Written by Alan Pimm-Smith

So far, no surprises: The three words mentioned refer to aspects of Arab or Islamic life, so naturally they are expressed in Arabic. But it may come as a surprise to learn that more commonly used words, such as names of well-known fruits and vegetables, were once considered exotic. Apricots, oranges, lemons and limes, and artichokes, spinach and aubergines (eggplant) all have Arabic names. Lemon, for instance, came into medieval English from Middle French, and before that into Middle Latin from the Arabic laymun. Artichoke, on the other hand, is hardly recognizable. It entered English by way of Italian from the Arabic al-khurshuf.

Tor Eigeland

This bedouin heads one of several families in Jordan’s Badia region. The word bedouin entered English from bidwan, the plural of bedawi, which means “desert dweller.”

There are hundreds of Arabic loan words in the English language. For the most part, they have come disguised as French, Spanish, Italian or Latin words. For the past 1000 years, English has adopted and adapted thousands of foreign elements, and French- and Latin-origin words account for approximately half the modern English vocabulary. French became the language of the English court, the nobility and parliament for at least 300 years following the Norman Conquest in 1066, when the Normans from northern France occupied England. It remained the language used for legal matters in England until 1731.

Brynn Bruijn

This name of this fruit in English as is almost the same its Arabic moniker: laymun. But lemon or laymun, you can almost taste its lip-puckering flavor in either language.

In the medieval times, then, it was largely through French that Arabic words entered the English language. What is especially interesting about these words is that the majority of them are technical terms relating to mathematics, astronomy and chemistry. The word alchemy, which entered English in the 1300’s, comes almost unchanged from the Arabic al-kimya, which itself is derived from Greek. Alkali and almanac entered the English lexicon about the same time. The syllable al- in these words comes from the Arabic definite article al (the). So, for example, alkali is derived from al-qili, defined as “the ashes of the saltwort plant.” Almanac, which comes from Arabian astronomy, is derived from al-manakh, defined as “the climate.”

ARABIC TIES TO FASHION CLOTHING

Sa'id al-Ghamidi

Fabric shops like this one in Saudi Arabia boast cloth including muslin and damask–which take their names from the cities where they were made: Mosul in Iraq, and Damascus in Syria.

Look at the names of such exotic fineries as sash, shawl, sequin, muslin, mohair, damask and cotton. All trace their roots to Arabic. Muslin takes its name from the city of Mosul in Iraq, where it was made. Sash is a variation of shash, Arabic for muslin. The fabric damask, as one might expect, comes from Damascus in Syria. Even the word tabby, which we now apply to cats whose fur is a certain pattern, has its origin in a striped silk taffeta that was made in the al-Tabiyya district of Baghdad. The word sequin has its origin in the Arabic sikkah, meaning a minting die for striking coins.

Arab-Islamic civilization was at its height during the Middle Ages, which lasted to the late 1400s, and for 500 years or so Arabic was the language of learning, culture and intellectual progress. Most of the classical Greek scientific and philosophical texts were translated into Arabic during the ninth century. From this foundation, Arab scholars, scientists, physicians and mathematicians made great advances in learning that were then passed on to western Europe via the Islamic universities in Spain. For example, we owe the decimal system of computation to Arab mathematicians, based as it is on the Indian concept of zero. And the word zero, like its synonym cipher, comes from the Arabic sifr, meaning empty.

ARABIC TIES TO Lifestyle

Nik Wheeler

This tennis player is keeping his eye on the ball so he can meet it with his racket, a word that comes from the Arabic raha.

Sofa, alcove, jar and carafe—each of which suggests a comfortable living style—have also been borrowed from Arabic. Sofa comes from suffah (“a long bench”); alcove from al-qubbah (“the arch”); jar from jarrah (“an earthen water-vessel”); and carafe from gharrafah (“bottle”). English vocabulary has also been enriched by the colors crimson, carmine, azure and lilac, all derived from Arabic. As for leisure activities, there’s the word racket, as in “tennis racket,” from the Arabic raha (“the palm of the hand”).

Arabic learning was widespread in England from the 11th to the 13th century, and indeed beyond. One of the foremost scholars in Europe was Abelard from the English city of Bath. He translated the astronomical tables of al-Khwarizmi, who is credited as the founder of algebra, from Arabic into Latin in the early 1100’s. Two mathematical terms entered the language in this way: algebra and algorithm. The latter word is taken from al-Khwarizmi’s name itself, while algebra comes from al-jabr, a word in one of al-Khwarizmi’s mathematical treatises that translates as “the reunion of broken parts.” Curiously enough, both the Arabic al-jabr and the English word algebra also refer to the surgical treatment of fractures or bone-setting. The Oxford English Dictionary gives the original meaning of algebra as “the surgical treatment of fractures” and quotes a citation from 1565: “This Araby worde Algebra sygnifyeth as well fractures of bones, etc. as sometyme the restauration of the same.”

One of the greatest contributions Arab scholars made to science was the development of astronomy. If you look at a modern star chart, you’ll find hundreds of stars whose names derive from Arabic: Altair, Aldebaran, Betelgeuse, Vega, Rigel and Algol, to name a few. Algol comes from the Arabic al-ghul, a word meaning “demon,” from which the English noun ghoul and its adjective ghoulish are derived. Algol was named “the ghoul” by the Arabs because of its ghostly appearance, for it appears hazy and varies in brightness every two days.

