Feels so good

I just got out of the shower. Ahhhhhh! There’s nothing like not showering for 4 days and then scrubbing yourself clean in a hot shower. It’s as if I can feel my skin breathing again and my hair feels light and bouncy and my hands are back to their tan shade. This sensation is overpowering all my senses, it’s so strong. I’m not hungry any more or tired or needing anything. I am just enjoying this feeling, sitting outside my hostel room, in the sun with my eyes closed. Soon enough the desert will wrap itself around me again. But isn’t it great to get to the point where you can appreciate mundane activities. Like when you really have to pee, and then you do. Or you’re really thirsty, and you drink. Or you’re tired, and you finally lay down. The pleasure of not being uncomfortable is worth the it all. But you can only appreciate it if you get to feeling uncomfortable. If you feel fine all the time, you stop appreciating it. Like the time I stubbed my little toe really badly. Before that moment, I wasn’t even aware of my little toe. Then, after the stubbing, it’s all I could feel. When it finally healed, I vowed to never take my toes for granted. But, after a day or two, I forgot they existed again. Today, though, I’m all about this tingly fresh sensation!

Feeling Good with the Family

I just wanted to add a little post tonight. Communication has improved and I really feel like we're finding our rhythm here with the family. The father talked with the family and explained we are also working at the camp and so, as women tend to do, they immediately showed compassion and now we all work together to keep the house in order, rather than just us helpers. Tonight, Bailey and I ate dinner with the whole clan plus a few relatives, making it 13 around the platter on the floor, squishing rice and chicken in our hands. Then, me and Bailey and the two eldest daughters cleaned the kitchen at lightening speed. Everyone is smiling!

Floating around

Living abroad like this is a bit like floating out in the open sea. I’ve taken myself away from all that is familiar and mine and every day I feel like I’m floating around wherever the wind takes me. I don’t really have a say about how my days will unfold. The last couple of days, Bailey and I were able to go out on tours with some visitors, but only after getting about a 5 minute notice in which we scrambled to get our overnight things ready and fill up a bottle of water. The weather today is cold and overcast, so we are staying in with the family, helping clean and eating split pea soup. But in a few minutes, I may be on my way out to the camp or helping escort camels out to the desert to pick up tourists. I try to stay open to any opportunities for adventure, even if I’m tired.

The past 5 months in Provence were a strange mixture of discovery and hermitdom. We went on a lot of day trips to historic villages, museums, the sea and the mountains. But we hardly met anyone. Maybe it was me, but I felt that the French people were pretty closed to strangers on their home turf. Many of them would not return a hello or a smile while passing each other, let alone start a conversation. So Bailey and I ended up spending a lot of time talking to each other or not at all. This was OK for some self reflection, but the tide turned in Florence. During our trip there we were much more open and desirous of meeting people. I felt us turn that night on the Ponte Vecchio, the day we found our car burned to the ground. Time dropped away and all of my senses sharpened. We sat on the bridge in non-thought and I felt myself come out of inside my head. I watched the people on the bridge, the 2 man band playing Italian ballads, people riding by on their bicycles, the lights reflected on the Arno river. I felt the breeze more fully and I smelled the humid winter air as if it were an extension of me. I knew that evening that I was changing.

I didn’t know to what degree our lives would change, of course. It was only a week later that we decided to come here to Jordan and live with the Bedouins in Wadi Rum. Most of our evenings have been spent up at the camp, eating Abu Ayman’s delicious dinners, meeting people from all over the world, dancing and laughing. I wouldn’t say that I am outside of myself as much as more a part of my surroundings. Everyone sits on mats around a fire in the round tent. We’re all in the same boat. We’re all travelers interested in each other. It’s very easy to feel inspired, and it’s easy to feel comfortable with other people who also haven’t showered in 4 days! Back at the house, there are kids around, familiar faces on the street all the time, and us help-exchangers. There have been a few moments when I’ve felt like I was back in that reclusive place. Once or twice on some cold nights when Bailey and I were trying to get to sleep, cocooned in our sleeping bags, and we were talking quietly face to face. I felt like we’d come home to our little family place, even if it was nowhere near home. Eating at Burger King in Aqaba and then riding the minibus home felt like old times. But I like this new phase right now. I’m normally ill at ease in social situations, feeling like an outsider. But here, I’m an insider and an outsider and I’ve found a balance between the two. I’m learning how to live with a lot of people around, letting myself look tired if I am or happy or hungry. Whatever. This is what makes living with others interesting. I’m feeling good about myself, finally, enough not to care too much about people’s judgements of me. I’m starting to know myself more and see that I can be strong at times, especially when it comes to letting this wind just blow me around.

