.
While wool and milk products were used for subsistence purposes,
sheep pastoralism was geared primarily to the meat market. Pastoralism
was largely a male preserve, and within the pastoral sector the division of
labour between husbandman and herdsman lay along generational lines.
This was illustrated in the family with whom I spent most time at Sariay-
din. At first glance there seemed to be some support for the view that
Mustapha Bey's life consisted of a ceaseless round of excursions to vil-
lages and other camps and fireside chats with kinsmen or neighbours. A
second glance revealed that much of this social activity had as its object
matters such as the negotiation of prices for animals and animal products,
the buying of provisions and arranging transport for the migration or the
sale of livestock. He was concerned with the 'foreign affairs
7
side and
with securing the necessary conditions and markets for a viable herding
system. It was the eldest son, Salih, who carried out the bulk of the
physically demanding herding activity, operating at the tactical level of
exploiting pasture, protecting the stock and managing short-range move-
ments. The flock was taken out every evening at around 5 p.m. and
grazed all night in upland pastures. The herdsman returned with them at
about 10 a.m. and had a meal and an afternoon sleep - having taken only
cat naps during the night watch - before the gruelling cycle began again in
the evening.
Architecture
Many of the processes underlying changes in dwelling form discussed in
Chapter 6 were strongly in evidence at Sanaydin. Both tents and stone-
walled huts were present, the former outnumbering the latter by about
two to one, but there was evidence of a trend away from the use of tents
and towards the construction of huts. The location of Sanaydin with
respect to the sedentism-nomadism continuum might be described as
intermediate or transitional, with a currently discernible tendency
towards sedentism. Under conditions of relative peace and security,
where the land is owned or leased, and where market forces do not
favour the expansion of pastoral activity one might expect, (a) a mixture
of temporary and permanent dwelling forms, and (b) a tendency towards
the predominance of fixed as opposed to portable architectural elements.
This is precisely what seems to be occurring at Sanaydin Yayla.
The tents employed at Sanaydin, of a kind common in southern
Anatolia, are known variously as alaak or gatma ev, and may be represent-
ed geometrically by a half cylinder rounded at both ends. Examples of this
type have already been referred to in Chapter 6. Four or more semicircular
hoops, each consisting of two curved sticks lashed together, are placed in
a row parallel to each other and horizontal struts are tied at intervals,
parallel to the ground. At each end curved sticks are placed in an arc and
tied together at the top. A reed screen is placed around the perimeter and
thick felt slabs or goat-hair tentcloth draped over the top of the frame-
work thus formed, held in place by encircling ropes weighted with stones
(Figs. 6.4, 6.5 and 9.2b). Tents of essentially similar construction have
been described in adjacent areas of the Goksu Valley and the coast be-
tween Mersin and Silifke by early-twentieth-century observers (Yalman
1977, p.241; Mordtmann 1925; Brandenberg 1905; Wenzel 1937).
Though structurally and genetically the Sanaydin tents bear no similar-
ity to the tig direkli (four-poled) black tents also employed in the same
region, the ground plans and arrangement of fixtures within and around
the dwelling site were indistinguishable from those found in black-tent
encampments. Observation of an abandoned tentsite would provide few
clues as to the superstructure, aside from the presence or absence of
peripheral tent-peg holes and depressions or stone supports where poles
Sanaydin Yayla
167
Fig. 9.2 Views of an alaak at
Sanaydin Yayla, abandoned
and occupied.
(a) Frame of an abandoned
alaak. The wooden frame is
only partly intact and the
plastered stone hearth and
storage structures have
been somewhat disturbed.
(b) An occupied alaak
showing forecourt and
work areas. External
storage structures have
been restored. Note also
the work areas in front of
the tent.
had been placed. The tentsites from Sanaydin shown in Fig. 9.3a do not
differ markedly in dimension, form or feature from those in Fig. 9.3b,
the remnants of a black-tent encampment some 10 kilometres to the
southeast.
Strong regularities in the internal organization of tents of radically dif-
ferent form extended to the stone huts employed by a number of families
at Sanaydin Yayla. These were of sturdy construction with rough stone
walls about 1.5 metres high and roofed with beams and crosspieces
plastered
3m
reeds
0 1
i......... i
3m
horn core* * i
goat
skull
Sanaydin Yayla 169
Fig. 9-3 Hoojplans of tents
from sites within a few
kilometres of each other at
the head of the Goksu
Valley. Note the similarity
in floorplans although the
tent superstructures are
based on entirely different
principles.
(a) Plans of alaaks at
Sanaydin Yayla.
(b) A nearby camp of black
tents with floorplans of
similar dimensions and
comparable features.
/7/ h U\J A
KEY
C heart h
c chicken box
xxx thornbush
i^
m
J midden
/fy cache of
tentpoles
topped with straw or reeds and compacted earth. In a few cases a central
log support was employed and a wooden door attached by wire to the
entrance. Yet in terms of the overall dimensions and the arrangement of
fixtures, features and furniture both inside and out, the interior of a hut
differed not at all from that of an alaak. Like the houses and tents ob-
served by Watson (1979) in western Iran and the tent footings and mud
huts observed in Baluchistan (Audouze and Jarrige 1978, 1981), the
removal of above-ground structures would leave dwelling sites indistin-
guishable in size, shape and overall layout, regardless of the type of tent or
walled structure that had surmounted them.
The domestic complex
Looking down on the campsite from the highway above I was immedi-
ately struck not only by the regularities in layout of each tent complex but
also by consistencies in orientation, alignment and spacing (Fig. 9.4). This
high degree of redundancy observed in the construction and layout of the
dwellings themselves and associated living and work areas may be for-
malized in terms of a spatial model.
Each individual dwelling and its surrounding living space may be sche-
matically representated by a domestic complex such as that illustrated in
Fig. 9.5a. The entire unit occupies a rectangle or rhomboid approximately
20 metres by 10 metres divisible into two roughly equal subunits - a living
zone and a discard zone. The living zone may be further divided structurally
into the dwelling, forecourt and features, and functionally into a number
of domains as illustrated in Fig. 9.5b. The discard zone, it turns out, is
similarly structured, its features bearing a consistent relationship to the
complex of tent and forecourt. A major channel of activity occurs along
the axis of the complex, from tent entrance to external hearth and beyond
to the ash dump and wood-chop area, with kindling wood going into the
living zone and charcoal, ash, food scraps and domestic refuse coming
out.
The entire domestic complex may be represented in terms of two
intersecting axes, the short a axis defining the orientation of the tent or
dwelling and the longer b axis defining the extent and orientation of the
complex as a whole. Ideally the axes will intersect in the general vicinity
of the internal hearth and be approximately perpendicular. The actual
orientation of the axes and their angle with respect to one another will
depend largely on the subtle interaction of slope and terrain. Normally the
b axis, defining the domestic complex, will be located in the direction of
slope, and the a axis along the contour line. However, when freed from
the constraints of terrain, the ideal configuration will be an east-west
orientation for the a axis (i.e. the dwelling) and a north-south alignment
along the b axis, with the living zone located in the northern sector and
the discard zone in the southern. The actual alignment and angle of
intersection of the axes will depend on the interaction of factors of slope,
terrain and aspect, with the last of these being the main one under ideal
conditions, but otherwise largely subordinated to constraints imposed by
the first two.
Before proceeding to a consideration of the implications of these
ground rules for the overall structure of the campsite it is necessary to turn
to the internal organization of the domestic complex. If each axis is envis-
aged in terms of a section through the domestic complex, then it is
apparent that much of the architectural and locational information within
the unit occurs along these axes. In other words an archaeologist wishing
to excavate such a unit would be just as well served by a couple of well-
placed 1 metre trenches following the two axes as by a full exposure of
the entire area. But, bearing in mind that there may be no a priori grounds
for determining the precise location of either axis, the initial problem
becomes one of being able to locate oneself accurately in terms of the
domestic complex model, whatever piece of the complex may be initially
encountered.
Sanaydm Yayla 171
Fig. 9-4 General view of
Sanaydm Yayla looking
across Area A. Note the
consistency in orientation
* ''it AL ' *-jM vr.
of tents and organization of
living and work space.
In view of the archaeological objectives of the investigation it is neces-
sary to ask ourselves the following questions: (a) to what extent is spatial
patterning in the living zone of a particular domestic complex related to
spatial patterning in the corresponding discard zone
;
and (b) how might
such patterns be detected archaeologically?
Fig. 9-5 The domestic
complex model. The a-a1
axis defines the orientation
of the tent while the b-b1
axis defines the main axis
of activity space.
(a) Formal composition of a
stylized domestic complex.
Domains include:
A: dwelling
B: forecourt
C: external hearth
D: external storage
E: wood-chopping area
F- ash dump
G: midden.
Structures include:
i: walls
ii: hearths
iii: storage structures
iv: plastered floors
v: stamped earth floors.
(b) Activity areas
superimposed over the
domestic complex.
(M=men; W=women;
MW=men and women.)
Activities include:
1: sleeping (MW)
2: eating (MW)
3: cooking (W)
4: weaving
5": general domestic
chores (W)
6: churning (W)
7: chopping wood (MW)
8: milking cow (W).
LIVING
ZONE
DISCARD
ZONE
r Wk
> - - i - . _ _ _^ /III/j
n//////Ai'////}/A^% t . . fi
* ,' %''":" V ; *.
mi d d e n | d e p o s i t
ai a
LIVING
ZONE
DISCARD
ZONE
t:&* h v i n g H ^ l ash U 1 3.v*3 f i v i n g
:%**. f | o o r ..v.-.-.v. .%**. f | o o r
Y////{s\orage $&%:
wood
? I ? ? 1 5 M storage
Quantitative analysis of discard
Conceived in terms of a site structure model
;
with the domestic complex
as the operational unit, the archaeological problems involved in detecting
and analysing an open settlement such as Sariaydin Yayla are thrown into
a new light. It soon became clear that detailed observations of daily life
and activities, such as those prompted by a functionalist perspective
(Bonnichsen 1973; Binford 1978a; Longacre and Ayres 1968; Watson 1979;
Murray and Chang 1980)
;
were of limited potential in answering the kind
of questions I wished to address. In carrying out a surface recording of
selected areas of the site I was not so much concerned with establishing a
link between observed artifact distributions and past activities as in deter-
mining the scale, density and texture of artifact and refuse scatters and
their location vis-a-vis the dwellings and features. My aim was to explore
the possibility that the distribution of artifacts on such a site might bear a
close relation to the pattern of features and structures summarized in the
domestic complex.
Quantitative spatial analysis: Area A
Surface recording using a 5 metre grid over a 50 by 50 metre area of the
site, designated Area A, revealed that, while there was a thin background
Sanaydin Yayla 173
Fig. 9.6 Plan of Area A sh-
owing domestic complexes
A and B and recording zone
A.
AREA A
&
RECORDING
ZONE A
SV-1
#? ash dump
* * wood pile
# tracks
<~> stoney area
c hearth
scatter of items over the entire area
;
all item classes were strongly clus-
tered, the highest concentrations occurring within the discard zones of
the two major domestic complexes contained within the area (Fig. 9.6).
The density of items in the living zones was generally no higher, and
often lower, than in the areas outside domestic complexes.
Of the four dwelling sites within Area A, only two (nos. 2 and 3)
possessed well-defined discard zones. Dwelling site no. 6 appeared not to
have been used for some considerable time, while no. 8, a hut site, was
located at the junction of two arms of the stream so that refuse was
dumped directly into the gullies to be washed away with the first down-
pour. Tentsites nos. 2 and 3 had been occupied during the summer of
1980, but remained abandoned throughout 1981, ensuring the survival of
much surface material which had had a chance to settle after the last
winter snow cover and spring deluge. From a practical viewpoint, the area
offered advantages unavailable in those areas of the camp which were still
occupied. Although the daily passage of Mustapha Bey's 200 strong flock
in and out of the adjacent corral precluded the laying out of a full grid
system, with the aid of a few cunningly-placed datum pegs and a collaps-
ible 1 metre recording frame, I was able to pursue my eccentricities with-
out intruding unduly into day-to-day household activities.
1 /
b pottery 1
d plastic 1
* * .** *
. ** **
a bone 1
J ..
5 . . .
f nihhprl.
1 . .
h
.*.
. *
J
c a lass |. -
*
i
g charcoal L
. * > "
h fextilel / , -' :.
wood
e metal 1
r
1
s 4

<
<

bindina [
DURABLES PERISHABLES
Fig. 9.7 Distribution of
items over recording
zone A, Sanaydin Yayla.
(a) animal bone; (b) pot
sherds; (c) glass sherds;
(d) plastic scrap; (e) metal
scrap; (f) rubber scrap;
(g) charcoal and wood
scrap; (h) textile; (i) binding
(string, cloth); a
;
b, c, d and
e are classed as durables,
f, g, h and i as perishables.
Within Area A the discard zone associated with tentsite no. 2 was
selected for more detailed study. All surface material was recorded by
location and item class within a 1 metre grid system. The main line of
investigation here was the extent to which the distribution of materials in
the recording zone - roughly coinciding with a discard zone - was struc-
tured both internally and in relation to the features contained in the living
zone.
Very little information can be gleaned from the raw distributions of
item classes (Fig. 9.7) other than that some materials, notably glass sherds,
rubber and plastic, tended to concentrate in the upper part of the record-
ing zone nearest the tentsite, while others, particularly textile and binding
materials, were scattered in a more even and 'random' pattern throughout
the area. Nearest neighbour analysis of each distribution confirms this
observation (Table 9.1) with glass sherds exhibiting the strongest ten-
dency towards clustering. However certain distributions appeared to be
closely associated with each other.
The underlying trends in spatial patterning were most effectively
brought out by means of multivariate analysis. Principal components
Sanaydin Yayla 175
Table 9.1a Nearest neighbour statistics for distributions of items, recording zone A, Sanaydin Yayla, indicating the
degree of clustering. Only glass shows a significant degree of clustering
Distribution r-value Number
Bone
Potsherds
Plastic
Glass sherds
Metal scrap
Rubber
Textile scrap
The r statistic ranges from 0.0 (maximum clustering) through 1.0 (random distribution) to 1.4 (systematic
arrangement)
Table 9.1b Test for segregation between pairs of item distributions, Area A, Sanaydin Yayla. Most pairs of
distributions display a random association only
Bone Pottery Plastic Glass sherds Metal scrap Rubber Textile
scrap
0.853
1.173
0.869
0.671
1.117
0.831
0.818
118
8
83
31
18
34
113
Bone
Pottery
Plastic
Glass sherds
Metal scrap
Rubber
Textile scrap
0.066
0.002
0.177
-0.075
-0.059
0.219
-0.089
-0.024
0.224
0.189
0.091
0.226
0.024
-0.069
0.220
0.040
0.176
-0.073
-0.054
-0.073 0.197
The S-statistic ranges from 1.0 (maximum segregation) through 0.0 (random association) to -1.0 (complete
association)
analysis revealed two main complexes of items, one dominated by plastic
and rubber together with moderate loadings in glass sherds, metal and
animal bone, and the other dominated by cloth and binding material (see
Table 9.2). The former may be regarded as general discard from tentsite
no. 3
;
while the cloth
;
wool and string are probably the result of shearing,
an activity observed earlier in another part of the site. Cloth or string is
used to tie the animals' legs during the shearing operation. The distribu-
tion of the components displayed a high degree of spatial coherence, with
Component 1 located in the upper discard zone and Component 2 in the
Table 9.2a Principal components analysis of recording zone A, Sanaydin Yayla - correlation coefficients for
durables and perishables
Pottery
Glass
Plastic
Metal
Rubber
Textile
Binding
Bone
-0.0694
0.4331
0.4907
0.1738
0.5826
0.1423
0.1226
Pottery
0.1549
-0.1213
-0.0894
0.1730
-0.1020
-0.0246
Durables
Glass
0.4020
0.3763
0.4217
0.1767
0.1329
Plastic
0.6192
0.7239
0.2354
0.0803
Metal
0.3483
0.1590
0.0243
Perishables
Rubber Textile
0.0961
0.1071 0.4131
Table 9.2b Principal components analysis of recording zone A, Sanaydm Yayla - compound loadings on variables
Bone
Pottery
Glass
Plastic
Metal
Rubber
Textile
Binding
Eigenvalue
% variance
All materials
1
0.494
0.000
0.458
0.751
0.409
0.664
0.130
0.063
2.97
37.14
Plastic
Rubber
Bone
2
0.006
0.145
0.009
0.007
0.005
0.068
0.525
0.531
1.35
16.85
Binding
Textile
Durables
1
0.476
0.007
0.510
0.737
0.538
2.26
45.30
Plastic
Metal
Glass
2
0.004
0.865
0.174
0.027
0.028
1.10
22.05
Pottery
lower area (Fig. 9.8a). A similar result was obtained through cluster analy-
sis (Fig. 9.8b). With the exclusion of perishable items Component 2 and
cluster group C disappeared, leaving the distribution of the remaining
units relatively unchanged and indicating the selective effects of differen-
tial preservation.
As with Ali's camp, the overall spatial pattern that emerged may be
summarized as a series of broad arcs around a focal area coinciding with
the ash dump. More than any particular spatial pattern or association
between items, the analysis revealed the presence of spatial structure
within the midden deposit, a structure which is highly suggestive of the
general domestic complex configuration of which it is a part. Assuming
no knowledge of features outside the study zone, the discovery of such a
pattern might serve to alert an investigator to the possible presence of a
living zone and tentsite in the area peripheral to the focal zone of concen-
tration of items.
Spatial analysis of two complexes: Area B
Having established that it is possible to detect the presence and structure
of a discard zone, the next question is: given an undifferentiated area of
midden deposit, is it possible to distinguish between two or more discard
zones emanating from separate dwellings? Area B, located in the southern
part of the campsite, contained two adjacent tentsites and a swathe of
refuse along the slope below. While the discard zones of the two tents
could be easily distinguished by the separate distributions of wood scrap
and ash, no such pattern was immediately apparent in the distribution of
other items. None of the distributions displayed marked tendencies
towards clustering and most pairs of items exhibited no more than a
random association, indicating a comparative lack of structuring in the
data.
The application of multivariate analysis again confirmed its ability to
Sanaydm Yayla 177
Fig. 9-8 Results of principal
components and spatial
clustering for recording
zone A, Sanaydin Yayla.
(a),(b) and (c) Plots of scores
on principal components
1, 2 and 3 over recording
zone A. Components 1
and 2 show a high degree
of spatial coherence.
(d) Spatial clustering of 8
distributions across record-
ing zone A (Ward's method
on raw data).
(e) Spatial clustering on du-
rables only.
+ Scoras
(H) o-i
- SCOTM
0 -1--2
0-2-3
bone
pottery
glass
plastic
metal
rubber
textiles
binding
3
3 ,'
I,
d
1
b^
''3 2j
3 { 4
i l l
fS:::S:\
5*::: 5*:.
4
3)
:8=8r
Aa -
n
mm
^ ^
: : 5:
bone
pottery
glass
plastic
metal
m
3
3 /
e
1
' 2
1 !
: 5:
:
2 )
3
-.6::
'.6'-"5:
:
''7.".
:7:::5--' 7:-
p
:5:
:5 :*::*5:::5V:
:::*: .*..".:\v3
GROUP |]C
extract intuitively meaningful and spatially coherent patterns from very
low-resolution data (Table 9.3). In each case
;
for both all materials and
durables alone, spatial plots of both principal components and clusters
revealed clear segregation into two discrete complexes, each of which
could be linked to an associated dwelling structure (Fig. 9.9).