Waseem Tchorbachi

Carats galore. The word carat is derived from girat, for a small measure of weight. For gold, however, carats measure purity: the higher the number, the finer the gold, and 24-carat gold is 99 percent pure.

Today, we weigh precious stones in carats and measure paper in reams thanks to Arabic: girat is a small unit of weight; rizmah is a bale or bundle. Two other words of interest in this category are average and alcohol. Average, our word for a commonplace mathematical concept, is derived from an Arabic word awariya, meaning damaged goods. This came about because costs relating to goods damaged at sea had to be averaged out among the various parties involved in the trade.

And alcohol? This word is derived from al-kohl, the fine black powder that is used in the Middle East as a sort of medicinal eye shadow. The relationship between the black powder and alcohol as we know it is not readily visible. You can see the link, however, if you think of the powder as the essence or pure spirit of a substance.

ARABIC TIES TO THE SEA

Tor Eigeland

This dhow is flying the flag of Oman. The word dhow came into English from the Arabic dawa. Though the term dawa is rarely used these days, the ship it named still sails the seas.

The Arabs have long been seafaring and trading people, so it is hardly surprising to find English words related to these activities in the store of Arabic loan words. Sailors speak of “mizzen masts” because the word for mast in Arab is mazzan. Admiral, rather oddly, comes from amir al, a shortened form of amir al-bahr (“prince of the sea”). Arsenal derives from dar as-sina‘ah (“house of manufacture” or, more simply, “a workshop”). Looking deeper, sina‘ah itself meant “art, craft, skill.” Magazine traces its roots to makhzan (“a storehouse”). The trade-related word tariff derives from the Arabic tariff (“fees to be paid”).

The fact that many technical and scientific terms entered English from Arabic during the Middle Ages suggests the general superiority of Arab–Islamic civilization in the area of scientific achievement during this time. Revealing, too, is the fact that the next broad category of Arabic words suggests an advantage in terms of luxury and creature comforts and, thus, a higher standard of living.

By the time Elizabeth I (1533–1603) ruled England, English merchant seamen were discovering the world beyond Europe and bringing back rich and exotic objects, materials and customs from the Middle East and beyond. Significantly, many of the Arabic words that travelers brought back with them at this time suggest a gracious, even luxurious style of living. Sugar, syrup, julep, sherbet and marzipan are all Arabic in origin, though the average housewife at the time would not have included any of them on her weekly grocery list. Coffee comes from the Arabic gahwah, which originated in Yemen, and mocha from the Yemeni port city. Added to this are the fragrant spices caraway, saffron, and cumin, all of which have Arabic names.

There are many other interesting words—adobe, crocus, genie and popinjay, for example—that are all more or less garbled versions of Arabic words. Even the word garbled can be traced to Arabic. It comes from gharbala, meaning “to sift or select,” and refers to spices for sale. Over time, the meaning of garbled shifted to the idea of mixing and confusing. But garbled or not, the store of words derived from Arabic has greatly enriched the English language.

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Alan Pimm-Smith is a free-lance writer who worked as a teacher and journalist in Saudi Arabia and the Gulf countries for many years. He now lives in Turkey.

Written by Gary Paul Nabhan

Half a world away from where they originated, Arabic terms for horses, horsemen and their equipment have found a new home in the desert Southwest of the United States. These terms came from Arabic into Spanish, and then into American English when Spanish and American traditions met.

In the early eighth century, a Muslim army of Arabs and North African Berbers conquered much of the Iberian Peninsula, which includes Spain and Portugal. In the southern region of the peninsula, a land the Arabs called al-Andalus, a Syrian prince established a kingdom around the year 750. Then, in 1492 came two important events: the discovery of the New World—opening a whole new hemisphere to Spanish and Portuguese colonization—and the expulsion of the Muslims and Jews from Spain.

As the Spanish (including Arab and Berber refugees) colonized the New World, they took along their horses. They also brought with them the Arabic-origin words that they used for managing the horses. These are now deeply lodged in “cowboy lingo,” the everyday language of the desert borderlands of the US and Mexico.

I began listening to cowboy lingo after I moved to one of the great old ranching communities along the US–Mexico border. My wife and I have horses, sheep and turkeys, and talk often with working cowboys, ranchers and veterinarians. As part of their conversation, they all use Arabic-derived terms that were introduced here more than 450 years ago.

For instance, they refer to a rider of exceptional skill as a “fine jinete,” a term that once referred to a style of riding on the battlefield that developed in North Africa but now refers to the rider himself. The word came from xinete, a Spanish word that was in turn derived from zanati, the term used in al-Andalus. In fact, zanati is a form of the name of the Zanatah tribe who lived in what is now Algeria.

There are quite a few Arabic-derived names for riding equipment. A whip is an azote, from the Arabic as-sut. Perhaps my favorite Arabic-derived tack term is a widely used word for a headstall or rope halter: hackamore. It came straight from jaquima, a word used in al-Andalus that derives from the Arabic sakima, meaning something worn on the head.

There are also many terms for the colors of animals that can be traced back to Arabic. The word for a rust-colored stallion, almagre, derives from the Arabic al-magra, meaning “red earth.” But the term that most puzzled me was the use of the name Alice-Ann for a sorrel, a horse that is rusty brown from nose to tail. It took me some time to realize that it came from the Arabic al-azan, a kind of reddish wood, via the Spanish alazán.

Gary Paul Nabhan is the author of 20 books, including Why Some Like It Hot (Island Press, 2004), on the co-evolution of communities and their native foods. He can be reached at [email protected].