The Crew

There are people here who are becoming central characters to my Wadi Rum experience. When I first arrived, everyone I came into contact with was just a name for me to try to remember. Now, these people are becoming very real to me and are finding firm footing in my heart.

The Sabah al Zalabeh family is of course right up there. I often have Ashma and Zenab (girls, 5 and 6 yrs old) running around me or sitting next to me on the couch. On school mornings, I help them tie their smocks on and make a pretty bow in the back. Sometimes, they’re a little too much and I have to pretend I’m going to take a nap in my room just to shake them off. You know how kids can be! Eptsam and Joher are 14 and 15 years old and they hang out with Bailey mostly. The mother, Reiya, is somewhat reclusive with the two babies, although yesterday I sat with her under the goat hair tent in the yard. She had built a small fire and put a large iron saucer upside down over the flames. On top of this, she cooked the most delicious flatbread the size of a large platter. She would start with a piece of dough and then flatten it down before thinning it out in the air, like pizza makers do. Then she would just throw it on the metal saucer and let the fire cook it. Even though we have trouble communicating, I enjoyed sitting and watching her and the fire while eating a crispy piece of fresh bread. Mohammed, the father, just came and sat next to me and we talked for a good half hour about how we might get help for the poor people in the village. We’ve had some tourists who want to help but there is nothing set up. So we just talked about the possibility of setting up a scholarship fund to help bright students go to the university. He told me the story of corruption that prevented one of Rum’s brightest from going to medical school. No one here can afford to go beyond high school. Mohammed is very passionate about helping his extended family, which is basically the whole town. He hires many of the poorest for his business and is right now in the process of building a little house on his property for those who have nowhere to sleep. Meanwhile, his family lives on the bare necessities. And I mean bare. The pots and pans are all dented and burned and the sponges are used until they are completely shredded. They wear their clothes out too. Every scrap of food is saved and used. The family is a regular noisy mess, though, full of laughter and yelling and warmth. All the kids sleep in the same room.

Other people in my life here are men. The women are all in their homes and I have not had the opportunity to meet them. Mohammed Hussein (not the father, but his nephew), took Bailey and I to visit his sister and her two young children. She made us tea in her two room house and enjoyed watching the babies play. Her house was so sweet and clean. She has painted the walls half way in Grecian isle blue. She was also very young, 20 I believe, and already has 2 young boys. Mohammed Hussein is probably the closest to us. He also stays in the hostel and has his own climbing/trekking company (see link to the right and movie in previous entry). He is 23 years old and speaks English quite well, so we’re able to joke around with him a lot and play cards at night when we’re not at the camp. I’ll post a picture of him in his North Face jacket… a real riot. Today, he took us helpers out for coffee at the rest stop. It was quite the outing. He bought and sold cell phones at the café. Rum Ebay. We all really enjoy Mohammed’s company, even if he does spend way too much time on his cellphone(s).

Then there is Ferris. He is one of the drivers and speaks only a little English. He doesn’t wear the Bedouin dress, but he’s from here. Ferris is always the first one to get up and dance at the camp, and it’s a nutty one at that. We all try to imitate him, but the rhythm is all off and I’m not sure how he stays standing. I like his attitude too. He never seems to sweat it.
There’s Ziad (20)and Zed (17), the two brothers. Ziad drives jeep tours and Zed does the camel tours. They live in a goat hair tent and always have smiles. Cute kids, too. They’re always too shy to get up and dance, but once you pull them up and force them, they’re just as crazy as the rest of us.
Abu Ayman is 65 and he is the cook at the camp. I’ve written about him before. He’s like the grandfather of the whole clan. I love the way he will come into the tent once the food is served and just sit back in a corner with a cigarette and watch his food get eaten. He starts cooking at 2 PM and finishes around 6:30. It’s amazing.