Comparative spatial analysis of Areas A and B
Recording zones A and B differed substantially in their respective propor-
tions of animal bone as opposed to other remains and also in the relative
Table 9.3a Principal components analysis for item distributions in Area B, Sanaydm Yayla - correlation coefficients
for durables and perishables
Bone
Pottery
Glass
Plastic
Metal
Rubber
Textile
Binding
Bone
0.1437
-0.0572
0.3397
0.1579
0.1226
-0.0605
0.0221
Pottery
0.2160
-0.0519
-0.2230
0.1326
-0.2127
-0.1391
Durables
Glass
0.0229
0.0292
-0.0267
0.0112
0.1914
Plastic
-0.0140
0.2869
0.2497
0.0564
Metal
0.2001
0.1825
0.0004
Perishables
Rubber Textile
0.3230
0.1812 0.0239
Table 9.3b Principal components analysis for item distributions in Area B, Sanaydm Yayla - component loadings
on variables
Bone
Pottery
Glass
Plastic
Metal
Rubber
Textile
Binding
Eigenvalue
% variance
1
0.176
0.281
0.032
0.324
0.212
0.452
0.345
0.096
1.92
24.00
Rubber
Textile
Plastic
All materials
(8 variables)
2
-0.172
0.912
0.491
0.192
0.007
-0.023
-0.000
0.211
1.29
16.12
Glass
3
-0.506
0.001
0.089
-0.130
0.156
0.023
0.267
-0.157
1.11
13.90
Bone
Durables
(5 variables)
1
0.496
0.371
0.059
0.307
0.257
1.49
29.71
Bone
Pottery
Plastic
2
-0.201
0.256
0.373
-0.293
0.097
1.22
24.31
Glass
Plastic
proportion of durables to perishables (Table 9.4). While the higher propor-
tion of perishables in Area B may be a result of its being only recently
abandoned as compared with tentsite no. 3 which had been unoccupied
for a year, the disparity in faunal remains may well reflect an economic
reality. According to Mustapha Bey the households occupying Area B
maintained only small flocks for domestic use and which were integrated
with the flocks of more pastorally oriented households for herding
purposes.
Bone and artifact distributions: Area A
Although multivariate analysis was not attempted for the whole of Area
A
;
the locations of the discard zones of tentsites nos. 2 and 3 were broadly
consistent with the density contours for each material (Fig. 9.10). How-
ever the distribution of faunal elements in Area A was complex. As areas
Sanaydm Yayla 179
Fig. 9- 9 Results of principal
components and spatial
clustering for recording
zone B. Note the replica-
tion of both component
score contours and cluster
groups in two parts of the
study zone.
(a) and (b) Plots of scores on
principal components 1 and
2 over recording zone B.
(c) Spatial clustering of
8 distributions across
recording zone A (Ward's
method on raw data).
0:1
m
1-2
2-3
a all materials
scores 0t o- 1 - 1t o- 2
b durables
(f'i'l ?___*_ Iw^^^
c all materials
Table 9.4a Comparisons between recording zones A and B in terms of proportions of items
Material Recording zone A Recording zone B
Bone
Pottery
Glass
Plastic
Metal
Rubber
Textile
Binding
(A/)
140
8
35
88
20
38
135
52
516
(%)
27.13
1.55
6.78
17.05
3.87
7.36
26.16
10.08
100.22
(A/)
27
10
8
40
15
11
125
52
288
(%)
9.37
3.47
2.78
13.89
5.21
3.82
43.40
18.05
99.99
Table 9.4b Phi-square tests of significant difference between recording zones A and B for item classes
Durables Perishables Total
Recording zone A
291
56.4
225
43.6
516
Recording zone B (Exp)
% (Obs)
=55
162.4
100
0
2
= 0.1910
Bone
125.6
180
Non-bone
288
Total
Recording zone A
%
Recording zone B (Exp)
% (Obs)
140
27.1
78.0
27
376
72.9
209.9
261
516
288
= 45.78 0
2
= 0.1589
K J I H 6 F
2. nuclear area 2
3- nuclear area 3
-I
-2
K J I H 6 F E
0 C
0 hZ 3-5 6-10 1-5 16-20 Zh
Items per 5m
1
quadrat
BONE
ALL ARTIFACTS
(metal, pottery, tentc loth, glass)
Fig. 9.10 Contoured distri-
butions of items in Area A,
Sanaydin Yayla,
by 5 metre quadrats.
(a) Density of animal bone
in terms of counts per
5 square metres.
(b) Combined density of all
recorded artifacts by counts
per 5 square metres.
of high density occurred well outside the two discard zones the faunal
elements were grouped according to anatomical classes in order to detect
any further patterning (see Fig. 9.11). Apart from the discard zones of the
two domestic complexes
;
three major concentrations could be identified,
two to the south of domestic complex 3 and one to the north, near the
entrance to the corral. These have been designated 'special areas
7
. The
counts and percentages for each area are shown in Table 9.5, and it
appears that the special areas, particularly area b, differ in containing a
Sanaydm Yayla
181
Fig. 9-11 Distribution of
faunal remains in Area A,
Sariaydin Yayla. Five
major concentrations are
detectable, two of these co-
inciding with discard zones
2 and 3. The others appear
to be special activity zones
(a, b and c). Zone (a) was a
recent butchery site where
two goats were prepared
for the kurban bayram feast.
cd
SV-1.6/* . 1 ..
C ^
*" xx:
D Head (skull,horn, i Upper leg (humerus,rad,
horn cores) ulna,fem, tab tib.fib)
o Mandible/maxilla Lower leg (metapod.,
x Loose teeth astrag
7
calc.,phal.)
* Body (vertebra,scapula, Longbone fragment
pelvis,ribs) Bone scrap
/
A
tro
(" ''' * '
a
B A
a
o .
** Sr
Table 9.5 Faunal elements (ova-caprine, bos, eauid) in Area A, Sanaydm Yayla - frequencies and percentages of anatomical classes in different
zones of Area A (see Fig.94)
Head
Body
Upper leg
Lower leg
Lone bone
Domestic
complex
(AO
16
2
2
2
9
(%)
20.5
2.6
2.6
2.6
11.5
Domestic
complex
(AO
29
5
13
10
14
(%)
22.6
3.9
10.2
7.8
10.9
(A
45
7
15
12
23
Total
0 (%)
21.8
3.4
7.3
5.8
11.2
Special
Area a
(AO (%)
10 27.0
6 16.2
3 8.1
2 5.4
5 13.5
Special
Areab
(AO
14
2
0
0
1
(%)
46.7
6.7
0.0
0.0
3.3
Special
Areac
(AO
9
0
4
0
0
(%)
60.0
0.0
26.6
0.0
0.0
Total
(AO
33
8
7
2
6
(%)
40.2
9.7
8.6
2.4
7.3
Other
areas
(AO
19
6
1
2
3
(%)
26.0
8.2
1.3
2.7
4.1
Grand
total
(AO (%)
97 26.9
21 5.8
23 6.3
16 4.4
32 8.9
Scrap
Total
47
78
60.2
100.0
57
128
44.5
99.9
104
206
50.5
100.0
11
37
29.7
99.9
13
30
43.3
100.0
2
15
13.3
99.9
26
82
31.7
99.9
42
73
57.5
99.8
172
361
47.6
99.9
Head (skull, horn, horn cores, mandible, maxilla, loose teeth)
Body (vertebra, scapula, pelvis, ribs)
Upper leg (humerus, radius, ulna, femur, tibia, fibula, patella)
Lower leg (metapodials, astragalus, calcaneum, phalange, etc.)
Longbone (longbone fragment)
Scrap (bone scrap - unidentifiable)
higher proportion of head elements (mandible, maxilla, horn cores) than
in the discard zones. The discard zones contained a significantly higher
proportion of bone scrap (see Table 9.6). There is some indication that the
so-called special areas represent butchery events. This was known to have
been the case for special area a, where a few goats had reportedly been
slaughtered for Kurban Bayram, marking the end of the holy month of
Ramazan, a few weeks earlier. Mustapha Bey explained that animals
were always slaughtered away from the living areas. Special area c, with
the highest proportion of head elements and the lowest proportion of
scrap, may represent an earlier butchery event.
Table 9.6 Chi-scjuare tests for significant difference between domestic complexes and special areas, in terms of
faunal element classes
a. Identified bone v. bone scrap, domestic complexes and special areas
Domestic complexes
%
Special areas (Exp)
(Obs)
Identified
102
49.5
(40.6)
56
X
2
= 11.57 If. = 1 Significant at 0.001 level
Strap
104
50.5
(41.4)
26
b. Identified bone v. bone scrap, domestic complexes 2 and 3
Domestic complex 3
%
Domestic complex 2 (Exp)
(Obs)
Identified
71
55.5
(43.3)
31
X
2
= 7.85 d.f = \ Not significant at 0.001 level
Scrap
57
44.5
(34.7)
47
c. Head and lower leg, v. body and upper leg, domestic complexes and special areas
Domestic complexes
%
Special areas (Exp)
(Obs)
Head and lower leg
57
72.2
(36.1)
35
Body and upper leg
22
27.8
(13.9)
15
Total
206
82
Total
128
78
Total
79
50
= 0A2 d.f = \ Not significant at 0.05 level
Some implications for archaeological investigation
Suppose an archaeologist happened upon a site such as Sanaydin Yayla.
Assuming that features other than the ruined caravanserai and bridge
were noticed, the most likely result would probably be the recording of a
thin surface scatter and stone foundations and an immediate loss of inter-
est in favour of other sites with more interesting stratigraphic contexts.
Sanaydin Yayla 183
But just suppose that the archaeologist is intrigued by the site or is vaguely
aware of the possibility that he or she is dealing with a pastoral site. How
might the archaeologist go about investigating such a site? What kind of
excavation or surface recording strategy might be pursued? Techniques
for the investigation of extensive shallow sites have been discussed at a
general level in The Early Meso-American Village (Flannery (ed.) 1976), but a
more pertinent example is to hand in the form of Tepe Tula'i in south-
west Iran, which may be regarded as the first test case of nomad, or at
least pastoral, archaeology in the Near East (Hole 1974-75, n.d.).
Where little or nothing is known in advance about the nature of a site,
and resources of time and money are insufficient to undertake a more
leisurely investigation, the archaeologist's knee-jerk reaction is generally
to put in test pits or 'telephone boxes' in order to see what turns up. Such
was the case at Tula'i, where constraints of time left little leeway for
detailed planning. Out of a series of telephone boxes, two hit what appear
to have been midden zones, while three others were placed within what
appeared to be the stone foundations of tentsites showing up on the
bulldozed surface (see Chapter 11).
It will be clear from the above discussion that, if indeed Tepe Tula
;
i was
a nomad or pastoral campsite, as was suspected by the excavator, the last
place one would locate test pits in order to locate ceramics and household
debris would be in the tentsite itself. By the same token the location of
tentsites linked to the suspected midden zones uncovered in another part
of the site might have been deducible on the basis of trends in the orienta-
tion and associated features of the tentsites already excavated. What
might at first appear as a series of discrete and unrelated occurrences may
well come together as a coherent pattern whose details differ slightly
from the particular instance of the domestic complex outlined above, but
whose general dimensions and structure can be fitted to the model.
As a practical device for the detection and elucidation of nomad camp-
sites, the domestic complex model may prove useful. But in view of the
uncertain future of nomad archaeology in a Near Eastern context, its more
general applicability needs to be considered.
The domestic complex in context
Given that the primary analytical units that have emerged in relation
to the domestic complex are structural rather than behavioural - in the
strict sense (Schiffer 1976) - we are led to inquire as to the role of
the domestic complex in the overall structure of the site. From the form
of the domestic complex itself two principles may be derived. First,
domestic complexes are discrete spatial units and tend to be well spaced
in relation to one another. In nomad camps, one suspects, residential units
are so placed that each household is able to maintain sufficient space not
only for a full range of household activities to be carried out but also to
preserve a sense of spatial integrity with regard to other units. Second,
given the complex and asymmetrical nature of the unit - in contrast to
those derived by Yellen (1977) in the study of the !Kung - it is clear that,
above a certain density of settlement, the juxtaposition of units in relation
to one another must be highly constrained. The most economical settle-
ment pattern might be envisaged as a series of rows of tentsites arranged
end to end in parallel lines, the lines of tents being separated by at least 20
metres and the tentsites in each line separated by 5 to 10 metre intervals.
This tendency has been remarked on by a number of observers (Barth
1961; Digard 1975; Hole n.d.). On a perfectly flat and featureless plain - of
the kind not often encountered by nomads observed in the course of this
study - one might expect campsites to build up through accretion in such
a manner, the initial orientation of rows being a random matter.
But campsite structure is seldom free of other environmentally imposed
constraints. Indeed, as indicated in Chapter 7, campsites are initially
selected according to a stable set of favoured environmental criteria. One
such factor which is relatively free of location is that of aspect. As can be
observed from a glance at the Sanaydin Yayla camp (see Fig. 9.1), other
things being equal, the preferred orientation of tentsites appears to be
consistently along an east-west axis. That is, where other factors such as
slope do not intervene, such an orientation occurs. By extension the orien-
tation of domestic complexes under such conditions will be roughly
north-south. Depending on the desirability of reducing or enhancing
absorption of the sun's rays by tentcloth or stone foundations, the direc-
tion of such preferred orientation may be expected to vary both season-
ally and with altitude (Hole 1978; Beikgi 1969; Baharvand 1975). In the
case of Sanaydin Yayla, entrances and forecourts occurred generally on
the south side of the tent in order to take advantage of the sunlight which,
in these latitudes, always comes from the south.
The preference for sheltered locations on gently sloping ground in the
lee of steep hillslopes brings into play the factors of intensity and direction
of slope and contours. Although a particular orientation may be preferred,
this will nearly always be overridden by factors linked to terrain. On
slightly or moderately sloping ground the tentsites are located along the
line of contour, with the front or forecourt on the downhill side. Only
where slope is negligible, as in the cases of tentsites nos. 3, 4, 5 and 9,
does the tent begin to rotate away from the line of contour towards the
preferred east-west axis. Direction of slope becomes an increasingly
overriding factor as the steepness of slope increases, while an extremely
steep slope will tend to preclude the establishment of a tentsite altogether.
Thus a large part of the spatial structure of Sanaydin Yayla may be
deduced from the interaction of the environmental features and settle-
ment constraints discussed above.
10
THE LOST WORLD
OF NEMRUT DAG
Yet not a single Kurdish tent, no shepherd, no wayfarer can we descry in the
wide landscape of the volcanic basin. We observe paved holes in the ground
where it is evident that bread has recently been baked. There are stone enclo-
sures for penning cattle. More and more clearly we realize that the crater must
be inhabited and that this floating population have decamped at the approach
of the soldiers.
(Lynch 1901, pp.303-4)
The setting
Having climbed the 2,000 metres or so from the shores of Lake Van to the
rim of the crater of Nemrut Dag, the traveller is treated to an awesome
sight. Below stretches a huge basin surrounded on all sides by precipitous
walls. The interior is a tumbled chaos of conical hills, lava flows, depres-
sions and jagged outcroppings of rhyolitic rock and obsidian, its western
half drowned by the icy waters of a large semicircular lake. Nemrut Dag is
a collapsed caldera, the remnant of a lofty volcano which emerged from
the floor of the plateau to dam up the waters of Lake Van to the east. It is
one of a chain of volcanic eminences lying to the north of the folded
ridges of the Taurus Mountains - Ararat and Siiphan to the east, Bingol,
Erciyas and Hasan Dag further west.
On descending into this lost world, the encircling mountain rim closes
off the outside world leaving only the barren moonscape of stony ridges,
scree slopes and flat internal drainage basins of alluvial ash occupied by
shallow lakes. The floor of the crater is an almost perfect circle nearly
8 kilometres in diameter, lying at 601 metres above the surface of Lake
Van (see Fig. 10.1). Near the centre of the caldera is a conical hill truncated
by a deep crater and surrounded by lava flows thrown up in the last
recorded eruption during the fourteenth century (Yalginlar 1972-73).
Much of the rubble strewn around the floor of the caldera is a form of
low-grade obsidian or volcanic glass, mottled with white flecks. High in
the surrounding walls, where jets of lava were spewed out and super-
cooled when the volcano collapsed inwards upon itself, are to be found
deposits of high-grade obsidian of a pure, lustrous black or dark emerald
green (Renfrew et al. 1968; Wright 1969). From Palaeolithic through
Neolithic and Early Bronze times this precious material, used to manufac-
ture stone tools with a fine cutting edge, was quarried and traded as far
afield as the early Neolithic site of Ali Kosh in southwest Iran (Hole et al.
1969).
185
Fig. 10.1 Interior of the vol-
canic caldera of Nemrut
Dag, eastern Anatolia. The
locations of campsites
studied are indicated,
together with the possible
location of the campsite at
which Imael Beikc,i re-
sided in the 1960s. (After
Yalgmlar 1972-73, fig.14.)
KEY
Campsites
mentioned in
text
Approximate
location of
Beîkci's
zoma, 1965
Lava flow
A
Two rough tracks, fit only for four-wheel-drive vehicles, cross the
eastern rim of the caldera where it dips to its lowest point, and the floor of
the crater is criss-crossed with tracks and pathways. Earlier travellers were
greeted by a similar scene. In the 1890s a British geologist, interested in
the vulcanology of Nemrut Dag, mounted an expedition into the crater
under heavy escort provided by the Ottoman Sultan:
But what is the meaning of these many paths which seam the in-
terior, arguing a considerable traffic to an fro. Are there villages in the
crater? We have never heard of any, we are assured that none exist.
Not a fire, no light is anywhere visible, but the tracks are broad and
have all the appearance of being regularly used. We feel surprise and
express it to the Kaimakam. He answers us naively that Kurds come
here now and then.
(Lynch 1901, p.301)
Contemporary writers such as Williams (1972, pp.124-5) also report
that the crater is uninhabited except for a few 'Y6riiks
;
(sic) who graze
their flocks there in summer.
Nemrut Dag is indeed an inhospitable place for human settlement.
Summer temperatures fall between 20 and 25 while winter temperatures
never exceed 0 . Precipitation of 300-400 mm per annum on the plateau
and 1,000-1,500 mm on the higher slopes occurs chiefly in winter as
snowfall which covers the interior of the crater to a depth of 1 to 1.5
metres for a period of up to 130 days. As early as the end of September the
passes into the crater may be blocked by heavy snowfall (ibid., p.124),
and the more concealed crannies in the southern wall contain snowdrifts
NemrutDag 187
which never melt. The highly acidic volcanic soils are unsuited to agricul-
ture as is the rocky nature of the terrain. Only during spring and early
summer do the crater and its external slopes experience a brief explosion
of pasture growth fed by unlimited supplies of melt-water. It is the pros-
pect of a few months
7
rich grazing that attracts the nomads to Nemrut
Dag every summer.
Nemrut Dag holds special significance not only because it contains such
a large concentration of campsites within a well-defined area
;
but because
it was here that a young social anthropologist named Imail Beikqi
carried out what is perhaps the most intensive study of a nomadic com-
munity in Anatolia. As a young army conscript posted to the wilds of
eastern Anatolia, Beikgi became acquainted with other conscripts who, it
turned out
;
came from local Kurdish nomad tribes. He visited their camp-
sites, extended his network of acquaintances, and gradually conceived the
idea of carrying out a systematic study. As a graduate student at
Erzurum's Atatlirk University, Beikgi returned to the field armed with
notebook and questionnaires, and set up camp in Nemrut Dag with a
large camp group of the Alikan Airet (tribe). The social survey methods
and tabulated results employed in the study are not every anthropologists
idea of the ideal ethnographic method, but the range of information and
detail of observations are exemplary. Unfortunately the work is little
known - it is in Turkish.
My own researches in Nemrut Dag were restricted by the extreme
difficulty of access to the place. My efforts were not made any easier by
the attentions of the huge, shaggy mastiffs with iron-studded collars
which the nomads keep as watch dogs and for protection against wolves.
More than one foray into a nomad camp had to be hastily aborted under
their onslaughts. On other occasions the shepherds, having assured me
that the dogs had been trained not to attack humans, were able to explain
the purpose of various features and structures in the abandoned campsites
while visits to the few occupied campsites provided glimpses of the same
features in systemic context and were also memorable for displays of
nomad hospitality.
In the following account I shall attempt to link my own observations
and uninformed interpretations of abandoned campsites to the dynamic
perspective provided by Beikgi's (1969) account of Alikanli economic and
social organization.
Initial observations
In the course of my initial visit to the crater in late July 1978 my attention
was caught by what appeared from a distance to be a deserted, stone-built
village. The settlement occupied a small plateau on the edge of a rugged
lava flow perched above a small briny lake. The following account is
taken from fieldnotes made at the time:
On a rise to the south of this [lake] is located what I will call an
'abandoned village
7
- very recently abandoned at that. The walls are
of stone and consist of foundations only, about 1 metre to 1.5 metres
high, both circular and rectangular. They show obvious signs of very
recent human habitation - pieces of cloth, pieces of fresh goat skin,
animal bones with traces of flesh
;
empty bottles . . . pieces of rope
;
string etc., and many broken shoes. As mere is not the slightest trace
of any superstructure or roofing material, I assume that these are the
foundations for a 'black tent
7
encampment of nomadic Kurds . . . Each
'house
7
consists of two or three 'rooms
7
and each has a large fireplace
in the main room. Some fireplaces consist of besser blox transported
especially for that purpose and there are many lids of tin cannisters
that may have served as frying pans or fire guards. Many 'houses
7
have large storage jars [sic] sunk into the ground just outside the front
door. The general impression is one of comfort and some degree of
permanence, or at least regular occupation. Obviously the inhabitants
nave departed with their flocks for greener pastures a few weeks ago
which makes their occupation late June or mid July.
