 Since I can remember, I have heard these high-pitched wavering sounds in every single destination I called home, from Algeria, Kuwait, Syria and Egypt, and eventually Lebanon, and as a child this sounds seemed to follow me everywhere. Was it me or was it something else? I heard such loud, trilling howls both in good times and in bad, so there was no one emotion or state of being that it seemed strictly associated with. But when I was finally old enough, I had understood the meanings and context when such an expression was applicable, when it was the right moment to exude such raw, primal and powerful declarations. In Arabic, it has many names, and each name depends on what part of the Arab world you might hear it from. For example, the most common name is Zagrouta, that's the singular form, and Zagarit the plural form, and is utilized mainly in the Levant and Egypt. Whereas in the Arabian Peninsula, the term would be either Yabab or Ghatraha, and in North Africa, the name used is Tezgrida. In English and in reference to its auditory quality, this sound is referred to as Yul Yulayshu. The Zagarouta's history is quite distant, and originates way before any of the ages of the Abrahamic religions, and was most likely a pagan ritualistic practice, a practice that was meant to bring fortune, be it weather, or crop, or good luck. There's proof of its daily life application in ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics, as well as its use in North Africa, as documented way back in ancient Greek times. And as history progressed, each region of the Arab world developed their own unique sound and resultant expressive manner. This, for example, is the Egyptian version, Arabian Peninsula, now the Syrian, Lebanese, Palestinian, and Jordanian iteration, and finally North Africa. Join the Chronicles, where we present content about Middle Eastern history, culture, and heritage. So what does it actually mean, and why does such an expression still carry on to this day? Zagarouta has a very diverse application. It deals with the extremes of emotions, but in all cases, it's about celebration. For instance, weddings, graduations, and at any moment of elation, women and only women initiate a cacophony of Zagarit that echo through and through at any home, wedding hall, or street. It is an expression of pure joy that resonates happiness into the hearts of those who are lucky enough to hear and feel it. But as much as Zagarouta is about celebrating the conclusion of something grand or elated in the life of a single or many cherished human beings, it is also about the celebration of sadness, when a person is newly deceased, and namely one who has achieved martyrdom. When the pain and suffering of family is so overwhelming that the only other expression of grief beyond crime is to release the heartache with a ululation, a moment when they celebrate the martyr's faith in achieving paradise. To this day, and in a society that disallows much heartfelt true and pure communication of the soul by women and public, Zagarit are still a very unique, precious and powerful way for Arab women to express themselves, to exojoy and pain. And that is where its true value lies, in the freedom of being able to make a sound so powerful and invasive without any consequence or judgment. And this is when I will perform for you my own personal version of the Zagarouta. No, I wasn't going to do it.