Between Shawarma and Doner

I am embarrassed to admit that one of the primary hardships of life in exile is the absence of shawarma. Occasionally, dismal stalls crop up here offering bedraggled skewers, but the evolutionary relationship between them and the meat towers of the Middle East is that of a dodo to a carrier pigeon.

In at least some cases, the stall owners appeared to be Hui. Beyond wondering whether they had learned the art of loading a skewer in the cradle of Islam or on YouTube, it was difficult not to make the connection—at least at street level—to the way the wheel turns.

The Hui, as a reminder, are the most significant Muslim group in China. Alongside the Muslims of the western frontier—mostly members of Turkic and Mongol groups—they comprise a population of some thirty million people. The name Hui (回) is a point of interest: the modern designation Huizu (回族, "the Hui minority") replaced the term Huihui (回回), which originally referred to Muslims of the outer frontier and particularly the residents of the Tarim Basin. Meanwhile, the name Hanhui (汉回) was later used for the Chinese-speaking "inner Muslims"—descendants of Arab, Turkic, and Persian settlers who underwent a long process of cultural assimilation into the Han majority while preserving the boundaries of religion and law.

The origin of the name Hui is disputed, but since the Chinese character means "return" or "to move in a circle," it is easy to imagine the moniker stems from their conversion to Islam, their movement along trade routes, the grueling pilgrimages to distant Mecca—or the very circumambulation of the holy Kaaba itself.

In any event, the name Hui corresponds perfectly with the modern Chinese-Muslim communities of Central Asia, most of whom are descendants of merchants and refugees from the rebellions of the late nineteenth century. In the local Turkic languages, these communities—and the uprisings they led—are known as "Dungan."

The origin of the name Dungan is also a matter of debate. Some link it to a regional designation for western Gansu province (Dong-Gan 东甘), or to a hybrid of a Persian collective (Gan-gan) and a Turkic root (Tön, Dun) meaning "again"—turning, returning, coming back. This creates a rather elegant link between the Hui shawarma vendors and that noble dish in its Turkish version, the Doner (from the verb dönmek—literally, "that which rotates").

Despite this charming connection—one that certainly appears in various folk etymologies—I have found no definitive bridge between the Anatolian Turkic suffix, and the Oghuz languages in general, and the linguistic reality of pre-modern Central Asia during the era of Hui migration across the Tian Shan. As far as my basic background in Turkic languages goes, there is no support for this in the relevant Karluk languages—namely Chagatai and its common "Turki" registers (what are today called Uzbek and Uyghur). It seems more likely that the name Dungan originates from a direct translation of the Chinese term.

Alternatively, a case can be made that Dungan stems from one of the common variations for the military colonies that dotted the western frontier, specifically the formation tunken (屯垦), which became widespread during the Manchu conquest of the region. This theory is supported by the close, complex relationship between the Qing dynasty, the Chinese Muslims, and the Turkic-speaking communities of the Tarim Basin and beyond.

Whatever the origin of the Dungan name, we are left without certainty—and certainly without shawarma. And so, things have returned to their axis, in a full circle.