(Fieldnotes 26/7/1978)
That such a settlement type has a respectable history in the caldera of
Nemrut Dag is confirmed by the remarks of the geologist and explorer
Lynch (1901, p.304) who was also puzzled by the abundant evidence for
human habitation in such a wilderness.
A second concentration of stone-built structures (ND-2, see Fig. 10.1), in
a much worse state of disrepair than those described above, was dis-
covered not far from here in a dry stream bed between two lava flows
where the small lake mentioned above discharged into Nemrut Lake. The
remains of at least 44 structures could be discerned, partly submerged in
alluvial deposits. Large blocks of white, mottled obsidian and rhyolite
were used in the construction. Surface material consisted of animal bones,
particularly ova-caprine mandibles, and a few large, coarse ceramic
sherds, some with interior glazing. A third site (ND-3), which appeared to
consist of corral structures only, but may have contained disturbed tent-
sites as well, was observed in a small valley near the centre of the caldera.
A fourth site (ND-4), observed in the distance at the base of a lava flow in
the northwest of the crater, was still occupied. A single large black tent
pitched over stone walls was visible and flocks of sheep were being
grazed on the surrounding lava flows. To its west, abandoned tentsites
(ND-5) were strewn at the base of the lava flow.
Interpretation of campsite ND-1
In late September 1981, when I returned briefly to Nemrut Dag, the crater
was dry and desiccated, grazing having removed most of the grass, and
the alluvial plains and shallow lakes shimmered in the heat. High in the
crater walls outcrops of obsidian glinted in the sunlight. From the central
cone the site designated ND-4 was seen to be occupied by a number of
black tents. The flocks, strung out in long lines like an army on the march,
raised clouds of yellow dust high into the air. ND-1, as before, was
abandoned (Fig. 10.2).
Recording of ND-1
According to a passing shepherd the campsite had been constructed six
years earlier but had not been used - at least by his own group - for the
Nemrut Dag 189
Fig. 10.2 Abandoned Alik-
anli campsite ND-1 from
the north. Note the location
of the campsite on a terrace
at the edge of a lava flow
overlooking a small lake.
The lake level has been
lowered during the summer
months through evapora-
tion and the watering of
livestock. Fragmentary ten-
tsites were observed on the
small plain at upper right
during July 1978.
- " . ~ : : . > : ~ ' - : ; " ^ ; ;
last four years. Since in the short time available I was unable to glean
much information about the demographic composition of previous
inhabitants
;
the interpretation that follows is based entirely on the ma-
terial remains themselves and will be checked later against information
from Beikqi's account of the Alikanli. Although other tentsites lacking
high stone walls, but with stone outlines, were to be found among the
hillocks of the lava flow to the south of ND-1, I shall be concerned here
only with the structures of the main camp shown in Fig. 10.3.
Dwelling structures
Walls, constructed from low-grade obsidian and porous rhyolite boulders
lightly held together with mud mortar, ranged from 1 metre to 1.5 metres
in height, and were 50 to 60cm in thickness (see Fig. 10.3). Dwellings
consisted of variable numbers and sizes of rooms together with partly
enclosed forecourts, entrances and annexes. Most rooms possessed stone
storage platforms running along one or more walls. Internal features in-
cluded hearths, usually a simple structure of three rectangular stones,
sometimes set into stone platforms. Some hearths were more elaborate,
such as that recorded in dwelling 3 (see Figs. 6.8b and 10.3). This was a
recessed hearth with a vent conveying the smoke up inside the wall itself,
similar to the one in Ali's camp. The floors were of levelled and stamped
earth and on some were to be found small stone circles or depressions
marking the position of tent poles. Some rooms contained large rectangu-
lar grinding slabs, though a large grindstone present in 1978 had since
disappeared. Large, coarse rim, base and body sherds were scattered
about the floors of some dwellings.
External features
Outside the dwellings were to be found more hearths, similar to those
described above, in forecourts or kitchen annexes. The subterranean 'stor-
age vessels
7
are in fact bread ovens, and most dwellings had at least one,
either in the forecourt or in a separate kitchen enclosure. In some cases a
collapsed pit marked the place where a bread oven had previously been
situated, the vessel having either been removed or the broken sherds
buried. Kitchen middens, wood scrap and ash dumps were found in
association with all of the dwellings, but not with the corrals on the
southern margin of the site.
Other structures included small annexes for storing dung, and even
smaller stone structures which seem to have served as chicken coops.
Fig. 10.3 Plan of campsite
ND-1, NemrutDag, togeth-
er with floorplan of tentsite
no. 11 (inset). Note the
location of middens relative
to tentsites, the line of
corrals to the south and the
clustering of tentsites into
contiguous groups. The
camp has been divided up
into zones and demogra-
phic units corresponding to
households.
'"""' drain\ ($#
/ ' ' - '
\ P \ * bovine I equid ('""'}
ALIKANLI CAMPSITE ND-1
NEMRUT DAG
0 10 20 30m
3g$ >m
e hearth
o bread oven/pit
0 stone slab
i;V^-> midden deposit
?<<. dung deposit
(V; site for guest tent
NemrutDag 191
Adjacent to some of the dwellings were circular patches of stamped earth
with signs of a central posthole. These were the sites of small, white
conical 'guest tents', in which guests or hired shepherds are accommo-
dated. I had seen one of these freshly abandoned in 1978 with the green
sapling tent pegs still in place.
Among the most intriguing features were two latrines, solidly con-
structed out of stones to waist height, and situated strategically at the
edge of the plateau. There was no cesspit - instead, an opening at the base
of the rear wall was designed to convey waste matter down the slope and
away from the settlement. The considerable effort that must have gone
into these sanitary arrangements suggests that the site was intended to be
used for long periods at a stretch.
Stratigraphy
This is an unlikely term to be using in connection with nomad sites! But
although no excavation was carried out, the walls of one of the bread-
oven pits displayed about half a dozen clearly stratified layers in section,
some of them heavily carbonized (see Fig. 5.6). Since the pit occurred in a
kitchen area, it is likely that successive years - perhaps generations - of
activity could have built up sizeable deposits from the dumping of ash
cleaned out of the bread oven or from the hearths and from food scraps,
sherds and other debris mixed with the fine volcanic dust that blows
across the site in summer.
Geological processes were also operating on ND-1. Behind the line of
sheep corrals at the southern margin of the campsite, deposits of
alluvium, either washed down from the slopes above or carried by snow
movement, had piled up against the rear walls to a depth of nearly 0.5 m.
Eventually such deposits might be expected to cover the site to a consider-
able depth, leaving only the remnants of the stone walls above the sur-
face. Such a site would be not only visible to the trained eye, but also
stratified (both geologically and archaeologically), and should contain
recognizable floorplans and diagnostic artifacts such as ceramics and
bone.
The spatial analysis of ND-1
As already suggested in Chapter 9, the layout of nomad sites in modular
units or domestic complexes should facilitate the analysis of demographic
and social structure. From the siteplan shown in Fig. 10.3, ND-1 appears
ideally suited to an experiment of this kind.
On the basis of the location of structures and other features, the area
was partitioned into seven zones (Fig. 10.3), one of which (zone G) con-
tained only corrals. Each of the other six zones (A-F) was defined in terms
of a spatially discrete building complex, for the most part containing
separate but associated dwellings. A dwelling is defined as a continuously
walled structure containing domestic features such as hearths or plat-
forms. Altogether there were 11 dwellings distributed among six com-
plexes. Most consisted of a number of rooms - not all of which contained
hearths - together with annexes, passages and forecourts and associated
features such as external kitchen facilities, guest tents and middens. This
Table 10.1 Estimated demographic composition ofND-1 based on the number of rooms and presence/absence of domestic facilities
Estimated no.
Int. Ext. Bread of nuclear Estimated
Complex Dwelling Rooms hearths hearths Slabs Platforms* ovens Middens Guest tents Corrals families population**
c
D
E
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
1
3
3
3
4
2
1
4
2
2
2
2
2
2
C
S
J
2
1
4
3
2
2
2
2
1
2
0
1
0
1
3
3
4
0
0
1
2
0
1
0
0
3
2
1
5
3
3
2
6
3
3
0
0
1
1
1
2
0
1
1
1
1
3
1
1
2
1
0
2
1
0
1
0
0
0
0
0
0
3
0
0
0
0
0
0
1
2
1
4
1
2
1
3
2
2
2
2
1
4
2
2
5
11
8
8
8
8
5
14
8
8
F
Total
11 3
27
3
25
0
14
1
11
3
34
1
9
2
14
2
6
1
12
3
24
11
94
Average population per unit = 8.6
* Number of sides
** Population estimates based on 5 for the first nuclear family and 3 for additional nuclear families
information has been summarized in Table 10.1. Of the 27 rooms - not
counting corrals - 24 contained hearths and/or other domestic facilities
and may be considered as residential units.
Reconstructing the demographic composition
of the community at ND-1
A major difficulty in making demographic inferences from archaeological
data - particularly in the case of nomad sites - is that the site may have
been successively occupied by groups of different sizes and varying com-
position. That this factor seems to have been important at ND-1 is evi-
denced by the changes in function undergone by a number of structural
units. The corral structure G.17 had an external hearth and kitchen annex
;
suggesting that it once served as a dwelling unit. Similarly the small corral
annex attached to B.5 contained a few hearth stones. Dwelling unit A.3
had recently been used as a fodder store, presumably while empty during
the latest occupation.
In order to avoid such ambiguities, the demographic and social recon-
struction of ND-1 will be based on the following assumptions:
(1) The interpretation will be based only on information that is recover-
able archaeologically, for example walls, hearths, bread ovens or pits,
floors, middens, dung deposits.
(2) The site will be regarded as representing a single and final occupation
phase which has subsequently been undisturbed.
As our concern is with population composition and social organization
rather than with population size per se, estimates of population from floor
area (Narroll 1962; Cook and Heizer 1968; Sumner 1979) are of doubtful
utility. Another approach in which the presence of domestic and cooking
NemrutDag 193
facilities is used to infer the number of domestic units involved in an
architectural complex (Kramer 1979a; Jacobs 1979; Watson 1979), seems
to accord better with the purpose in hand. Controlled ethnoarchaeologi-
cal studies in Iranian villages have shown that the number of hearths and
other facilities can serve as a rough indicator of household composition:
Built-in features such as bins, hearths, and ovens, while not reflecting
variations in wealth in either their building materials or numbers in a
compound, do reflect in a rough way the number of coresiding
nuclear families, rather than the number of individuals within
compounds.
(Kramer 1979, p. 159)
Hearths for baking bread are the only permanent fixtures used in
cooking. Any redundancy of these [cooking] tools within compound
walls woula imply more than one family unit. Indeed any more
would imply a multi-family compound.
(Jacobs 1979, p.188)
The criteria by which an individual nuclear family is recognized in the
present instance are as follows:
(1) The presence of an internal hearth in a room indicates that the room
contained a separate nuclear family.
(2) Failing this, the presence of other facilities such as grinding stones or
storage platforms may indicate that a room served as the abode of a
nuclear family, provided that the room has access to a hearth
elsewhere.
The resulting classification, on the basis of dwelling units, is shown in
Fig.10.4a.
Social organization
Altogether 23 nuclear family units were identified according to the above
criteria. Most of these could be further grouped into larger units corre-
sponding to a whole detached dwelling, of which there were 11. It was
hypothesized that these larger units represented joint or extended
households. On the basis of the distribution of kitchen facilities, cooking
appeared to be shared within the 'extended family
7
and to occur within
the forecourt areas in front of most of the dwellings. These contained the
external hearths and ceramic bread ovens that were presumably used in
common by the women of each extended household. The pattern of
refuse disposal revealed by the location of midden deposits was specific to
each dwelling unit, though some had more than one midden, while other
middens seem to have been shared between households. The total of
14 external hearths, 11 grinding slabs, 9 bread ovens and 14 middens,
although not evenly distributed between dwellings, is nevertheless
consistent with the estimated presence of 11 units of consumption or
households.
Assuming the presence of kinship connections between households
and that spatial distance between dwellings reflects the closeness of the
relationship, it might be surmised that each of the six zones or dwelling
complexes shown in Fig. 10.3 and Table 10.1 represents a minimal lineage
segment of co-residing agnates. Additionally, or alternatively, it could be
Fig. 10.4 Hypothesized and
actual social organization
of Alikanli campsites.
(a) Hypothetical
reconstruction of
population structure at
ND-1 arrived at on the
basis of numbers of
'household' units and
spatial arrangement of
dwellings.
(b) Agnatic and affinal ties
between household heads
within a 37-tent Alikanli
zoma at Nemrut Dag in
1965. A high level of
agnation is indicated
together with affinal links
between agnatically based
clusters. (After Beikc,i
1969, fig.4.)
LINEAGE SEGMENT
^7 ^
MINIMAL LINEAGE? A
HOUSEHOLD
B/' C \D X ""E--
A A A
X
A
A I A
F
A
NUCLEAR FAMILY
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11
Mar^jff<( *
%
N
s
T /
vvomon 0/ \
Xx
A
#
'
X
-A
KABILES OF THE
ALIKAN AflRET
Cudigan
Cengovan
D Birivan
Mehman
Neciman
O Ozigan
o êhidan
A êhevan
RELATIONSHIP
brother^
. . . father-son
fa. br. - br. so.
fa.br. sons
at fines
hypothesized that each zone corresponds to a cooperative herding unit.
Arguments against this second hypothesis are, first, that transient herding
units are hardly compatible with fixed, subdivided stone dwellings of
given size, and, second, apart from a few small corral annexes there
is no indication of facilities for the penning of animals within or adjacent
to each complex. Instead we find a localized concentration of corrals
(zone G) which apparently served the whole settlement. However if the
hypothesis of organization into herding units is accepted, the circular
floorplans of 'guest tents
7
attached to some of the dwellings can be
explained as quarters for hired shepherds.
The large dwelling complex in zone D, consisting of a single dwelling
NemrutDag 195
but containing at least four nuclear units, stands out as the largest house-
hold. Its central location and the presence of three 'guest tents' and four
small animal pens
;
indicate that this must have been the most prominent
household in the settlement, perhaps that of the headman or chief.
The most economical interpretation of the social structure at ND-1 is
that it represents a small hamlet consisting of 11 households, most of
them extended or joint households, and 24 nuclear families (see Fig.
10.4a). The households or units of consumption are clustered in groups or
complexes, each representing a minimal lineage segment. The whole set-
tlement may represent a higher order lineage segment or a core of agnates
together with associated cognates and affines. A rough figure for the total
population of the settlement may be arrived at by assuming that: (a) the
first nuclear family of each household contains five members, and (b) each
additional nuclear family contains three members. This estimate yields
a population figure of some 94 individuals and a mean household size of
8.4 individuals (see Table 10.1). There is a suggestion of some form of
rudimentary ranking on the basis of relative household size and the num-
ber of facilities and ancillary structures.
A naive archaeological assessment of ND-1
The above interpretation, based on the evidence of fixtures and durable
elements, makes no presumptions about the nature of the settlement or
its economy. From the point of view of some future archaeologist, who
having excavated ND-1 then attempts to interpret its significance, there
would be little - beyond its location in such a harsh environment and its
open ground plan - to indicate that it was anything other than a sedentary
village. If deposits of animal dung had survived it would be possible to
identify some of the structures as corrals, but the amount of corral space
need not suggest that unusually large numbers of livestock were kept. At
most the economy might be seen as having a pastoral bias. By the same
token, the presence of grinding slabs, on the basis of conventional wis-
dom, would suggest the practice of agriculture.
Although it is known that the structures of ND-1 were roofed with
black goat-hair tents, it is difficult to envisage how this might have been
achieved on the basis of the ground plans alone. These do not always
conform to the regular, rectangular plan of the large tents used by the
Kurdish tribes of this region. Each tent should correspond to an individual
dwelling, but in the case of some of the more irregular and larger dwelling
units shown in Fig. 10.3 the location of the portable superstructure can
only be guessed at.
In the absence of any trace of superstructure, and assuming that only
wall stubs and rubble remain, the dwellings might easily be interpreted as
permanently roofed stone-walled houses. Again the presence of fixtures
such as subterranean bread ovens and coarse potsherds would reinforce
this impression. In terms of their size, shape and mode of construction,
the dwellings themselves would not be out of place in any east Anatolian
mountain village. The presence of stratigraphic layers would also suggest
a sequence of permanent occupations. In short an archaeologist chancing
upon such a site as a surface manifestation or excavated occupation floor,
and lacking any circumstantial evidence to the contrary, might easily be
led to identify it as a permanent - or at least seasonally occupied - agro-
pastoral village settlement. Only the dispersed nature of the settlement
plan, the absence of any organic structure and the pattern of refuse
disposal in close association with individual dwellings might alert the
achaeologist to the fact that he was dealing with an unusual kind of
village.
The Alikanli: an ethnographic account
It has been the practice among ethnoarchaeologists to attempt to confirm
their interpretations of habitation sites by checking them ex post facto
against information provided by the ex-inhabitants of the site, or first
consulting with the inhabitants and later trying to confirm their account
through observation or excavation (Bonnichsen 1973; Longacre and Ayres
1968). The present exercise offers an interesting variation on this pro-
cedure. We have a site and an interpretation of it. But it would have been
difficult to locate and interview those who had used the site recently and,
even if this were possible, memory of the occupation, who was present,
their kinship affiliations, etc., would most likely have been hazy. What
will be attempted here is to fit the organizational features of the Alikan
tribe, as described in the ethnographic account, like a template against the
demographic structure inferred from observations of ND-1.
Historical background
The area around Lake Van has historically been one of political instability,
a condition which may be partly attributed to its status as a frontier
region caught between major political entities. After the Turkic invasions
of the eleventh century AD there was a brief unity of Anatolia and Iran
under the Seljuks, during which the caravanserai shown in Fig. 8.8a was
constructed at the junction of the major east-west and north-south trade
routes. Following the break up of the Seljuk Empire the region became a
part of the Akkoyunlu Empire, itself a nomad dynasty (Woods 1976).
Subsequently it formed an unstable buffer zone between the Ottoman
Empire and successive Persian dynasties, becoming progressively depopu-
lated during the conflicts of the Safavid period.
Although migratory Kurdish tribes were undoubtedly present in earlier
times, the unstable conditions of the period following AD 1,600 brought
about the strengthening of tribal affiliations and an expansion of nomadic
activity. The legacy of these turbulent times is still very much in evidence
today in the area, which retains a 'Wild West' quality reflected in contem-
porary epic literature and cinema.
The historical origins of the Alikan Airet are uncertain, though the
name appears in connection with the formation of tribal militias, the
Hamidiye regiments, by the Ottomans in 1891 and a reorganization of
tribal groups as mobile support units. This is reminiscent of the creation
of tribes by government decree (Marsden 1978; Bruinessen 1979). Accord-
ing to Beikqi, the Alikanli were already in existence. In any case the
creation of new tribal entities involved political alignments of existing
Nemrut Dag 197
Fig. 10.5 Nomadic migra-
tion routes in the Lake Van
region. The migration route
of the Alikanli appears not
to have changed very much
since early in the present
century from which time a
close association with the
Duderan has also been
maintained. (After Beikqi
1969, map 2.)
tribal segments and not necessarily the setting up of new groups of
nomads. Some of the nomadic groups in and around Nemrut Dag re-
ported by Lynch (1901) may well have been Alikanli, although it is far
from certain what meaning this designation may have had at the time. An
Alikan tribe is included in a list of tribes of the Ottoman Empire (Tiirkay
1979, p. 199) in the region south of Lake Van but, in line with the official
denial of Kurdish ethnicity, is described as a 'Turkmen
7
tribe. An inven-
tory of Kurdish tribes compiled early in the present century (Sykes 1908,
p.460) contains the following cryptic reference: 'Alikanli. 150 families.