Well, these are the people I see on a daily basis. There are some others, like the lady at the small shop and some neighbor kids, but mostly it’s them and us. Us being me,Sarah, and Bailey. Sarah deserves an entry all to herself. But basically, she’s from Sidney, 19, and traveling by herself. She is the posterchild for the modern independent woman. Before coming here, she shaved her head for charity. She’s quite authoritarian, which suits me fine most of the time, cause I’m not much for managing people. I’m too much of a dreamer.
Well, I’m off to join the crowd. I’ll add a picture of Mohammed, one of the younger kids, and one of Sarah. Cheers!

This and that

In my last entry, I wanted to talk about random things about my life here in Wadi Rum. But somehow my blogs end up with some kind of theme and I didn’t want to ruin it by changing subjects mid way. So this will be an attempt to write down some details that have no theme.
I sleep in two different places. Either I am staying in the hostel room in the village or in the Bedouin tent at the desert camp. Neither have any heat and it gets pretty cold at night. I’ve stayed about half here and half there. The last three nights have been in the desert. We sleep on thin mattresses on the sand with three 10 pound quilts on top of us. The quilts are pretty dirty and dusty, despite the daily shakings. I sleep in my clothes - jacket, scarf, hat and all. There is absolutely no sound during the night. It’s a good sleep.
At the hostel, the mattress is the same and the blankets the same. The room is made of cinderblocks painted cream and brown. All our stuff is in there. There is a 6 inch gap under the door and the house cat, which we call Love Kitty, always slips in and sleeps in our covers. We wake up to either the camel roaring because she is being milked at 6, or the Mosque prayer at about 7. On Monday morning, the boy’s military school broadcasts a very loud recording of a man’s voice and it lasts a long time, plus it’s at 5:30! The bathrooms are holes in the ground. This doesn’t bother me and it’s actually more sanitary than toilet seats, but the whole neighborhood uses the bathroom and the kids make it gross. I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to it and I can’t wait to get back to my own bathroom. At the camp it’s not so bad. Abu Ayman keeps the camp clean and the tourists are sophisticated enough to be careful.
I make tea for guests. I’ve learned to make it sweet like the Jordanians like it and serve it in little glass cups on a tray. The weird part is that I always have to disappear into the forbidden women’s part of the house to get the tea. It makes me feel like I’m going into the safe of a bank and I am privileged enough to have the combo. I should correct myself. I feel this way when I am serving the tourists, but when I am serving tea to a roomful of Bedouin men, I feel like I’m living back in the old days, if you know what I mean. The men are always very polite and smile and say thank you, though, so don’t think they are rude. The difference is that with the men, they expect a woman to do this and I don’t like unfair rules.
I wash my clothes by hand in the sink and dry them outside my room. The water is always reddish brown and I have to wash 4 or 5 times. My jeans now stand up on their own. They feel like cardboard. I like washing my stuff though. I have a pretty strong nesting instinct, despite my gypsy blood. It makes me feel like I am home.
Bailey and Eptisam are at the house computer right now next to me. Bailey is asking her many questions about being a Muslim teenage girl and they are using Google translator to ask and answer. I think Bailey will have an interesting blog entry quite soon! Make sure to check it out.
Thanks to all my blog visitors. So many people have visited and I just don’t have that many friends and family. If you get a chance, please write a little hello. I’m curious about you! Mar Salam (Goodbye in Arabic).

