Living With the Bedouins: The Desert

On the northeastern side of the mountains of Petra is the desert landscape of Wadi Araba. The dunes stretch for miles and miles along the Israeli border. It's a favorite camping spot of the Bedouin.

We organized a jeep, stocked up on supplies, grabbed our blankets and mats and headed for the desert. Salem, his brother Ahmed and I drove down the curvy mountain road into Wadi Araba. In the desert we stuck to the tracks of previous vehicles. The dunes were small, but could be problematic with the potential to swallow tires without traction or tread. The jeep said "4WD." This brought me great comfort. As we sat by a palm filled desert oasis sipping tea and smoking an Arabic arguilla (or water pipe filled with aromatic fruit tobacco), however, Ahmed clarified that he had dismantled the 4WD because it used too much gas. This raised concern. Not too much concern though as we were well stocked with water and food and were only a somewhat challenging hike away from the village. No one was going to die.

We drove around the dunes, past camels, over shrubs, continually turning an Arabic cassette tape over and over again in the car stereo. We took turns driving, still keeping to the existing tracks.

At nearly 4 o'clock we reached a large dune perfect for appreciating the landscape. The jeep took us up the first bit and we climbed the rest by foot. No people, no cars for miles. A camel or two were barely visible in the distance. The sun would be going down in an hour or so. We headed back to the jeep to go find camp. What we found was our jeep, wheels spinning furiously, digging deeper and deeper into the sand. This was bad. We dug. We pushed. We lifted. We placed sticks under the wheels, but our chances ran out when the battery died of exhaustion. We were stuck. We gathered more sticks adding them to those from under the car and started a fire.

The beauty of the developing world is that there is cell phone reception almost everywhere. Strange, but true. This includes the barren desert where signals stretch from oasis towns. We called for help. It was no AAA, but 5 drunk Arabs came to the rescue.

There as no such thing as an in-and-out job in Bedouin culture. The rescue mission would need to be repaid with tea, food and a rousing evening of song around the fire. First order of business: charge and push the car to safety – it took six men. Second order of business: enjoy. What would have been a relatively quiet evening for 3 in the desert was now a boisterous party of eight.

I was obstaining from drink as a prudent girl should in the desert with 7 men, but others hadn't. Around 11 o'clock things turned and one of the rescuers began to cause problems - nothing dangerous, just unpleasant jealousy over how my conversational time was divided. The party broke up and we drove our separate ways into the desert lit up by a full moon.

The next morning the 3 of us remaining found the battery once again dead. Early enough in the day, I still did not worry. Provisions were high and the village remained within a day's walk. Salem stayed with the jeep as Ahmed and I hiked a few kilometers to the nearest "road." Before an hour passed an old Bedouin man drove by with his truck filled with lare canisters of water. We boarded the truck and drove towards where the jeep sat. The battery soon charged, we were on our way. Back to the village. No more stops.