Nomads. Very insignificant. Probably a subtribe, but could not discover
whose
7
. They are placed to the south of Lake Van, though their migration
routes are not indicated.
By this time, according to Beikgi (1969), the Alikanli should have been
established as a tribe or a$iret in its own right, having branched off from its
parent tribe, the Miran, late in the nineteenth century. They appear as a
migratory unit in studies by Hiitteroth (1959) and Frodin (1943-44, fig.
13). The latter describes an Alikanli campsite similar in appearance to
those I observed in and around Nemrut Dag. Today the Alikanli migrate
between winter quarters in the region of Silvan, Biiri, Garzan, Siirt and
Qzre and summer quarters to the south and west of Lake Van (see
Fig. 10.5).
BERCUNU
\ __ SIPKAN )
n ' S / / / / 0 10 20 30km
KEY
* ALIKAN
" Duderan
Mehmediy2n
1
' Ostukan
-> Garisan
> Soran
Danudiya
> Batuyan
^ Kican
= =* Tayan
> Ispi rti
''> Zivikan
Kitan
summer
camp visited
by BesjQkixt
A summer
camps
winter
D
quarters
o town
MAP 9. Migration routes, S.E.Anatolia. (after Bes^ki 1969: map 2)
Migratory cycle
During the winter months the tribe is dispersed in small units of two to
five tents pitched within or on the outskirts of villages to the south of the
Taurus Mountains. Although the villagers have no tribal or kinship con-
nection with the Alikan Airet, the wintering nomads become a tempo-
rary part of the village community, drawing on its services and land
resources and coming under the authority and protection of the village
aga or kaymakam. The main consideration guiding the choice of location
in winter is security from theft and violence and, to this end, long-
standing relationships are established between particular nomad families
and certain village communities to which the nomads habitually return.
Since only limited grazing is available in the vicinity of each village, only a
small number of nomad families can be supported and land is rented from
the villages.
Special winter tents are employed which are larger and heavier than
those used in summer, enclosing both living space and sheep corrals.
Other Kurdish tribes such as the Beritanli also employ such tents together
with special tents to accommodate all the livestock of a herding unit.
There is no mention of the construction of stone walls, though this seems
highly probable by analogy with other southeast Anatolian Kurdish tribes
and in view of the relatively stable location of winter campsites. Winter
tents are left in the care of village neighbours during the migration to
summer quarters. Winter is a time of subdued social activity for the
nomads during which the main focus is on the maintenance of the flocks
and gearing up for the spring migration.
The change in season brings about not only a return to full productivity
and more intense social activity, but also major changes in social organi-
zation. As previously scattered families begin to converge on the migra-
tion trail, lineage ties come into play and migration groups grow through
accretion until the tribe is moving in large units - subtribes or oymak -
strung out along the route through Bitlis Pass. Here it comes into contact
with sections of other tribes sharing the same migration route, heighten-
ing tension and strengthening the sense of tribal identity (see Siirt II Yilligi
1973, p. 148). In a very real sense the tribal structure, after lying dormant
and in storage through the winter months - like the summer tents -
is reassembled from its constituents and revitalized as a functioning
institution.
During migration the family belongings are carried by mule - eight or
nine mules per household - while the herds are driven on ahead of the
baggage train. They are kept off the main roads and circle around towns
and villages, while the tribespeople themselves pass through the settle-
ments buying and selling in the local bazaars, visiting mosques, shrines,
etc. Stops are made at transit camps on the way for a maximum of five or
six days.
Having passed the bottleneck of Bitlis Pass, the airet begins to disperse
to widely scattered, rented summer pastures. The large migratory oymak
units disintegrate into smaller camp groups comprising up to 20 tents,
considerably larger than those formed in winter. They do not necessarily
occupy the same yayla, or summer pasture, for the entire summer, but
NemrutDag 199
may move on to higher areas or break up into smaller units as grazing
resources are depleted. While the membership of individual camp groups
is constantly changing, kinship ties and tribal categories are continually
invoked in respect of camp group membership.
In the return migration during autumn, the remaining fragments of
camp groups begin to move down from the high mountains in stages,
concentrating on the plain above Bitlis Pass until the airet is again moving
in large consolidated units. After descending through the Taurus passes,
the tribal structure begins to disintegrate as groups of families branch off
and disperse to their winter villages.
The airet: tribal and lineage organization
Ethnographic accounts of nomads invariably convey the impression that
tribal organization is something continuous, existing over and above the
changes in residence groupings that occur seasonally. The above account
raises some doubts about this view. If tribal categories are relevant only
seasonally, if people think in terms of tribal concepts for only six or seven
months of the year, then the 'tribe
7
may be seen as something which is
put together and taken apart in response to certain temporary but recur-
rent organizational needs. While people may retain a sense of belonging
to a particular tribe, the organizational structure itself is activated or de-
activated as required. In principle it is easily seen how, if the constituent
units of a nomadic tribe were physically prevented from joining up each
year into migratory groups and camp groups, such a tribal organization
would lapse and the tribe itself cease to be. It is noteworthy that this
principle has been invoked time and time again by rulers wishing to
control, reorganize or disband nomad tribes!
It is also evident that the appearance of tribal structure varies according
to the season in which the observations are made. The following account
of Alikanli tribal structure will apply largely to the a$iret as it appears
during the summer months.
Superficially the Alikanli are organized according to the following
hierarchy:
Confederacy
Airet - tribe
Kabile - maximal lineage
Zoma - camp group
Hane - unit or tent
Such a scheme however conceals many complexities.
Hane (unit or tent)
Individual nuclear families normally exist only as a part of extended
households, but the term hane does not quite coincide with the extended
family:
A unit [hane] can be formed by several families, with or without any
blood ties, getting together (e.g. hired shepherds could stay in the
same tent) or one person (e.g. a widow) can also form a unit . . . So
every family coula form a unit, but every unit is not necessarily a
f a mi I y <
(Beikgi 1969, p.98; my translation)
The defining feature of the unit is that it occupies a single tent. Since the
tents are large, adjustable and internally divisible, the tent will be smaller
or larger depending on the number of people - or the number of nuclear
families - housed under it. The other main criterion is that the unit
constitutes a unit of production and consumption:
A unit [hane] is based on unity of earning [income, livelihood])... It is
a community formed by one or more persons and families formed by
mother, fatner, married son, daughter-in-law, grandchildren, etc.,
whether there are any blood ties or not, but they eat together and
their livelihood has the same source.
(ibid., p.98; my translation)
The hane is the unit of livestock ownership though apparently it does
not always form a viable management unit. Among the group of 37 tents
recorded by Beikgi, 37.5 per cent of the tents consisted of single-family
units, 32.5 per cent were two-family units, three-family units comprised
19 per cent and four-family units 11 per cent. The mean numbers of
individuals were 6.0, 7.5, 11.3 and 14.5, respectively. The unit is consist-
ent in its membership over time, unlike the more ephemeral herding units
such as those encountered among the Basseri (Barth 1961).
Zoma (summer camp group)
This is the summer settlement unit or camp of 20 to 40 tents. It does not
correspond to any lineage or descent group, nor even does it necessarily
form around a core of lineage members. Its membership is constantly
changing from one year to the next and even in the course of a single
season, but in a way that seems to involve more than the addition or
subtraction of a few tents. Any one zoma is likely to contain tents from all
or most of the eight maximal lineages or kabiles of which the tribe is
composed, with agnatic ties forming the basis of association among tents
from a single kabile and marriage ties linking households from different
kabiles as indicated in Fig. 10.4b.
In order to understand this it is necessary to consider the mechanism by
which access to pasture is acquired by the Alikanli. All pasture, in both
summer and winter quarters, is rented from village cooperatives or from
large landowners or agas (Bruinessen 1979; Ozbek-Koroglu 1980). But
unlike the Yoruks in western Anatolia (Bates 1973) who rent pasture on a
piecemeal basis, the Alikanli practise a system of collective rent. The rent
for each yayla is the subject of negotiation between the landowners and
leaders of the asiret, in the course of which there is much to-ing and fro-
ing between winter and summer quarters. Once a price is agreed, indi-
vidual tents make the decision about which zoma to join. The rental fee is
shared by all household heads, not equally, but on the basis of the number
of sheep owned by each, since yaylas are rented according to the amount
and quality of grazing available in each. An additional fee is paid for each
tentsite. Factors influencing the choice of zoma include the following:
belonging to the same kabile, being closely related, to be near wealthy or
powerful households, to be close to those who understand Turkish or to
avoid conflicts connected with blood feuds.
A chief or headman is elected to represent the zoma each year. This is
not a formal office and incumbency usually changes from year to year.
NemrutDag 201
Towards the end of the summer season
;
as grazing becomes depleted,
zomas gradually break up into smaller camp groups which then disperse to
different yaylas, often joining with other small groups on the way:
I never met the same group for too long. Economic and human factors
meant that zomas and obas were changing in size all the time . . . .1
met a 37 tent oba and started on these. But once they ran out of grass,
9 of the 37 stayed at Nemrut and others scattered into all of the other
yaylas in the region . . . .1 followed a large group to Sute Yayla and
continued work in a zoma of 25 tents - 1/tents were already there.
However Beikgi is less than clear on how such apparently ad hoc
arrangements fit in with the system of collective pasture rental described
above.
In summary then the zoma forms a shifting, flexible and temporary
primary community.
Kabile (maximal lineage)
The kabile consists of all those tracing agnatic descent from an apical
ancestor. Although it is not identified with any particular territory and
never forms a physical community or settlement, it acts as an important
reference group. Genealogies are continually invoked to substantiate
membership in a kabile and it appears that membership in an Alikanli
kabile is a prerequisite for the right to join any zoma within the pastures
rented by the Alikan Airet. There is a high - though unspecified - rate of
endogamy within the kabile, though marriage between members of dif-
ferent kabiles is statistically more frequent. There are eight kabiles within
the Alikan Airet - Cudigan, (êngovan, Ozigan, Neciman, Mehman,
Birivan, ehedan and ehevan - each with a recognized and more or less
permanent chief or reis. Closely related members of the same kabile tend
to form blocks or segments within the zoma.
Airet (tribe)
The airet consists of all those considered to be descended from a single
founding ancestor, Alikan (Ali Khan), though this cannot necessarily be
established through genealogies. The a$iret is the effective marriage iso-
late, only two marriages having been known to occur outside it - each
with members of the closely associated Duderan Airet. The airet is
essentially an association of kabiles under the leadership or 'management'
- to use Beikgi's (ibid., p.69) term - of the chief of the largest and
strongest of the kabiles. It constitutes a stable political and administrative
unit:
The airet is the total of all the family relations which are formed by
way of marriage . . . The number of kabiles increases or decreases
according to the size of the a$iret. . . There is a continuous friendship
between the kabiles of an a$iret. The asiret chief is responsible for this
friendship and harmony.
Confederacy
Although the Alikanli do not combine with other a$irets in any wider
political organization, an affinity is recognized with adjacent a$irets such
as the Duderan, Soran, Garzan, Kiqan, Mehmediye and Tayyan, all of
which trace a common origin from the Miran from which the Alikanli
split in the late nineteenth century. In the past this association seems to
have amounted to a kind of confederacy under a religious leader known
as sheikh or uluki$i. Little is known of the Miran
;
the parent body from
which the Alikanli and other tribes emerged in the late nineteenth cen-
tury. They are described as a tribe by Sykes:
Miran. 1000 families. Low tribe of shepherds migrating from Jeziret
ibn Omar to Lake Van in spring and returning in autumn. This tribe
has an atrocious reputation for all kinds of villainy . . . They move up
within about 15 miles of Lake Van annually.
(1908, p.460)
This may represent what was left of the Miran after it split into new
tribal units. Of the adjacent asirets mentioned by Beikqi, three - the
Kichian (Kiqan), Duderi (Duderan or De-dere in Frodin 1943-44) and the
Tiyan (Tayyan) - are also listed by Sykes (1908, pp.460-1). The Tayyan
were recorded 70 years later by Bruinessen (1979, p.44).
Organizational changes
On the basis of what can be pieced together from Beikgi and the histori-
cal sources, it appears that the Miran was originally a large, loose organi-
zation of kabiles, many of which became independent in the late nine-
teenth century in the course of administrative reform, warfare with the
Armenians and Russians, and military reorganization. It is far from clear
whether certain kabiles evolved into tribes or whether groups of kabiles
joined together and split off from the Miran. The Alikan Airet may have
come into being through the following process:
Asirets and kabiles are usually named after the chief. In time, when one
or these grows, expands and increases its population and power to
the detriment of others, a new a$iret can come into being. But the
growth of an a$iret takes place completely within itself. Members
From other asirets can never join the a$iret or the kabile but, as a result
of armed conflict between asirets, as in past wars, some asirets can
become subservient to other larger ones.
(Beikqi 1969, p.70; my translation)
Nevertheless the continuity of tribal names and the constancy of their
location argue for a high degree of territorial stability in the region over
the last century or so.
The growth of the Alikan Airet, according to the normal evolutionary
development of a tribal entity, was complicated by major structural
changes in the tribal system itself having to do with the nature of acquisi-
tion of pasture rights. Under the Ottoman Empire nomad tribes were able
to control tribal territories or were granted grazing rights in return for
military services. This situation changed with the establishment of a
Republic as the new government did not recognize tribal rights to land.
Since nomadism, by definition, involves the seasonal use and subsequent
abandonment of territory, the spread of village settlement backed by
government policy has resulted in the progressive alienation of land from
tribal nomads. This in turn has brought about changes in the function of
tribal institutions and, to an extent, in social organization itself:
NemrutDag 203
Firstly, in the old (pre-Republican) arrangement, there was no level
called zoma. Social dynamics created such a mechanism during transi-
tion into the new order. Whereas in the past kabiles used to form
several separate units for stopping, today members of many different
kabiles come together and form a unit for stopping together. The
reason for this is that solidarity within the kabile in the past was
adequate to provide security. But after the Republic was formed, as a
result of the power of the central government, asirets became weaker
and weaker, and solidarity within the kabile became inadequate and it
was necessary to have solidarity within the asiret.
What this implies is that, in the past, each kabile constituted a distinct
territorial unit, most probably splitting into sub-units based on lesser
lineage segments to form camp groups which were probably larger than
at present - the oba mentioned by Beikgi. The tribe or asiret was simply a
loose association of adjacent kabiles. With the loss of hereditary pasture
rights the kabile lost its territorial integrity and no longer constituted a
settlement unit, its members being forced to join the pasture-exploiting
collectives formed annually in response to whatever tracts of pasture
could be assembled through renting. Thus the zoma came into being as a
unit of settlement and social organization cutting across the descent struc-
ture of the kabile. This in turn reinforced the sense of belonging to an
asiret, which now represented a sufficiently large population pool from
which to draw members for each zoma. The latter now became the
primary territorial and residential unit - at least in the summer months -
while the kabile retained meaning as a lineage system conferring
membership within the asiret (see Fig. 10.6). The evolution of the zoma, of
which our campsite ND-1 is an example, therefore closely parallels the
changing function of the asiret from an association of lineage-based terri-
torial sections to an organization for the acquisition of pasture rights
through the formation of rent collectives.
Wealth, unit size and the organization
of herding
Wealth among the Alikanli is measured in terms of livestock holdings,
particularly sheep which form the major commercial focus. Animals are
sold via agents and may be exported as far afield as Jordan, Iran and Saudi
Arabia. As stated earlier, animals are owned collectively by the unit or
tent but there are great variations in the numbers owned. Of the 37 units
in the camp studied by Beikgi, three owned fewer than 5 sheep and two
owned more than 500, the modal group owning between 50 and 250 (see
Table 10.2). There is some evidence for a direct relationship between herd
size and the number of nuclear families per unit. The three units with
fewer than 5 sheep were all single-family units, while the two with over
500 comprised four or five nuclear families.
Since sheep are taken out to graze in groups of around 500, accom-
panied by two or three shepherds and two dogs, small herd owners are
obliged to cooperate in making up the livestock numbers and manpower.
However Beikqi (1969) does not mention the formation of herding units
comprising a number of tents maintaining a close association and habitu-
ally camping together. Large owners are able to make up a single herd - or
Fig. 10.6 Changes in Alik-
anli tribal structure and resi-
dence hierarchy from late
nineteenth century to
recent times, according to
arguments pursued by Be-
ikcj (1969).
(a) Ottoman period. Kabiles
(maximal lineages) are self-
sufficient units for for the
formation of camp groups.
The tribe is a loose associa-
tion of kabiles.
(b) Republican period (post-
1923). Members from dif-
ferent kabiles combine to
form rent collectives
(zomas). Tribal identity is
accentuated.
Asiret
KABILE KABILE KABILE
DDDC
CAMPS
kabile kabfle kabile
i \>< >><7
a" trt5
Z O M A S
Table 10.2 Demography and animal holdings for five wealth classes, Alikanh summer camp (after ftesjkci, 1969)
Wealth classes
(no. of sheep) No. of units (%)
Average nuclear Total no. of Average no. of
families per unit sheep owned (%) sheep per unit
1(3-4)
2 (5-50)
3 (51-250)
4 (251-500)
5 (500+)
3
9
18
5
2
8.3
24.3
48.8
13.5
5.5
1.0
1.4
1.9
3.6
4.5
9
330
2497
1676
1403
0.1
5.5
42.0
29.4
23.0
3.0
34.6
120.2
366.6
662.5
Total 37 100.0 5935 100.0 160.4
even multiple herds - for grazing purposes and to maintain the necessary
shepherding labour or afford the services of hired shepherds. Herding
tactics are left largely to the shepherds themselves who divide an area of
rented pasture up into lots of roughly equal size. At the time of my
September 1981 visit, three large flocks of at least 500 each were being
grazed within the crater. All were made up of sheep owned by the 15
tents camped at ND-4, the only campsite occupied at the time, giving an
average of around 100 sheep per unit. One flock was being grazed in the
area to the southeast of Nemrut Lake, in the region of the abandoned
campsite ND-1, another along the eastern shore and a third on the exten-
sive lava flows to the north and west of ND-4. The flocks were taken out
NemrutDag 205
in the evening, pastured throughout the night, and returned to camp by
about 10 a.m. The bulk of the flocks were not corralled but kept at a
distance from the camp (cf. Nyerges 1980
;
p.39).
Tents and household status
The large, multi-poled black tent employed by the Alikanli and other
Kurdish tribes in southeastern Anatolia is a highly flexible dwelling form
which is easily adjustable to accommodate changes in the size or compo-
sition of units (cf Evans 1983). It lends itself readily to the implementation
of quick decisions about abandoning a particular location, a routine fea-
ture of nomad life.
The tent is woven from the hair of black goats kept specifically for this
purpose. It consists of a number of cloths stitched or pegged together and
is supported by two, sometimes three, rows of poles running along its
length. It is normally surrounded by a wickerwork screen and drainage
ditches, though sometimes stone walls entirely surround the tent. The
floor is levelled off and made firm prior to occupation. Beikcj gives few
details of the physical factors governing the location and orientation of
tents, though he does mention that 'a tent is put up against the wind
direction
7
so that it strikes the rear. Unlike the tents of tribes such as
the Beritanli to the west, which have long guy ropes and pegs, the tents of
the Alikanli are secured by means of stout wooden stakes driven into the
ground just outside the walls and attached to the tent by a rope only a few
inches long. Another distinctive feature is that the tops of the poles poke
through the tent, forming a series of steeply inclined peaks along the crest
(see Evans 1983).
The size of a tent is determined by the size of the unit, the number of
nuclear families and the status of the household head. The households of
important men tend in any case to be larger, but an influential man will
require a disproportionate amount of space to accommodate guests and
large social gatherings. The status of a household is approximately indi-
cated by the number of tentpoles along the middle row. The tent of a
low-status household will have a minimum of two poles. Most have four
or five, while the tent of a chief or influential man may have as many as
six or seven poles. An 'average
7
tent is around 4.5 metres in width and 8 or
9 metres in length.
Camp layout
;
status and ranking
Social status is indicated not only by the size of the tent but also by its
position with respect to that of the zoma chief or headman:
The position of the tent . . . the distance or proximity of the tent to
the chief's tent could also determine status. The chief
7
s tent is nearly
always at the front. The tents of his relatives and those close to him
are placed around his tent. Later on those who are important and
others have their tents.
A camp structure of this kind can be observed at ND-4 where tents are
strung out in two lines behind that of the zoma chief (Figs. 10.7 and 10.8).
206
Fig. 10.7 Plan of occupied
late summer campsite
ND-4, Nemrut Dag. The
campsite is situated on a
flat plain at the base of an
extensive lava flow. Note
how the tents follow the
base of the lava flow.
Fig. 10.8 Panoramic view
of Alikanli summer camp
ND-4
;
Nemrut Dag, from
the the lava flow to the
west. Note the parallel lines
of tents and the location of
the two largest tents at the
entrance to the camp.
Unused stone foundations
can be seen in the back-
ground.
lava
^"
flow
fj%
0
9 \
K
u t \
0 ?
% \
W 30 to
disused \ ^
s
.
M
.--occupied
LL^J tentsite
( ) tentsite
<W woodpile
2 midden
ash dump
c pens etc.
Nemrut Dag
207
A remarkably similar pattern can be seen in an Alikanli camp photo-
graphed in 1939 by Frodin (1943-44) and reproduced in Fig. 8.6. A large,
multi-poled black tent - probably that of the chief - is surrounded by a
cluster of smaller tents (his relatives?) and forms the focal point of three
roughly parallel rows of tents stretching along the edge of the plain.
The social status of a household is also reflected in the size of the ash
dump near the tent, a large ash dump indicating that the family is noted
for its hospitality - its hearths are always kept burning in anticipation of
guests.
ND-1 in retrospect: an informed reassessment
It should be emphasized at this point that the interpretation of ND-1 from
its observed remains was carried out prior to my having read Beikgi's
account of the Alikanli, and was guided only by what few observations I
had been able to make of occupied camps in the crater, plus a little
common sense. In view of the fact that a high level of accuracy was not
anticipated, the degree of fit between the initial interpretation and the
ethnographic account - in some respects at least - was surprising. In
comparing the two we are trying to determine how closely the interpreta-
tion conforms to the principles of demography and social organization
derived from the ethnographic study. It should be stressed that the main
object is not to determine whether the conclusions reached were correct
or incorrect, but rather to assess the information value of this kind of
reconstruction, of a type frequently attempted by archaeologists.
Demography
The division of living space into rooms containing nuclear families and
dwellings containing extended families is broadly consistent with the
ethnographic account. The identification of the dwelling as the primary
unit of consumption accords well with Beikgi's account of the hane, or
unit, except that the unit may occasionally include non-family members.
The estimated average number of occupants per dwelling of 8.6 persons
(see Table 10.1) matches the 8.4 calculated by Beikgi (Table 10.3a). When
the distribution of the population among units of different sizes is consid-
ered, however, some anomalies emerge. In Table 10.3 the number of
units or extended households falling within each size class - from a single
nuclear family to four or five nuclear families - in the community studied
by Beikgi are compared with those estimated for ND-1. Clearly there are
fewer single family units at ND-1 than would be expected if Beikgi's
account is representative of all Alikanli campsites. Two explanations may
be offered. Either the average unit size at ND-1 was larger than normal or
the estimation of the number of nuclear families, one per room, is over-
generous.
In the latter instance, it may be that not all rooms in a dwelling need be
occupied. With fluctuations in the size and composition of camp groups
from one year to the next it is probable that stone fixtures will be under-
used, but unlikely that they will be over-used, given minimum require-
ments of privacy and living space. Spare rooms could easily be pressed
into service as fodder stores or lamb pens. The presence of such a built-in
Table 10.3a Distribution of households (tents) over size classes of units - camp studied by Be$ikci, Nemrut Dag,
1965 (after Be$ikci 1969, table 21)
No. of families
per unit
1
2
3
4-5
No. of tents
14
12
7
4
37
(%)
37.5
32.5
19.0
11.0
100.0
Population
84
90
74
58
311
(%)
27.0
28.0
26.0
19.0
100.0
Table 10.3b Distribution of households (tents) over size classes of units - estimates for ND-
No. of families
per unit
1
2
3
4-5
No. of tents
2
6
2
1
11
(%)
18.2
54.5
18.2
9.1
99.9
Population
10
48
22
14
94
(%)
10.6
51.1
23.4
14.9
100.0
Mean population
per unit
6.0
7.5
11.3
14.5
8.4
1 Nemrut Dag, 1978
Mean population
per unit
5
8
11
14
8.6
NemrutDag 209
bias would affect all demographic estimates based on structural remains
in settlements with a high population turnover.
Social organization
The question of population turnover also affects the interpretation of
higher order social structures. The equation of clusters of dwellings with
'lineages' is valid only in a sense. Assuming that closely related members
of the same kabile camp in close proximity to one another, as stated in the
above ethnographic account, each zone or cluster could represent a con-
tingent from six of the eight kabiles combining to form a zoma. But these
clusters do not correspond to the lower-order segments of a single lineage,
as was originally suggested. The spatial organization of dwellings reflects
the structure not of a lineage system but of residence groups. There is
nothing in the settlement plan itself to suggest either of these alternatives,
though in making inferences from archaeological data it might be prudent
to confine oneself to residence rather than kinship categories.
Wealth, ranking and the organization of herding
The designation of the large complex D.8 (see Fig. 10.3) as that of the
camp headman of course cannot be confirmed, though its location where
two of the paths leading into the camp converge recalls Beikgi
;
s observa-
tion that the tent of the headman is located at the 'front
7
of the camp. The
correlation of unit size with both wealth and status suggested by Table
10.2 points to D.8 and F.ll as the residences of the most prominent
households. Note also that it is with these large and isolated residences,
but also A.I, that the circular 'guest
7
tents are associated. The tendency
noted by Beikgi for important households to be located close to the tent
of the chief is also consistent with the location of D.8 and F.ll in the same
area of the site.
In terms of the distribution of wealth in livestock, ND-1 could be
expected, on the basis of Table 10.2, to contain one large herd-owning
unit in wealth class 5 (over 500 sheep), one or two units in wealth class 4
(251-500), around six in class 3 (51-250) and three or four in classes 1 and
2. This would result in a total of some 1,800 sheep for the 11 units
estimated to be present at ND-1. This is clearly too many to be accommo-
dated by the walled corral space available at ND-1. However, due to the
practice of night grazing, most animals, apart from the sick and the
young, are not penned at night.
Some further inferences are possible. On the basis of the herding prac-
tices reported by Beikgi, 1,800 sheep would be divided into at least three
herds. Note that ND-4, consisting of 15 tents, also maintained three herds
(see p.210). Three herds mean three contingents of shepherds, either hired
or drawn from the young men of the herd-owning units. Two would be
required for duty at any one time and another one or two as replace-
ments. Assuming that the circular 'guest
7
tents were used to accommo-
date hired shepherds, it is just possible that the distribution of these
features in three areas of the camp - attached to D.8, F.ll and A.I -
reflects the presence of three livestock managements units. Since wealthy
families are more likely to be able to employ hired shepherds, D.8 (pre-
sumably a large herd owner) could form a single herding management
unit with a few hired shepherds. F.ll, together with E.9 and E.10 to make
up the numbers, could constitute a second group, while small herd own-
ers occupying the remaining tents in zones A
7
B and C make up a third
herding cooperative based on A.I. This arrangement would also conform
to the location of tents being determined by the wealth and status of the
household head and his connections with the zoma headman.
Comparative observations on ND-4
In the course of my 1981 visit the camp in the northeastern part of the
caldera, currently occupied by members of the Alikan Airet, was briefly
visited. The camp consisted of 26 tentsites, 15 of which were surmounted
by tents (Fig. 10.9). The camp was located on the margin of a flat, barren
plain of volcanic ash below the over-hanging slopes of a lava flow which
served as protection from the westerly winds that prevail during summer
and autumn. A shallow brackish lake occupied the plain about half a
kilometre from the camp, but a small spring of drinking water emerged
from the lava flow behind the camp.
The tents were enclosed by high stone walls and surrounded by reed
screens. Most of the dwellings were internally divided although the
largest one, the headman
;
s tent in which I was received, had no internal
divisions. This tent, 16 metres in length and 9 in width (see Fig. 10.8), was
able to accommodate a large proportion of the camp's population who
had crowded in to welcome Allah's guest. Many tents had well-defined
forecourts and kitchen alcoves in which cooking and domestic activities
were being carried out by the women. Large woodpiles were stacked in
front of many tents and some also had piles of unprocessed wool for use
by the women, many of whom were engaged in beating, spinning and
dyeing the yarn inside the tents. Middens and ash dumps were located
directly in front of or between tents. There were only a few small corrals
and at least one latrine.
As shown in Figs. 10.7 and 10.8, the tents were arranged in two rows
following the curving line of the lava flow and the tendency towards
clustering was less marked than at ND-1. The large headman's tent, with
four central poles, was located at the entrance to the camp, where a rough
vehicle track terminated. In front of it was the only circular, white 'guest
7
tent in the camp. Another large four-pole tent was positioned directly
behind it, again confirming Beikgi's observation that the most important
households - with the largest tents - have their tents close to that of the
headman. ND-4 illustrates well the extent of variability in tent size. Apart
from the two large four-pole tents, most of the others had three poles and
a few had only two. Due perhaps to the formation of rows, the density of
settlement at ND-4 was considerably greater than at ND-1.
The differences in layout between ND-1 and ND-4, together with the
fact that on both visits the former was deserted and the latter occupied,
have prompted some questions about possible differences in function
between the two campsites. The location of ND-1 in the south of the
caldera, facing north, and ND-4 in the north, facing east, suggest the
Nemrut Dag 211
Fig. 10.9 Members of the
Alikan Airet outside the
headman's tent at ND-4.
Note the large size of the
tent and the two rows of
four poles.
' - : - * \ ' -
interplay of seasonality and aspect. ND-1, located on the cooler, north-
facing slopes would be a good place to camp in mid-summer. By autumn
the long shadows cast by the southern rim of the caldera would make a
northerly location more attractive. In view of the frequent changes of
campsite during the spring-summer-autumn cycle described by Beikgi,
this interpretation would be consistent with Alikanli spatial behaviour.
Conclusion
The 'lost world
7
of Nemrut Dag provided an ideal laboratory in which a
number of phenomena of nomadism and nomad archaeology could be
studied within a clearly demarcated area. Not only was it possible to
observe nomad material culture at the upper range of its visibility, but also
the meaning of intra-site settlement structure could be explored in full.
Above all the existence of an independent ethnographic account permit-
ted an indirect comparison of ethnographic and archaeologically derived
analytical categories. The above exercise illustrates the potential value of
analysing a settlement pattern in relation to a relevant model of social
organization and economic structure, rather than attempting on an ad hoc
basis to match surface features to a particular occupational event in the
recent or distant past.
11
NOMAD
ARCHAEOLOGY:
AN ASSESSMENT
This study has been built around the proposition that nomadic sites
constitute an analytically distinct settlement category requiring different
methods of survey, recording and excavation from those commonly em-
ployed by archaeological fieldworkers in the Near East. Having arrived at
an understanding not only of the structure, location and contents of
nomad campsites, but also the kinds of methodological and theoretical
problems that are best pursued in relation to this kind of site, let us now
reconsider what archaeological evidence is available.
Tepe Tula
;
i
It is significant that the only site securely identified as a nomadic - or at
least pastoral - campsite was detected not through intentional survey but
in the course of rescue operations on a small Sassanian site prior to an
agricultural development scheme in Khuzistan (Hole 1974-75, 1975).
Tepe Tula'i lies near the northern edge of the Khuzistan Plain about
4 kilometres east of the Karkheh River and 17 kilometres west of Dezful,
placing it on a possible seasonal migration route from Khuzistan to sum-
mer pastures around Khorammabad in the Zagros Mountains.
The site first appeared as a low mound dissected by old irrigation
canals, the surface of which was covered by loose, rocky fill containing
Sassanian sherds. These were partially mixed with prehistoric sherds
from a layer of hard-packed fill, disturbed by burrows, which extended
well beyond the confines of the mound itself. A 5 metre square test pit cut
into the mound encountered, at a depth of 2 metres, a layer of undis-
turbed clay containing a fragment of a pebble floor on which lay a
Khazineh red pot. Below this were alternating strata of sterile clay, sand
and river gravel. Mechanical levelling of the area to the north of the
mound, removing anything from a few centimetres to 2 metres of earth,
212
Nomad archaeology
213
revealed a series of concentrations of ash and stones on the graded surface
that intersected the original gently undulating modem surface. Two thick
and extensive areas of ash revealed no architectural traces. However
exposed lines of stones lying 50 to 100 metres to the north of the mound
and in association with prehistoric sherds were readily identified by the
local Luri workmen as the remains of tentsites (see Fig. 11.1). While the
stratigraphy of the deposits within which the stone platforms were em-
bedded remains unclear, it appeared that they lay either slightly above or
directly on top of the sterile layers of sand, clay and gravels which formed
the substrate over the entire site.
Fig. 11.1 Stone platforms
and tent footings, Tepe
Tula'i, Khuzistan, from
contexts dated to approxi-
mately 6,200 BC. (After
Hole n.d., fig.7.)
mortar fragaents
4 scattered stones
ash
metres
front of tent
approximate
"tent outline
ash
disposal
OOi
Q
1
Chronology of Tepe Tula
;
i
On the basis of the ceramics found in association with the stone plat-
forms, and the sequence uncovered from the main test trench (Area A) in
the mound, the prehistoric occupation of Tepe Tula
;
i has been dated to
the late Mohammad Jafar and early Sefid phases of the Deh Luran se-
quence, estimated at around 6,200 BC (see Hole etal. 1969). The ceramics
found in the same area as the stone platforms consisted solely of 'grey
which, according to the excavator, places these features at the
ware
earlier phases of the sequence. However the absence of clear stratigraphic
connections between the culture-bearing deposits of this northern part of
the site (Area D) and the main mound (Area A) must cast some doubt on
the chronology. The sherds in Area D were apparently not found in direct
association with the stone platforms but in lower deposits. Unfortunately
no charcoal samples suitable for carbon-14 dating were recovered. It is
possible that the stone features may not be quite as ancient as has been
claimed, though their depth indicates that neither are they of modern
origins.
Was Tula'i a campsite?
If the chronology is correct then the implications for theories about the
course of Near Eastern food production and pastoralism are far-reaching.
Of course the presence of a campsite of such an age does not per se
indicate nomadism - it could just as well have been a seasonal settle-
ment of village-based pastoralists or agro-pastoralists (see Wheeler Pires-
Ferreira 1977). It nevertheless suggests some degree of mobility and a
certain level of pastoral specialization. Whatever the age of Tula'i, its
identification as a campsite seems more secure, particularly in relation to
the kinds of household organization and settlement systems discussed
previously (Chapters 4 and 8).
Tula'i represents an interesting application of direct ethnographic
analogy. The Luri workmen employed on the excavation were them-
selves recently settled nomads and were able to provide insights into the
location and interpretation of features as the excavation was in progress.
The stone features were readily identified as the chul, or bedding platform,
found in contemporary tents or kulas. The orientation of the platforms
and the fact that some appeared to be facing north while others faced
south suggested, on the basis of current practices, that the site was a
spring or autumn camp. This accords well with the location of the site
close to a migration route near the ecotone between lowland and upland
zones. The precise locations of hearths and ash dumps could also be
predicted on the basis of the nomadic experience of the workmen. For
example, in the case of structure D4, which appeared to face south:
'When we cleared the rocks, I asked a workman where the fireplace
would be. He glanced around and quickly took two paces to the south.
We dug there and found the ash' (Hole 1975, p.67). Another stone outline
was identified by the workman as that of a 'headman' on the basis of its
greater size.
We have here an example of some of the rules of campsite organization
discussed above, albeit applied in a piecemeal rather than a systematic
fashion. No conscious attempt was made to apply the kind of excavation
strategy appropriate to such a site - and perhaps could not have been,
given the circumstances under which the excavation was carried out. To
begin with, the use of test pits placed directly inside the structures them-
selves is unlikely to be a productive approach in campsites. Even in terms
of the limited objectives of obtaining ceramic evidence for dating, we
would expect most of the sherds to occur in the discard zone at a distance
from each tentsite. In Chapter 9 it was shown how the location of mid-
dens could be predicted from architectural features, and vice versa. Short
Nomad archaeology 215
of exposing large areas equivalent to a whole domestic complex
;
it might
have been possible to place trenches along the axis of a domestic complex
perpendicular to the orientation of the tentsite.
The spacing of structures at Tula'i also recalls the familiar open settle-
ment pattern found in most campsites. But in the absence of some kind of
sampling scheme we cannot be certain that all dwelling sites have been
recovered and have no idea of the extent of the site. In terms of site
structure, the following observations by Hole do not match up with what
is now known of campsite organization:
The mound portion of the site was clearly a focal point of activity in
the sense that sherds, flints, figurines and animal bones were left
there. However it is worth noting that grinding stones were found
only in the campsite area. Pending further excavation I suggest that
the mound is a midden area used DV the people who were camping
nearby . . . a similar midden lies under campsite Dl where we placed
another test pit.
(1975, p.71)
By their very nature, campsites do not have 'focal points', at least not in
the form of communal middens. Either the interpretation is incorrect or
we have a genuine case of 'anomaly' in which unexpected findings may
suggest that things were done differently in the past. The discovery of a
midden layer directly under one of the tentsites suggests that the function
of this particular zone changed with time from a discard to a living zone.
The faunal evidence
The faunal remains from Tepe Tula'i not only confirm a pastoral empha-
sis but also fit the domestic complex model, since animal bones were
found predominantly in the middens rather than in the vicinity of the
tentsites. A study of the faunal remains (Wheeler Pires-Ferreira 1977)
shows a predominance of ova-caprines. A high proportion of fused as
opposed to unfused elements suggested to the author, on the basis of
modern practices, that the faunal population of Tula'i represented a fal-
low herd of unproductive adults split off from a nearby village herd. This
interpretation, if correct, need not threaten the identity of Tepe Tula'i as a
pastoral campsite, though it certainly casts doubt on the extent to which it
can be regarded as 'nomadic'. As recently stressed (Cribb 1985) it is very
difficult to draw conclusions about herding strategies - particularly those
involving 'transhumance' or migration - on the basis of age criteria alone.
Whether or not it was appended to a nearby village, Tepe Tula'i was a
seasonal campsite of some kind. It points to a degree of separation
between pastoral and agricultural subsistence strategies, though just how
far this had progressed and the extent of the migratory orbit involved
remains unclear. Nevertheless the discovery of such a site, conforming in
most respects to what would be expected in a contemporary nomadic
camp, and at such an early date - assuming this to be correct - puts the lie
to the argument that ancient nomad camps are somehow archaeologically
invisible.
Other evidence of possible tentsites
In the light of the present study and field work carried out by Hole (1978,
1979), other Near Eastern sites are worth reassessing as possible nomad
camps. In other cases floorplans found in sedentary settlements may turn
out to be tentsites or composite dwellings.
Khuzistan
Sections of wall footing found in the Sabz phase at Ali Kosh (Hole et al.
1969, p.59) are reminiscent of tentsites (Fig. 11.2). A complete floorplan
exposed on the surface of Tepe Ashrafabad (ibid., p.60, see Fig. 11.2b)
suggested in retrospect to Hole (n.d.) that this might be the storage plat-
form and outline of a tentsite. The large size and lack of internal sub-
divisions, the structure of the platform, lined with cobbles and filled with
smaller pebbles, and the narrow stone outlines at the sides are all incon-
sistent with the foundations having acted as a load-bearing structure for
mud-brick walls and a permanent roof. The presence of a pivot stone for a
door might suggest a more permanent structure but, as observed in Chap-
ters 5 and 6, doors or gates are commonly employed in modern tents.
Hole (n.d.) has since suggested that Tepe Ashrafabad, a low and extensive
mound, may have been a nomadic campsite.
Excavations at Tepe Farukabad (Wright 1981) also revealed a number of
wall footings from the Uruk, Jemdet Nasr and early dynastic levels that
suggested to the excavator similarities with modern Luri tentsites. One of
the dwelling plans (Fig. 11.2b) consisted of two rows of ovoid limestone
cobbles measuring 5.0 by 2.9 metres, with no trace of mud-brick walls or
any kind of superstructure. Two successive floors were present, each
bearing the imprint of a central post or pole: 'During excavation, the
posthole and the absence of brick walls were taken as evidence that this
footing was for a tent similar to the stone tent footings used by Luri
herders today
;
(Wright 1981, p.78). We have seen that successive floors,
prepared and re-plastered with each occupation, are regular features in
some tentsites. The presence of a further floor, adjacent to the structure, is
reminiscent of the forecourts which accompany most tentsites. In the
light of our discussion of 'composite settlements
7
(Chapter 8), the pres-
ence of such a structure in a built-up, mounded settlement should occa-
sion no great surprise.
The Zagros Mountains
The surface features identified as tentsites by Edelberg (1966-67) fail to
match most of the criteria outlined in this study. Hole (n.d.) is quite
correct in dismissing them as 'houses of the dead
7
(Hole n.d.), ritual tent-
shaped structures to commemorate deceased tribal leaders. The absence
of ash or artifacts and the conspicuous lack of a storage platform, the
highly stylized layout and the location of the structures on a featureless
and very stony plain, make them unlike any tentsite encountered in the
course of this study.
Certain sites in the Zagros Mountains - Tepe Sarab, Ganj-i-Dareh,
Fig. 11.2 Suspected ancient
tentsites from Khuzistan.
(a) Dwelling foundations at
Tepe Ashrafabad, Deh
Luran Plain. (After Hole
etal. 1969, fig.17.)
(b) A tent-like floorplan
from the Uruk phase, Tepe
Farukabad, Deh Luran. The
structure reminded the
excavator of the layout of
a modern Luri tent. (After
Wright 1981, fig.36a.)
(c) This example is most
probably not a tentsite but
a ritual structure associated
with funerary rites and of
recent origin. (After Edel-
berg 1966-67, fig.21.)
ooooo o ooooooc,
b
corner
stone
hearth
entrance
hearth
y
5m
j
(
0
n
J
basal Tepe Guran (Mortensen 1972) and early Neolithic Shanidar (Perkins
1964) - have long been suspected as pastoral campsites (see Hole 1978,
p. 137). The difficulty involved in positively identifying them as such lies
not so much in the lack of archaeological data but on the absence hitherto
of any firm defining criteria. Recently Smith and Mortensen (1980) have
drawn attention to large numbers of early sites located in sheltered side
valleys of the Zagros away from the main areas of cultivation: The clus-
tering of sites in these small and nearly inaccessible valleys shows that
these are more promising locales for investigating early neolithic sites in
the Zagros than are the broad intermontane plains
7
(Smith and Mortensen
1980
;
p.512). It is clear from Chapter 8 that this is precisely the kind of
location in which nomad pastoral campsites are to be expected, and the
article by Smith and Mortensen (1980) actually contains a photograph of a
small modern camp of four tents in such a location.
Although a sedentary settlement, the seventh and sixth millennium BC
site of Haji Firuz Tepe in the Solduz Valley near Lake Urmia illustrates
certain features of spatial organization that have been discussed in rela-
tion to nomad camps. On the basis of the excavated area, the site appears
to have had an open settlement plan with refuse disposal occurring in the
spaces between the dwellings: 'Nearly all of the exterior areas excavated
in 1968 were littered with trash, including ash, burnt earth and broken
pottery; it seems likely that a significant quantity of organic refuse, includ-
ing animal bone, was also disposed of in these areas
7
(Voigt 1977, pp.318-
19). The absence of open area excavations on low mounds or flat settle-
ments makes it difficult to assess how common such dispersed settlement
patterns might be, but they certainly indicate that not all food-producing
settlements were densely settled and that the domestic complex model, in
such cases, may provide a useful framework for analysis.
Eastern Anatolia
Archaeological surveys in the Near East have generally been either con-
centrated in areas of high ancient population density or concerned pri-
marily with conspicuous mounded settlements. An exception has been
the Upper Euphrates survey carried out prior to the Karababa dam project
in eastern Turkey. Although the survey was confined largely to riverlands
due to be inundated by the new dam, the coverage was thorough, and
many small and flat settlements were recorded (see Ozdogan 1977). Two
such settlements were tentatively identified as possible campsites. Both
were located on alluvium, close to springs and adjacent to the first river
terrace:
Alikan Mevki (flat settlement) . . . about 2 km north west of Biriman,
in a field . . . west of the Alikan Gozesi [spring]. There is a heavy
concentration of sherds over an area of approximately 100 by 60 m on
the ridge and the gentle eastward slope, next to the spring which has
running water all year round . . . The surface material is variated but
not very dense. The site may have been a campsite at various times.
(ibid., pp. 122-3)
uruk Mevki (flat settlement). . . about 2 km north of Biriman, on the
west bank of the Alikan Deresi. A slope settlement on a low ridge.
Fig. 11.3 Plan of features in
Level Al at Han Ibrahim
ah, eastern Anatolia. The
lines of stones and hearth
features are reminiscent of
the layout of modern black
tent encampments. (After
Ertem 1972, fig.47.)
Traces of stone foundations appear on the surface. There is a small
spring at the foot of the slope. Sherds are scattered over an area of
approximately 70 by 80 m; there are also a few flint tools . . . Very
small settlements or campsites were set up here next to the spring
during various periods.
(ibid., p.124)
Sherds recovered from the sites indicate occupation during the Iron
Age, Classical and post-Classical, with a Late Bronze occupation for
Alikan Mevki. While such a location is not typical of nomad campsites
the slope and shelter provided by river terraces, together with proximity
to a spring, are consistent with the locational model outlined in Chap-
ter 8. It is unlikely that either site will be investigated further due to the
tendency to concentrate resources on the larger mounds. Numerous other
'small unimportant settlements' in the survey area, some showing surface
traces of stone foundations, may be worth investigating as possible pas-
toral camps.
A few sites excavated in the course of the Keban project, another pre-
damming salvage operation in eastern Turkey, exhibit some of the fea-
tures to be expected in nomad camps or unstable settlements. One site in
particular, Han Ibrahim ah, is a shallow mound, the highest level of
which contains circular hearths and pits and one rectangular structure
(Ertem 1972, pl.53.1 and fig.47). The central feature, consisting of parallel
lines of stone footings, is within the range of a typical black tent, approxi-
mately 7 by 3 metres (Fig. 11.3). The location of pits and stone hearths
and features to the south and west of this floorplan recalls the forecourt
and work areas of contemporary tentsites discussed in Chapter 7. The
southwest-northeast orientation is unusual, but fits well with the terrain
of the mound, whose ridge line follows this direction. The location atop a
mound is also atypical for a campsite, though by no means unknown.
HAN IBRAHIM $ AH, 1970
hearth
ptts
5m
This level, designated Al and only 40-50 centimetres deep
7
was dated
through ceramics and coins contained in the stratum immediately be-
neath to the late Byzantine period (eleventh or early twelfth centuries)
(ibid., pp.70-1). At this time Oghuz (Turkmen) tribes would have been
moving into the area
;
though it is possible that they would have still been
using yurts of Central Asian type which would not fit these foundations.
However local groups of Kurdish affinity may even then have lived in tent
encampments during some seasons. The excavator adds that The fact
that there were no traces of finds or of fire strongly suggests that the last
settlement floor of the mound was evacuated
7
(ibid., p.73).
Investigations of a nearby rockshelter also showed traces of a stone-
lined tentsite or corral on the surface, though these may well be modern
(Kokten 1976, pl.6).
Eastern Iran and Afghanistan
Schaffer (1972, pp. 177-8) has pointed to the discontinuous nature of the
stratigraphy in numerous rockshelters in the Sistan region of eastern Iran
as possible evidence for seasonal, pastoral occupation. The interleaving of
culture-bearing deposits with sterile strata is suggestive of cycles of alter-
nating occupation and abandonment. The mound site of Deh Morasi
Ghundai (Dupree 1963a; Fairservis 1961) exhibits a similar stratigraphy
and has likewise been tentatively designated a nomadic or semi-sedentary
occupation. Stratigraphic sequences of this kind may well represent an
archaeological signature for the abandonment and re-occupation of sites
over a long-term cycle such as that discussed in Chapter 8.
Again numerous rockshelter sites in Afghanistan show traces of sea-
sonal occupation or use by herders throughout lengthy periods of history
and prehistory (Dupree 1963b). One particular site, Dara-i-Kur, occupied
sporadically from 2,180 to 1,800 BC, contains traces of what appears to be
the reed screens commonly placed around tents, though these could also
have been used to enclose animal corrals. Lines of around 80 postmoulds
2 to A centimetres in diameter appeared in one occupation level, just
under the drip line of the shelter (Schaffer 1978, p.82). This is strongly
reminiscent of the seasonal nomadic occupation of Shanidar Cave ob-
served by Solecki (1979).
The Early Transcaucasian Culture: a test case
Covering the period 3,300-2,200 BC, the Early Transcaucasian Culture or
Kura Araxes complex spread rapidly from what is now Soviet Georgia
and Armenia across the highland valleys of northwestern Iran and eastern
Anatolia as far as Syria and Palestine (Sagona 1984). Its hallmark was a
distinctive form of black-burnished ceramic ware which appears to have
been derived from a metal prototype and whose attached perforated lugs
and handles suggest that portability was a prime consideration in its
manufacture. Portable hearths and potstands, also of the same burnished
ware, add weight to the impression of a high degree of mobility and the
hearths at least find a modern equivalent in the small metal tripods com-
monly used and transported by contemporary nomads.
The architectural features found in sites of the Early Transcaucasian
Culture from Soviet Georgia to eastern Anatolia also suggest a high
degree of impermanence and mobility. While it is unlikely that tentcloth
was used as a superstructure, the layout of the dwellings, with storage
platforms and wattle-and-daub walls, have parallels in some of the kula
structures of Iran (Stark 1933) and Afghanistan (Ferdinand 1962). Such
architecture appeared episodically in eastern Anatolia along with fresh
ceramic traditions from the Transcaucasian homeland (Sagona 1984,
p.104). Such transportable material culture, together with the rapid spread
of the culture in highland areas in which modern nomads are found, has
led to suggestions that the Early Transcaucasian Culture may have had a
nomadic base or origin (Burney 1961, 1971; Whallon and Kantman 1969).
We now know that the Early Transcaucasian Culture exhibits the full
range of settlement forms from tiny hamlets to urban or semi-urban
settlements. Arslantepe, one of the larger settlements, contains what
appear to be public buildings (Palmieri 1981). However some excavated
settlements contain dwelling forms of the wattle-and-daub type which
may be 'composite
7
, and variations in the stability of settlement and
relative permanence of architecture have been detected (Burney 1961;
Esin 1974; Hauptmann 1974; Koay 1976; Ertem 1972; Sagona 1984).
Wattle-and-daub dwellings, which appeared in the Upper Euphrates
region of eastern Anatolia early in phase two of the Kura Araxes se-
quence, were followed by rectangular mud-brick houses, which in turn
were replaced on some sites by further light wattle-and-daub structures
early in the third phase (Sagona 1984, pp.99, 102, 104). While there appear
to be no grounds for regarding the Early Transcaucasian Culture as a
nomadic 'culture
7
, there is good reason to consider whether it may have
had a fluctuating nomadic component as revealed in the variations in
ceramic forms and architecture.
Dwellings on many of the Early Transcaucasian Culture sites appear to
be of types 4 or 5, i.e. light-walled enclosures containing a central hearth
and platforms around one or more walls and a forecourt, with little sug-
gestion of superstructure other than a central post or pole that could have
supported either a light thatched roof or a tent of some description. Some
of the floorplans in Fig. 11.4 have clay platforms and rows of postmoulds
such as might be left by a reed screen or wattle-and-daub structure.
Another (Fig. 11.4c) floorplan from Soviet Georgia, together with its
reconstruction (Dzhavakhisvili 1973), displays an almost uncanny resem-
blance to the mud foundations found in some contemporary Baluchi
campsites (Audouze and Jarrige 1978, 1981). The Baluchi examples may
have either a black tent or a light roof of poles and reeds as superstructure.
The spatial organization of many Early Transcaucasian Culture settle-
ments is camp-like in the consistent orientation of dwellings, although
their high density suggests otherwise. The settlement shown in Fig. 11.5
appears to be the result of accretion, with the earlier phase displaying a
more open plan with a single cluster of dwellings in a rectangular forma-
tion (Dzhavakhisvili 1973).
While the Early Transcaucasian Culture cannot be regarded as a
nomadic culture - we have seen that such a concept is inapplicable in the
Near East generally - there are certainly suggestions of nomadic traits in
222
Fig. 11.4 Tent-like
floorplans from the Early
Transcaucasian Culture,
third millennium BC
;
in
eastern Anatolia and
Transcaucasia.
(a) Plan of type 2 dwelling
at Norun Tepe, eastern
Anatolia, described as
yapilan direk evler (houses
made of poles). (After
Hauptmann 1974, fig.40.)
(b) A solid-walled dwelling
of similar internal
organization, Tepecik,
eastern Anatolia. (After
Esinl974, pl.100, not to
scale.)
(c) Dwelling plan of the
Early Transcaucasian
Culture from Soviet
Georgia. (After
Dzhavakhisvili 1973,
fig.12.)
(d) This reconstruction of
the superstructure of (c)
resembles mud-walled
composite dwellings in
modern Baluchistan (see
Fig. 6.13). (After
Dzhavakhisvili 1973,
fig-13.)
entrance
0 1 2 3 4 5m
entrance
Fig. 11.5 Successive settle-
ment structures, Early
Transcaucasian Culture,
Soviet Georgia. Note the
expansion of the settlement
in the second phase
through a process of
accretion, similar to that
observed in modern camps
undergoing
sedentarization.
(a) Early phase.
(b) Late phase.
(After Dzhavakhisvili 1973,
fig. 11, not to scale.)
the form of composite dwellings and settlement patterns, with some
evidence of phases of permanent architecture alternating with less perma-
nent and substantial forms. The archaeological evidence accords well
with the model outlined in Chapter 7 of a form of periodic nomadization
alternating with lengthy phases of settlement.
Future prospects
A full assessment of the existing settlement evidence from the Near East
is beyond the scope of this book. I hope that the broad principles of
nomad architecture; domestic organization and settlement systems out-
lined earlier will serve as guidelines for the many excavators troubled by
the suspicion that they may be dealing with the remains of nomadic
settlements or a nomadic component on a sedentary site (composite
settlements).
The open structure of most campsites, repeated occupation, re-use and
re-arrangement of fixtures or site furniture, together with the generally
preferred use of stone rather than mud as a building material, leads to the
formation of relatively shallow occupation levels that do not build into
conspicuous archaeological mounds. In the high-energy geomorphic envi-
ronment of the Near East the survival of such deposits in an undisturbed
state may be rare. As we have seen (Chapter 8) nomad camps are fre-
quently established in sheltered locations in upland valleys and on alluvial
deposits immediately below abrupt slopes. Such locations are prone to
either degradation or disturbance and concealment by hill-wash. How-
ever the concealment and preservation of deposits by such processes will
tend to conserve archaeological information, while substantial stone foot-
ings or walls provide ample surface indications, as at ND-1 (Chapter 10).
An understanding of the regularities in nomad spatial behaviour offers
the prospect of being able to pursue the study of nomadism and of re-
gional systems with a nomad component far back into the past. While no
simple formulae for the location of ancient campsites have been discov-
ered, certain weaknesses in existing survey designs might be suggested. In
an ideal world surveys would be based on proportional or stratified sam-
pling of all types of terrain. However the vast bulk of archaeological effort
over the last two decades in Turkey and Syria has been concentrated in
areas earmarked for flooding by large dam projects (1974, 1976; Middle
East Technical University Ozdogan 1977), i.e. in the kinds of locations
where nomad remains would be both rare and difficult to distinguish
from those of more settled people. Few surveys have been carried out in
the high mountain pastures or steppes where, on the evidence of this
study, nomadic settlements take on their most characteristic forms. Such
areas of highest intensity of nomad occupation have been purposefully
located away from major population centres and areas of arable land.
Surveys geared to the detection of large population centres are pre-
programmed to miss the optimal locations for finding nomadic sites.
Winter campsites are more likely to fall into the archaeological net, but
here we are faced with the problems alluded to in Chapters 6, 7 and 8 of
distinguishing substantial nomadic tentsites and campsites from seden-
tary architecture.
Paradoxically the very features of nomad architecture that enhance its
archaeological visibility only serve to confound its distinction from seden-
tary forms. We are therefore forced to rely not so much on the archi-
tectural elements themselves as on factors such as size, consistent
orientation, organization of domestic space and discard and settlement
pattern. Even so, recognizable tent and campsite features shade into the
range of sedentary forms, and it is only when many lines of evidence
reinforce each other that the identification of a site as 'nomadic' is likely
to be secure.
12
TOWARDS A MODEL
OF UNSTABLE
SETTLEMENT
SYSTEMS
The future of nomad archaeology in the Near East remains uncertain.
With large regions closed to archaeological research through war and
political instability or heavily restricted, opportunities for the kind of
surveys and excavations necessary to uncover nomad sites on a large scale
may not be forthcoming. But neither is this desirable. After all nomad
sites should form but one component of a wider regional perspective
along with many other kinds of sites. The principles outlined above
should provide guidelines in designing representative surveys, recogniz-
ing the distinctive features and organization of pastoral settlements and
detecting the presence of nomadic or composite dwelling forms.
Theoretical perspectives
This study, I hope, has gone some way towards providing, at least for a
certain class of sites, what Binford has referred to as:
a descriptive and analytical procedure which attempts to define the
site framework in terms of features and which is followed by a study
of the relationships between this skeletal framework and the disper-
sion of items.
(1983, p. 147)
Following recent advances in intra-site spatial analysis to decipher the
meaning of item distributions (Whallon 1984; Hodder 1976; Orton 1982),
efforts are now being made to tackle the problem of relating such patterns
to features. In Chapter 7 of In Pursuit of the Past Binford explores this
interaction between site 'frameworks
7
and item patterning, but his obser-
vations remain tied to particular activity spaces such as hearths, specialist
work areas, etc. Although his approach is much more sophisticated than a
simple search for activity areas, and due weight is given to life-space
225
maintenance, there remains a preoccupation with functionalist goals as
revealed in the following extract:
I am convinced that fundamental clues to the character of activities,
the labor organization employed in their execution and the antici-
pated use of a location in terms of the overall subsistence-settlement
system are coded into the organization of site structure.
(Binford 1983, pp.145-6; emphasis added)
This is reminiscent of the old Binford of the late 1960s. The implicit
hope that archaeological data can lead directly to the understanding of
whole systems is more in tune with the goals of New Perspectives in Archae-
ology (Binford and Binford (eds.) 1968) than the more sober objectives of
the 1980s. This is curious as Binford himself (1983, p.147) is critical of
Leroi-Gourhan for being overly optimistic in advancing a very modest
construct of household spatial organization and discard (see Leroi-
Gourhan and Brezillon 1966
;
p.254). The point is worth taking up as
similar accusations have been levelled at Yellen
;
s (1977) nuclear area and
ring model (see Binford 1978) and might equally apply to the 'domestic
complex' model employed in this study. In relation to Leroi-Gourhan,
Binford (1983, p. 147) suggests that archaeological data are simply not like
that. Patterns of artifact density on a site cannot be used to predict the
presence of other structures. Moreover the model will be totally mislead-
ing if a house is not in fact present. On the other hand, Yellen has been
criticized for being particularistic (Binford 1978a). The ring model is seen
as static and inflexible, its relevance bounded by the particular circum-
stances of Yellen
;
s fieldwork.
Yet the ring model follows a geometric logic which is independent of
any particular case. The generalization that settlement area depends on
circumference, which in turn depends on the number of households,
could be applied to a wide range of settlement types in many parts of the
world. The essential difference between Binford and Yellen lies not in the
universalism of the former as opposed to the particularism of the latter,
but in Yellen's (1976) concern with broad organizational principles which
apply to whole sites as against Binford's (1983) concern with the elements
of which sites are composed and the sets of factors that bring them
together as a functional unit of settlement.
In opting for the former approach I am not implying that all nomad
camps are organized in exactly the same pattern as described in Chapter
8, much less that this pattern can be applied to all kinds of sites. Instead,
and in common with Yellen (1977), Clarke (1972b) and to some extent
Leroi-Gourhan and Brezillon (1966) and Flannery (1976), I recognize the
need for some spatial frame of reference when looking for or analysing
archaeological sites. Such a frame cannot be imposed - the site itself will
soon dictate which model is appropriate. Once a working model has been
adopted factors of terrain, aspect, scale, orientation, 'grain
7
and redun-
dancy can be used to discern patterns on the site. This is true whether one
is making on-site decisions about where to excavate next, or piecing
together a settlement system from sixty-year-old site plans (Clarke 1972b)
or taking a purely academic interest in the way contemporary people
organize their settlements.
Towards a model 227
Comparative and diachronic approaches
In a series of recent articles Hole (1974-75, 1978, 1979, n.d.) has argued
that the study of ancient nomadism through archaeology is both neces-
sary and feasible. His case, supported by both ethnographic and archaeo-
logical data from a single region of Luristan, fulfils one of the key require-
ments of the use of ethnographic analogy - a common regional focus.
However this approach does not permit full documentation of the range
of variability exhibited by nomadism either in its modern or ancient
forms.
The purpose of the present study has been to greatly extend the spatial
range of ethnographic documentation both through original fieldwork
and the assembly of existing material from various sources. The object
has been not to extrapolate contemporary nomad material culture
and spatial behaviour back into the past, but to try to discover the factors,
and systems of factors, that give rise to the observed regularities and
variability. More is involved here than the adoption of uniformitarian
assumptions and arguments by analogy. If the case presented above
rested solely on the assumption that nomads in the past behaved similarly
to nomads in the present then it would be flimsy indeed. I have tried to
show that methods can be developed which do not necessitate recourse
to such assumptions. Wherever possible, contemporary observations
have been supported by ethnohistorical data extending back as far as the
early 1800s. While this is probably insufficient to monitor long-term
cycles or evolutionary change it nonetheless provides guidelines for inves-
tigating the remote past. Variations in dwelling form, settlement pattern
and discard behaviour may be related not only to seasonally but also to
security of access to pasture and the degree of commitment to a nomadic
pattern of migration.
The study of nomadism is a well-established sub-field of social anthro-
pology. The elements of nomadism that have so attracted ethnographers
- seasonal migration, fluidity in residence associations, the formation of
small cooperatives and the distinctive segmentary or tribal organizations
- have been shown to derive from an essentially unstable mode of sub-
sistence (Chapter 3). This unstable productive system has its temporal
dimensions which the discipline of archaeology is uniquely equipped to
pursue. But the diachronic study of nomadism will not be achieved by
trying to impose ethnographically derived categories on the archaeologi-
cal record. The limits of this approach have been explored in Chapter 10
of this volume. On this issue I am in full agreement with Plog.
If the archaeological record is anything it is a record of long term
change. And, to trie extent that arcnaeologists have failed to make use
of this record, our failure can be traced to an overwillingness to
borrow the largely synchronic models of change that the ethnologist
employs.
(1974, p.ll)
This is not to say that ethnography is irrelevant to the archaeological
study of change. Observations within an ethnographic context can throw
important light on variations which can serve as indicators in the study of
change through archaeological data. Thus variations in dwelling form
(Chapter 6) and settlement pattern (Chapter 8), hitherto discussed mainly
in relation to seasonality
;
emerge as indicators of longer-term processes of
nomadization or sedentarization. Seasonal migration and portable dwell-
ings presuppose the capacity to readily change migration routes should
the necessity or opportunity arise. The question of ancient nomadism is
closely bound up with spatial and temporal variations in population dis-
tribution and density, ethnicity, architectural forms, intra-site settlement
structure and changes in subsistence, to name but a few.
Among nomads, the changeable size and composition of groups occu-
pying particular localities underlines the problem of defining residence
groups. It soon became clear that the categories normally employed in
ethnographic analysis are inadequate for archaeological analysis. The
operational construct which most closely monitors the archaeological
traces left by a fluid and ephemeral settlement system was the 'domestic
complex
7
. This may be considered the basic analytical unit in the study of
nomadic campsites. Discard patterns and activities connected with the
maintence of living space were found to influence not only the location of
refuse and features but also the spacing and orientation of tentsites, giving
rise to a symmetrical and open settlement structure. Each campsite is a
single occupation event, or a succession of discrete events, by independ-
ent domestic units of fluid composition. Sites such as this invite the search
for horizontal structures rather than stratigraphic sequences.
The future
Like Hole (n.d.) I am confident that nomadic campsites will continue to
emerge as a minor component of the archaeological record of the Near
East. I am also confident that the problems of distinguishing nomad
camps from those of hunter-gatherers and seasonal settlements from sed-
entary ones are not insuperable. The essential issue does not lie here. I
remain unconvinced, however, that the mere accumulation of nomad
sites, of itself, will repay the necessary effort.
While the accumulation of such evidence will no doubt advance the
study of pastoralism and ancient economic systems in general, the major
issues that have arisen in the course of this study are of a different nature.
How do nomad sites differ in their internal organization and distribution
from sedentary sites? What kind of variability exists between nomad sites
cross-culturally, in space and through time? What kinds of methods are
required to exploit the information potential contained in this type of site,
and what kind of theoretical questions are best pursued in relation to such
evidence?
The important issue is not whether nomadic pastoralism, however
defined, evolved as a distinct specialization in 1,500 BC or 5,000 years
earlier, nor whether floorplans can be identified as tents or houses. The
significant finding which emerged from this research is that nomad camp-
sites are structured in a distinctive way that bears the imprint of an
inherently unstable mode of subsistence. This impression was reinforced
at every level of analysis, from architectural features (Chapter 6) to the
Towards a model 229
positioning of tentsites within a camp (Chapter 8) to the location of
campsites within the landscape (Chapter 10). The typical nomad camp
emerges as a cluster of spatially discrete units, each containing patterned
residues of a household, in which the organization of discard was specific
to each household. Such a structure is not necessarily unique to nomadic
pastoralists but does suggest certain facts about the community which
produced it. Furthermore this kind of shallow and extensive site places
heavy demands on archaeological technique. Intra-site sampling and
excavation methods presuppose some predictive model of site structure -
an arrangement of discrete units (domestic complexes) aligned and dis-
tributed according to simple criteria of aspect, slope, optimal living space
and social distance. There is a need for the further refinement of tech-
niques of spatial analysis appropriate for the interpretation of such pat-
terns in the archaeological record.
It also emerged that variations in dwelling form and settlement pattern
appeared sensitive to long-term cyclical changes related to the stability of
residential groups, access to territory and subsistence strategies. This sug-
gestion contains the seeds of many hypotheses which promise to enliven
the archaeology of small settlements both within and outside the Near
East for many years to come.
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GLOSSARY
Term
Aga
Akkoyunlu
Akraba
Alacik
Alpenwirtschaft
Airet
Beyleh
Bonkuh
Chadour
Chul
adir
Qardak
Qatma ev
Dag
Direk
Eski
Ev
Garmsir
Gelim
Hane
Hoyuk
Hoz
D
Ilkhan
Kabile
Kaqirma
Kara qadir
Katkhoda
Language
Turkish
Turkish
Turkish
Turkish
German
Turkish/Kurdish
Qashqa'i (Turkic)
Qashqa'i (Turkic)
Persian
Persian
Turkish
Turkish
Turkish
Turkish
Turkish
Turkish
Turkish
Persian
Persian
Kurdish
Turkish
Kurdish
Persian
Persian
Kurdish
Turkish
Turkish
Persian
Translation
Influential headman or landowner.
Nomad confederacy and empire in Eastern Tur-
key, 15th century.
Relatives or consanguinial kin.
General term for trellis and other frame tents.
An alpine pastoral economy based on seasonal
vertical transhumance of livestock.
Tribe.
Minimal camp group.
Large camp group.
Tent.
Storage platform along the inside wall of a tent
(seeYukluk).
Tent.
Leaf-covered bower or summer shelter.
Literally 'makeshift' tent; semi-cylindrical frame
tent.
Mountain.
Pole (see nq direkli qadir).
Old, ancient.
House, dwelling.
Winter quarters (see kilak).
Rug or small carpet (see kilim)
A nomad household.
Archaeological mound.
Lower order tribal section (Jaf Kurds).
Tribe or tribal confederacy.
Chief of a tribal confederacy.
A tribal section corresponding to a named de-
scent group.
Capture, kidnapping.
Black tent supported by poles.
Headman or leader of Basseri oulad.
245
Glossary 246
Kaymakam
Khan
Khel
Kibitka
Kilim
Kilak
Kiz kaqirma
Komu
Ksour
Kula
Kurban
Kurban bayram
Kurgan
Malik
Mtistilman
Oba
Oghuz(Oguz)
Oulad
Oymak
Raiz
Razzia
Raubern
Sa
9
Saq ayak
Safavid
Sanat
Sandbewohner
Sarhad
Sassanian
Saun
Seljuk/Selquk
Sheikh
Sini
Siyah chadour
Spi
Taifeh
Tas
Tash
Tayfa
Tayfeh
Turkish
Persian/Mongol
Persian
Turkish/Mongol
Turkish
Turkish
Turkish
Turkish
Arabic
Persian
Turkish
Turkish
Russian
Persian/Pashtu
Turkish
Turkish
Turkish
Persian
Turkish
Kurdish
French
German
Turkish
Turkish
Persian
Turkish
German
Persian
Persian
Mongol
Turkish
Arabic
Kurdish
Persian
Kurdish
Qashqa'i (Turkic)
Kurdish
Persian
Persian/Turkic
Persian/Turkic
Village headman.
General term for chief.
Tribal section (Baluch, Pashtun) or camp group
(Jaf).
Covered wagon used on the Central Asian step-
pes, also applied to trellis tents.
Small carpet or rug (see Gelim).
Winter quarters.
'Girl capture', or elopement.
Neighbour.
Village compound or hamlet.
Leaf-covered bower or summer shelter.
Sacrifice.
Feasting time at the end of the holy month of
Ramazan.
Mounded tombs in the Caucasus region, dating
to the 2nd and 1st millennia BC.
Tribal chief or headman (Pashtun).
Muslim.
A migratory unit (Yomut Turkmen).
Migratory Turkish tribes of the 11th century.
Agnatically defined migratory group among the
Basseri.
Tribe or large migratory unit.
Headman (Jaf Kurds).
An organized plundering expedition.
Robbers, thieves, bandits.
Metal shield for making yufka bread.
Iron tripod to support ac.
Persian dynasty, 17th and 18th centuries.
Art or artwork.
Sand-dweller, or Bedouin.
Summer quarters (see yayla).
Persian dynasty, 2nd-4th centuries.
A form of pastoral tenure in which livestock are
looked after by relatives or clients.
Turkic empire occupying much of Anatolia in the
12th and 13th centuries.
Tribal or religious leader.
Tray for serving meals.
Black tent supported by poles.
Loom.
Tribal section (Qashqa'i).
Copper bowl.
Lower order descent group.
Tribal section (Pashtuns, Shahsevan).
Tribe (Bakhtiari).
Glossary 247
Tell
Tepe
Tei
Tezek
Tireh
Toklu
Topak ev
Turkmen
Uq direkli qadir
Ulukii
Wandern
Wilden
Yapilan direk evler
Yayla
Yoruk/Yiiriik
Yufka
Yiikluk
Yurt
Zelt
Zeltbewohnern
Zemga
Zoma
Arabic
Persian
Turkish
Turkish
Persian
Turkish
Turkish
Turkish
Turkish
Turkish/Kurdish
German
German
Turkish
Turkish
Turkish
Turkish
Turkish
Turkish/Mongol
German
German
Persian
Kurdish
Archaeological mound (Turkish, hoyiik; Persian,
tepe).
Small hill or archaeological mound.
Spindle.
Dried dung burnt as fuel.
Tribal section among western Iranian nomadic
groups and Shahsevan.
A herd consisting of male yearlings.
Circular trellis tent.
A major branch of the Turkish-speaking peoples.
See also Yoruk.
Three-poled (black) tent.
Tribal or religious leader.
Wanderers, nomads.
Wild or barbarian.
Houses made of poles or wattle-and-daub.
High mountain pastures and summer camping
ground.
Literally 'wanderer'. Sub-ethnic group inhabiting
southern and western Anatolia, not all nomadic.
Also known as Turkmen.
Thin 'pide' bread cooked on a domed metal shield
or saq.
Storage platform along the inside wall of a tent
(see chul).
Tent of Central Asian type.
Tent.
Tent-dwellers.
A stone-walled dwelling partly covered by a black
tent.
A summer camp group of changing composition.
INDEX
abandoned tentsite 92, 166
abandonment 220
accretion 158
accumulation 34, 37, 40
of livestock 120
rate of 153
spiral of 40
activity
areas 225
sets 124
space 4
affinal relations 39, 45, 48, 49, 54,
145,155,165,195
Afghan Pamirs 42
Afghanistan 220
aga 198, 200
age cohorts in stock 29
age-sex composition of herds 29,
32,67
agnatic
camp groups 145, 165, 193, 195
core 48
descent 45, 46, 49, 51, 46
structure 146
agriculture 11, 12, 24, 27, 34, 61,
136, 144, 159,165, 195
agro-pastoral system 15, 25, 62,
196, 214
Akkoyunlu 57, 196
akraba 164
alaak 86, 88, 104, 166, 169
Algeria 158
Ali Kosh 216
alienation 40, 41
of land 202
Alikan Asjret 187, 196, 198, 202,
210
Alikan Mevki 219
Alikan tribe 197
Alikanli54, 101, 107, 110, 135-7,
140-7, 150-5, 189, 196-9,
200-8,211
alignment 140-1, 170
alluvial
ash 185
deposits 114, 165,218,223
plain 13, 188
valleys 137
alpenwirtschaft 19
Amorites 10
Anatolia 16, 75-82, 86, 90-1,
95-6, 99, 101, 104, 107,
110-1,121,134,139, 158,
164, 187, 196, 205, 220
Anatolian nomads 115, 154
Anatolian plateau 8, 114, 162
angora goats 117
animal
bone 131, 177, 188, 215, 218
pens 195
prices 117
products 69, 166
annexes 189
anomaly, ethnographic 5
anthropologists 53
apical ancestor 201
Aqqoyunlu Empire 154
Arabia 16
archaeological
context 5, 68-9, 74, 76, 84, 97,
123
culture 65
data 192, 209
deposits 146
fieldwork 212, 227
material 161
mounds 223
objectives 171
profile 122
record 68, 75, 154
remains 22
sites 150
study 112
surveys 218
tell 139
visibility 69
architectural
features 152, 213, 214, 221
form 6, 133, 153, 166
typology 107
Armenia 220
artifact
density 172, 226
distribution 172, 178
texture 172
asiret 197, 199, 201, 203
ash dump 2, 176, 190,207,210,
214
aspect see tent orientation
asymmetric reciprocity 82
Assyrian 11, 13
Atlas Mountains 25
baggage train 76, 198
Baharvand 38, 57,74, 95,100, 107,
140, 147
Bakhtiari 26, 57, 60, 100, 107, 141,
145, 157
Khans 155
campsites 146
Baluchi 10, 62
campsites 154, 221
Baluchistan 90-2, 96-8, 154, 169
barrel-vaulted
bender 89
huts 89
tent 88
Barth, F. 39, 40, 51
Basseri 39, 40, 49, 53-6, 60, 134,
135-7, 144, 147-9, 200
bazaars 198
bedding platform 214
Bedouin 10, 11, 85, 92, 94, 150
campsites 75
migration 13
bender 88, 89
Beni Hasan 10
Berbers 54
Beritan tribe 110
Beritanli 98, 101, 104, 140, 144-7,
198, 205
Beikc.i, I. 35, 69, 155, 187-9,
196-7,200-11
beyleh 25, 39
bilateral family ties 49
Binford, L.R. 2, 68, 130, 226
bio-social factors 28
black burnished pottery 14, 220
black tents 84, 88, 90-1, 108, 142,
167,188, 205, 219
blood feud 46, 53-4, 200
boom and bust cycle 34
Boyr Ahmad 55, 141
bread oven 77, 189, 192-5
pit 80, 191
breeding stock 29, 33
brideprice 38, 39
butchery 124, 131, 182
Byzantine heritage 84, 114-5,
118, 123, 139,150,220
caldera 186, 188,211
camel bag 118, 123
camels 118
camp group 37, 45, 49, 121,
143-6, 199, 203
formation 20, 45, 48, 57, 110,
139, 143, 155
membership 110, 199
campsite 44, 49, 80, 137-8, 143,
157,164,184,187,211,214
contemporary, 76
formation 6, 137, 146, 147
organization 139, 144, 184,
214-5
temporary, 67
capital 34, 38-42, 119
agricultural, 34
investment 24
248
Index 249
losses 24
maintenance 37
pastoral, 23, 34, 37-40
requirements 40
resources 48
restricted, 34
caravanserai 150, 182, 196
carbon-14 dating 214
Central Asia 6, 42, 59, 86-9, 91,
95,149, 155, 220
nomadism in, 15
tents in, 96
ceramic 68, 75, 76, 78, 80, 191,
213, 214, 220, 221
cooking pots 92
forms 221
pots 66
sherds 188
styles 14, 127
chaleh 92
see also hearth
chiefdoms 48, 52, 104
Childe, V.G. 65, 66, 80
chronological arguments 11, 213
cW92, 214
Cimmerians 11
cities, formation of 155
climate 134, 164
climax vegetation 28
clustering 174
co-resident
communities 20, 34, 39
groups 54
cognates 45, 49, 164, 195
collateral households 48
collective
pasture rental 56, 200, 201
tenure 34, 56, 119
commerce 117, 119, 147
comparative archaeology 227
complex societies 10
composite
dwelling 96-7, 154, 159, 160,
216, 223-5
herd 144
settlement 154-7, 216, 223
computer simulation of a herding
system 29-34
confederacy 53-4, 199, 201-2
conflict, tribal 45, 55
consumption of food 21, 69
contract herding 34, 39, 40, 42,
119
cooking pots 75-7, 80, 124
cooperative groups 36, 143, 144,
227
corrals 66,67-9,96,105,115,118,
150-1,156, 173,180, 190,
192-4,195, 209-10, 220
courtyards 159
culling herds 29
cultivation 14, 25, 38, 61-2, 118,
135-6,139, 218
culture complex 76, 91
cycle of movement 28, 58
yirdak 90-1, 96
yuma ev 88, 89, 166, 185
Darius 1, 149
dark ages 11
defence 144
Deh Luran sequence 213
Deh Luran Plain 13
Deh Morasi Ghundai 220
demographic composition
of flocks 29
of nomads 61, 189,191, 192,
208-9
density of settlement 117, 145,
155-8, 210, 228
descent groups 45, 49, 51, 120,
200
diachronic studies 15, 227
differential preservation 176
dimorphic chiefdom 26, 155
discard 172, 226
behaviour 227
organization of, 229
patterns 6, 224
zone 128-30, 132, 170, 173-6,
180,182, 214, 215
domain 100-1, 104, 105, 170
domestic
activities 210
behaviour 124
complex 131-2, 138, 170-3,
180, 183, 184,191, 215,
218, 224, 226, 228-9
cycle 38
goods 69
units 193
domestication 9
dominant lineage 48
drought 31, 38
dry farming 13
durables 68, 111, 178
dwelling
form 105-7, 160, 228
unit 161
dyeing yarn 210
dynamics, archaeological 5
dynastic cycle 58
dynasty 26
Early Bronze Age 185
Early Transcaucasian Culture 14,
220-1
earthenware 79
see also ceramic
earthquake 160
eastern Anatolia 137, 144, 218,
221
eastern Turkey 139
ecological
balance 135
controls 30
factors 48
imbalance 25
integration 15
succession 28
stratification 62
viability 40
egalitarianism 34, 40, 56, 147
Elburz Mountains 74, 91
Emirates 52
endogamy 49, 201
enforced sedentarization 60, 157
environmental
capacity 30, 62, 64, 135
factors 4, 23, 139, 184
niche 22
stress 58
epidemic among livestock 31, 38,
40
essentialism 4
estate 55, 135
ethnic
affiliation 10, 91, 105, 154
composition 62, 63, 228
migration 91
ethnoarchaeology 4, 5, 65-6, 122,
193, 196
ethnographic
analogy 4, 5, 123, 214, 227
observations 62, 196, 199, 211
parallels 5
record 148, 227-8
studies 31, 45, 46,56,57, 112,
207
techniques 120, 187
ethnohistorical
observation 62,69,74,108,112,
227
sources 15, 78
Eurasia 16, 27
evolutionary change 227
excavation 68, 170, 196, 212-4,
229
expendables 68, 69
exponential
expansion 30
growth 33
extended
family 40, 101, 193, 199,208
household 193, 208
external hearth 170, 192-3
famine 57
farming
dry 13
mixed 27, 59, 63
Fars Province 26
faunal
elements 178
evidence 215
population 215
remains 67
Fertile Crescent 10
fertility rates 28, 29
fixtures 66-9, 76-9, 84, 92, 97,
100, 105, 108, 110-1, 119,
151,195, 208, 223
flock leaders 28
flocks 37, 143, 204
floorplan 3, 91, 97-8, 105, 154,
191-4, 216, 221, 228
fodder store 192, 208
food production 9, 16, 68, 214
forces of, 22, 24, 27, 37
forecourt 184, 189, 191, 210, 216,
219, 221
fortified camps 154, 155
founding ancestor 201
functionalism 6, 172, 226
garmsir 134
genealogy 201
geographical scope 6
goat-hair tent 91, 195
grain 19, 82
grass 145
grazing
effects of 188
fees 119
land 34, 135, 139, 143, 204
night, 209
rights 24, 42, 48-9, 202
selective, 28
shortage 31, 117-9, 198-9, 201
grinding stones 189, 193
group cohesion 146
guest accommodation 105, 148,
191,194-5, 205, 209, 210
Index 250
HajiFiruzTepe218
Hamidiye regiments 196
Han Ibrahim ah 219
hane 199, 208
Haneans 10, 48,195, 200, 209, 214
hearth 2, 66, 84, 92,105, 110, 151,
170, 189, 191-3, 207, 214,
219, 221, 225
Hellenistic period 114
herding 38, 69, 124, 178
contract, 39
efficiency 40, 41
group 40
labour 24, 37-9, 48, 165
logistics 20, 44
system 32, 33
tactics 117,204
unit 34, 37, 39-41, 49, 144-7,
156, 194, 198, 200, 203
Herodotus 12, 59
heirlooms 75
high-risk pastoral strategy 34
historical evidence 10-2
Hittite raiding 11
hospitality 82, 88, 101, 104, 187
house forms 161
house plans 142
household 25-7, 30, 34-6, 44, 49,
113,143,149,183,205
autonomy 20, 145
composition 38, 193
consumption 42
equipment 69, 74, 75
flocks 36, 41
head 200, 205
husbandry 16
impedimenta 80, 81
inventory 74, 75
labour 35
organization 82, 98, 126, 131,
142, 214
size 35, 88, 101, 105, 195
space 85
unit 40, 44, 131
utensils 65
viability 36-9, 40, 42
Hulailan Valley 97
hunter-gatherer 20, 22, 48, 66-7,
80, 82, 155-6, 228
husbandman 37, 165
husbandly 16, 34
ibn Khaldun, 23, 53, 58
Ilkhan51
ingestion, rate of 28
inheritance 21, 34
integrated tribes 15, 26, 155
intensive agriculture 6, 120, 136
intra-site
density 156
sampling 229
settlement 228
spatial analysis 161
invasion 58, 153
Iran 68, 74, 79, 82, 89, 91, 104,
111, 134, 145, 149, 153,
157-8, 183-5, 193, 196, 220
Iranian Revolution 60
Iraq 158
Iron Age 219
irrigation 135, 153
agriculture 13
canal 158, 212
Jamenites 10
kabile 144, 199-203, 209
leara $adir 86
karst7, 114
katkhoda 49
kaymakam 198
Khabur Valley 10, 11
Khamseh 26
Confederacy 51, 53, 149
khan 26, 42, 51, 55-6
Khuzistan 31, 68, 212, 216
kibitka 59, 86
kilim 82, 123, 165
kin support 36, 39, 41
kinetic
factors 3, 4
studies 100
kinship 39, 44, 45, 53-4,133, 145,
146, 155, 157, 193-9, 209
Kirghiz 42, 63, 86
kislak 134, 165
leiz kaqirma 164, 165
kula 81, 90-1, 96-7, 108, 214, 221
Kurdish
camps 139
ethnicity 197
nomad tribes 187
tribes 195-6, 198, 205
villagers 106, 154
Kurdistan 52, 61, 92
Kurds 69, 74, 104
kurgans 1
labour
efficiency 40
force 24, 38, 39, 101
imbalances 41, 42
requirements 23, 24
resources 24, 42
shortages 39, 41
supply 35, 38, 39, 49, 56
labour-intensive system 12
labour-sharing 45
Lady Ella Sykes 78
Lake Van 185, 196-7,202
lambing season 29
land tenure see tenure
land use 61
landlords 40, 200
Late Bronze Age 67
lattice-work 86
lava flow 137, 188, 210
laws 2
Levant 13
life-space 3, 131, 225
see also living space
lineage 48, 62, 203, 209
maximal, 46
segment 45-8, 53
lithic technology 79
livestock 27, 30, 37-41, 55, 63, 97,
117,124,138,158,198,203,
209
holdings 32, 62
management 36
numbers 135
ownership 200
resources 55
wealth 35
living
space 98, 99, 161
zone 132, 170, 173, 176, 215
Luri 38, 74, 79, 146, 151, 156,
213-4, 216
Luristan 15, 57-61, 91, 96-8, 135,
227
Lurs51,96, 107, 108
Malthusian controls 29, 40, 41
Mari archives 10, 11
marine fossils 7
market
capitalism 34
forces 27, 40, 42,56, 119, 120,
166
niche 25
prices 28, 42, 117
trends 118
marriage 21, 38, 40, 62, 165, 201
isolates 49, 51, 53, 201
Marsh Arabs 54
Marxist theory 17, 52
material
complexes 14
culture 65-83, 124, 211,221,
227
culture complex 76
remains 65, 83
maximal lineage 46, 200-1
mercenaries 54
Mesopotamia 12, 67, 91, 108, 155
metal
containers 75
tripods 220
midden 2, 80, 161, 183, 190-3,
210, 214-5
middle range theory 2-6
migration 73, 118, 134, 144, 164,
166, 198-9, 227
argument for, 11, 58, 153
Bedouin, 13
community 18,19,22,120,197,
199
cycle 18, 54, 108
drift 58
episode 58
lifestyle 153
mode 21
orbit 107, 215
route 18, 28, 61, 154, 197,
212-4, 228
schedule 31, 49
track 20-2,59, 110-4, 120, 133,
146
trail 198
trains 82
trends 108, 120
military services 202
milk products 29, 138, 165
Millie's camp 122
minimal lineage segment 193, 195
mobile
lifestyles 13, 14, 15
resource base 63
villages 44
mobility 97, 107,221
mode of production 3, 17-8
mode of subsistence 12, 17-8,
23-6, 30, 34, 61-2, 147, 153,
227-8
model building 3
modernization 60, 62
modular units 3, 144-5, 148, 156
Mongol incursions 12
Mongolia 86, 155
monument ruins 151
Morocco 92
mortality rates in flocks 28, 29
mounds 151
mountain regions 12
see also Taurus Mountains
Index 251
mud walls 155
multiple resource nomadism 39
Near Eastern
history 10
nomads 75
villages 69
Nemrut Dag 77-80, 110, 134,
185-8, 197,204,211
Neolithic sites 151, 185, 218
New Archaeology 4, 122
night grazing 209
nomadic
activity 15
archaeology 66, 152, 211
architecture 80, 84, 224
camp 44-5, 69, 133, 153,
155-6, 161, 229
campsites 20, 68, 134, 216
culture 221
dynasty 196
entrepreneurs 12, 14
families 198
household 69
incursions 11
invasions 11
lifestyle 122
material culture 66, 68, 73-6,
80,83,211
migration 14, 97, 154
mobility 45
pastoralism 9, 18, 34, 81, 135,
228
pastoralists 66, 80, 82, 113
population 62, 115, 135
sections 15, 40, 42, 63
sedentarization 154, 156-61
settlement 67, 223-4
sites 68,75-6, 96,133,157,192,
212, 224, 225
spatial behaviour 224
tents 85, 100, 151
traits 97
tribes 199
nomadism
compared with sedentism 122,
161, 166
definition of, 15, 19, 68
multiple resources of, 39, 119
tethered 18
untied 18
nomadization 5, 25-7, 59, 62-3,
111,120-1,153,223,228
North Africa 46
nuclear area 129, 131-2, 226
nuclear family 38, 40, 101, 193-5,
200, 203-8
nucleation 145, 153
oba 49, 203
obsidian 185, 188
ocak 92
see also hearth
occupation
density 156
event 211, 228
levels 223
optimal
grazing unit 144
living space 229
management 144
size 28
orientation see tent orientation
Ottoman Empire 196-7, 202
oulad 49, 5\
over-grazing 40
overexploitation 27
oymak 49, 198
pack animals 80-1, 101
Pahlevi Dynasty 60
paleobotanical evidence 28
Palestine 220
parallel cousin marriage 45, 165
Pashtuns 42, 91
pastoral
accumulation 18, 63
activity 166
camp 68, 219
campsite 11,68, 183
capital 23, 34, 37-8, 40, 63, 117
economy 49
feudalism 42
herds 56
labour 35, 37
migration 16, 60, 118
mode of subsistence 24, 34, 147
nomadism 38
nomads 52
opportunism 58
peoples 2, 27, 30
production 11, 18, 21-2, 23, 27,
119-29
products 29
resources 13, 48, 52
sector 12, 41, 121
settlements 225
site 65, 183
society 55, 69
specialization 214
strategies 63
tenancy 42
tenure 40, 119
traditions 120
zone 137
pastoralism 24, 25-8, 68, 135,
143, 165
developed, 16
sedentary, 26
semi-sedentary, 16
pasture 24, 27-8, 45, 138
acquisition 56
allocation 56
land 27, 49
lots 42, 48, 56
rental 55, 56
rights 55, 202
patrilineal descent 45
patron-client relationships 36, 39,
42
patronage 39
peasantry 26
people of the hills 11
perishables 68, 69, 74, 76, 80, 97,
105, 176, 178
Persian Gulf 8
pits 219
political instability 25, 196
political office 105
population
centres 224
composition 192
control 39
density 114, 210, 228
distribution 228
growth 135, 159
movements 121
pool 203
trends 153
portability 76, 107, 220
portable
dwellings 105, 228
hearths 220
items 69, 74, 84, 100
structures 66
superstructure 97, 106
post-depositional
events 131
processes 3
posthole 191
potsherds 195, 220
pottery 66, 75
pre-depositional events 131
prehistoric sites 13
preservation 176
primary community 46, 48-9,
53-4, 57, 201
procurement strategy 22
productive
animals 29
base 163
process 23
relations 21
strategies 20, 27, 59
unit 36
productivity 23-4, 28, 198
indices 29
property relations 44
public buildings 221
Qashqa'i 25-6, 39-41, 51-7,
60-1, 86-92, 100, 107, 135,
140-9
rank 82, 195, 205, 209
razzia, Assyrian 11
recessed hearth 92, 189
see also hearth
reed screen 100, 210
reference group 49, 53
refuse
disposal 124
organic, 218
primary, 3
secondary, 3
regional economy 154
relations of production 17-8, 37,
48
renewable products 17
renomadization 120, 121
rent
collective 203
negotiations 118
pasture 55, 56, 110, 198, 200
reproductive
life 29
potential 34
success 29
resettlement 160
residence
associations 20, 24, 145, 227
group 20, 37, 44-8, 133, 147,
209, 228
hierarchy 27, 46, 132
residential
groups 21, 229
patterns 44
unit 192, 203
resource-banking 25
restricted capital 34
Reza Shah 26, 60, 74, 96, 135
rib-strut tent 89
ridge-pole tents 90
ring model 226
rock-shelter 67
royal tents 88, 149, 155
ruined village 151
ruling class 18
Index
252
rustling 28
Sacjkara Yoriik 146
Safavid period 54, 196
Sahara 16
sale of livestock 166
Sanaydm 166, 167
Sanaydm Yayla 69, 76, 97, 111,
135,146, 162-5,172, 182-4
Sarmatians 12
Sassanian 68, 139, 150, 212
saturated milieu 59
saturation phase 156, 159
sautt system 42
Schmidt, E.F. 150, 157
Scythians 12
seasonal
breeding 28-9
campsites 19, 110-1, 184, 215
cycle 6, 29, 56, 107, 108, 111
habitation 15
labour 39
migration 12, 18, 120, 227-8
movement 19
occupation 24, 67
pastures 19, 110, 136, 146
settlement 68, 88, 227, 228
secondary communities 48
security 44, 97, 144-5,159, 166
of tenure 110-2, 119, 146
sedentarization 5, 26, 39-42, 59,
62,74,108-11,120-1,147,
154-8,161, 228
enforced 60, 157
sedentarized nomads 114, 115,
133
sedentary
agriculture 27, 135
architecture 224
community 23
pastoralism 26
sector 14, 25-6, 62, 63
settlement 155-7, 216-8
sites 76
village 195
villagers 13
sedentism 59, 122, 146, 161,
165-6
segmentary
lineage 53, 54
system 53, 227
segmentation 26, 57, 121-2
selective
grazing 28
pressures 27
self-sufficiency 36
see also subsistence
Seljuk 18, 54, 57,139, 150, 154,
196
caravanserai 162
migrations 12
semi-aridity 28
semi-nomadism 10,15,16,19,59,
108
semi-sedentary 220
semi-urban 221
settled
agriculture 59
population 153
village 36
settlement 15, 149
archaeology 155
cycle 158
density 117,145, 155-8
event 155
evidence 66, 67
hierarchy 48
history 152
pattern 108, 135-6, 141, 158,
223-4, 227-8
plan 6, 148, 158-61, 196, 209
size 3
structure 161
system 8, 20, 133, 214, 226
unit 133
settling nomads 158
Shah 153
Shahsevan 39, 42, 54-5, 60, 86,
95, 135
sheep corrals 198
sheep nomadism 63
sheikh 202
shelter 141, 151
shepherd households 41, 147
shepherding 39
labour 42, 204
shepherds 34, 37, 209
hired 40, 194, 204, 210
sherd scatter 124
sherds 76, 78, 189-91, 213-4, 219
shifting cultivators 20
Shirdashti 147
Sistan Region 13-4, 91, 220
site
archaeological 150
density 153
fixtures 76
furniture 68, 79-80, 223
structure 4, 6, 172
siyah chadour 86
size threshold 46
skeletal remains 178-82
social
structure 191
activity 145, 198
anthropology 19, 20, 227
distance 45, 155, 229
factors 4, 139
organization 100, 192-3, 198,
207-11
relations 9
status 148
stratification 41
structure 195
survey 187
socioeconomic factors 146-9
Southern Anatolia 117, 120
Soviet Georgia 220
Soviet Turkmenia 13
Soviet Union 11
spatial
analysis 172, 191, 229
autocorrelation 130
behaviour 4
coherence 127, 130, 175
distributions 149
information 4
integrity 183
model 170
organizations, 100,123-8,147,
154,159, 209, 218, 226
patterning 4, 126
plots 128
relationships 155
structure 176
unit 183
specialization 9, 14, 26-7, 62
specialized
areas 21, 129, 180, 182
domains 105
pastoral products 12
pastoralism 12
pastoralists 63
structures 107, 148
zones 129, 132
species diversity 28
spinning yarn 210
spring migration 198
state 48, 52
apparatus 54
ascendency 62, 135
authority 153
statics, archaeological 5
status 44, 82,101,105, 205, 210
Steppelands 6, 8, 12, 27
stock management 28
stone
artifacts 79
footings 223
foundations 119
hearth 105
huts 111
platforms 213
tools 79, 185
village 187
storage
jars 66, 76
platform 66, 100,105, 110, 189,
193, 216
structures 96
Strabo 11
stratigraphic
layers 80, 191, 195, 213
record 80, 148
sampling 224
sequences 220
stratigraphy 68
structural organization 4, 131
subsistence 19, 80, 165
herd 117, 118
pastoralism 12
strategies 63, 215, 229
see also mode of subsistence
Sultan Dag 76-7
Sumerian 89
summer
camps 91, 96, 120, 134-5, 144,
165
campsites 74, 80, 139
grazing 135
migration 165
pasture 25, 55, 110-2, 134-6,
144, 198
quarters 107, 115, 198
resources 66
tents 100
superstructure 106
surface
collection 122, 124
recording 172
survey 212, 218
design 115, 139,224
Suteans 10
Syria 14, 62, 75, 89, 94, 154, 157,
220, 224
tactical responses 119
taifeh 52
Taurus Mountains 7, 12, 84, 90,
111-4, 117-8, 134, 137, 162,
185, 198, 199
taxes 55
tectonic plates 7
telephone boxes 183
tell 151, 161
Tell Toqaan 157-8, 161
temporary campsites 67
Index 253
tent 44, 84, 205
camp 136-7, 139, 149, 150-1,
155-6
chief, 205, 207
complex 170
encampment 139
fabric 107
footings 80, 96
form 85, 91
foundations 151
orientation 141,170, 184, 205,
215-9, 224-8
sites 183, 188
size 101,104-5, 148
suburbs 154
typology 85-91
tent-dwelling tribesmen 155
tent-peg holes 166
tentdoth 84,106-8, 166, 184
tentpoles 99, 205
tentsite 68,107, 184, 213
platforms 119
tenure 34, 56, 61, 119
Tepe Guran 151
TepeTula'i 68,183,212-3
terraced tentsites 141
terrain 137-41, 170, 187, 219,
224-6
territorial
aggrandisement 22, 58
conflict 53, 57
control 55
displacement 57
expansion 120
groups 49
instability 56, 58
stability 202
system 20-2, 52-4, 57, 62
unit 26, 203
territory 44, 54-5, 201, 229
access to, 20
test pits 183
tezek 138
Tibet 80
tied nomadism 59, 107, 120
tireh 51
toklulU, 118
tool kits 127
topak ev 86-8, 97
toss zone 130
toxic species 28
trade 14
tradesmen 74
transhumance 19,27,60,108,134,
215
migrations 20
pastoralism 13
pastoralists 165
transit camp 92-6, 105, 115, 134,
156, 163, 198
travellers 137, 150, 154, 186
trellis tent 86
tribal
accretion 57
affiliation 65, 121, 133, 153,
157,196
chiefdoms 52
devolution 52
elites 42, 52
evolution 53
history 57
identity 55, 82, 198
institutions 63, 202
membership 48
migrations 163
militias 196
movements 163
names 120, 121
nomads 26, 199
organization 41, 55-7, 62, 199,
227
relationships 147
section 51, 55, 110, 121
segment 58, 117, 121, 197
segmentation 120
structures 52, 148, 199
territory 110
unit 26, 27, 51-5, 117,201
Tula'i 214, 215
Turkey 158, 224
Turkic
emirates 114
incursions 12
invasions 196
migration 91
Turkmen 95, 151 162-3, 220
nomads 114
uq direkli qadir 87, 104, 166
uluki$i 202
under-cultivation 153
uniformitarian 227
unit of
consumption 195, 200
management 42
production 34, 42, 200
unplanned settlements 100
unstable
productive system 63
settlement system 119, 159
subsistence 153
untied migratory orbit 120
untied nomadism 59, 107
urban
centres 15
elites 18
settlement 62
urbanization 14
use-life 76
usufruct rights 39, 42
Uzbek 86, 91
valuables 68, 69, 76
vegetation communities 28
viability, household 36
village 62, 67, 146, 153, 154
agriculture 63
house 106
pastoralism 16
pastoralists 214
plan 157
society 40
virilocal system 38
visibility, archaeological 69
Wakhan Corridor 63
walled structure 169
watch dogs 187
wealth 35, 40, 82, 101,105, 203,
209-10
Western Anatolia 200
White Revolution 60
wickerwork 96, 105
screen 91, 205
wild resources 82
winter
campsites 137
encampment 151
grazing 120
pastures 134
quarters 107, 144
tents 107, 198
wood piles 210
wool 165
work zone 132
yayla 110, 115, 118-20, 134, 164,
198, 200-1
yaylag pastoralism 16
Yellen 2
Yoriiks 10, 32, 38, 42-3, 55,
61-2, 75, 87, 91, 104-7,
119-21, 134, 144-5, 150,
158,164,186, 200
yoghurt 75
Yomut43,86
Turkmen 38, 60
yukliik 92, 115
yrr 86-8, 91, 141-2, 155
Zagros57, 134, 145,212,218
Mountains 12, 67, 216
Zawi-Chemi Shanidar 67
zemga97, 108, 111
zoma 199, 200-1, 203, 205,
209-10

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