Peace

Today it’s been two weeks… I think. We have nine weeks left here. The desert has become such a part of me that I’m beginning to feel possessive of it. Yesterday, I went on my first official tour with 3 friendly New Yorkers and Ferris driving. I didn’t realize there were regular tourists out here, with their inappropriate clothing (not my crew, they were great!) And I’m not just talking about them wearing penny loafers and sports jackets and fancy jewelry, I’m saying some of them were wearing tank tops! I know, it’s the desert, you say, but out here it’s seen as being practically naked. Today, I wore my skirt that shows my ankles, and I feel very exposed. I really haven’t minded wearing clothes that cover me, especially since it’s been chilly. But even so, I like feeling as if I’m not tempting anyone and we men and women are much more on a friendly level (even with all the marital status questions). Anyway, the tourists are out there, snapping their photos, squinting, and walking awkwardly in the sand. I can’t wait for the afternoon to come ‘cause I know most of them will be gone. Only the more adventurous stay for the overnight Bedouin tent camping. And then the quiet will be back. Yesterday, I sat on an outcrop outside of the camp, watching the distant mountains, when two blackbirds flew by. I heard them before I saw them, not because of any squawking, but by the wind moving through their wings. I heard them for a long time like that and watched them disappear. Then it was all quiet again. In an early blog entry, while I was still in France, I mentioned jet trails and how they lure me away from where I am. Here, I have only seen one, and it was far and low on the horizon. It just looked like a line, though, not transportation. There’s nothing to take me away when I’m out there. It’s timeless. Even the four hour tour yesterday went on for a lot longer. No one had a watch on. Ferris would just lie down and take naps while the tourists scrambled on the rocks and up the dunes. He didn’t seem to care how long they took. At the rock bridge, Ferris built a fire and made tea. I sat with him for over an hour and we barely said five words, but there was nothing weird about it. We both just sat there by the fire and looked out to the rocks. Nothing more. The Ny-ers climbed on top of the bridge and lost track of time as well. Maybe that’s how Moses lived for hundreds of years. Maybe his body didn’t keep time. I know, I’m starting to sound like “Horse with no name” by America. They were right on, though. Peace.
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Sounds

Today’s sounds:
6:30 AM – Abu Ayman peaks his head into our Bedouin tent and says“Breakfast is ready” in his thick Arabic accent.
7:00 AM – The crackle of the morning fire and the sound of people sipping hot tea from little glasses inside the round tent.
8:30 AM – Silence of the open desert broken by Farris’s revving the ancient Landcruiser engine, trying to get the fuel to flow, to take us back to town.
9:00 AM – Clanging dishes that I’m washing in the obscure kitchen of the house with babies crying in the next room.
11:30 AM – While trying to rest a bit, I hear an infant crying, dozens of children playing in the schoolyard nearby, birds, woman talking in Arabic in another yard.
11:45 AM – An American child may think the icecream truck is coming by the music box music blasting from a speaker on a car. In fact, it’s the gasoline truck, making it’s round to all who may need some.
12:00 PM – Call to prayer from the Mosque. It’s a recording of a man chanting.
12:15 PM – Bailey, Mohammed Hussein, and Jaqua (eldest son) ruin my concentration for writing this blog… see picture of Jaqua walking on his hands!

Other sounds I may hear throughout the day in Rum village:
Camel roars, roosters cockle doodle doing, chickens clucking, little birds tweeting, hammering, water dripping, wind in the lemon and olive trees, thumping of children running in the sand, dogs barking, cats fighting, and the hand held school bell.
Sounds in the desert: my own thoughts.

On the outside looking in

Living here with the family is safe and familiar. But from an outsider’s point of view, the town can seem like a private affair. There are no stores or restaurants that cater to tourists (only one café at the rest stop outside of town) and the properties are all surrounded by these red concrete walls. It’s hard to figure out where the entrances to the houses are. And a house may also be a Bedouin tent. Zed, the teenage camel guide, and his brother Ziad, who does Jeep tours, both live in a camel hair tent on the edge of town. They have no running water or electricity. There are very few women or girls walking around, and if they are, they are covered head to toe. Boys and men, on the other hand, roam freely. There’s a makeshift soccer field for the teenage boys at the foot of Jebel Rum (big mountain). Near the field, the younger boys play with their tin can cars. It’s all the rage in town. They basically take four sardine cans and some wire and make a car out of it. Then they take a piece of pipe and make a long handle to push it around with, like one of those popcorn poppers that toddlers play with. You can see the boys racing them down the sandy streets. I haven’t seen one gaudy plastic toy in any yard. Instead, the playthings are baby goats and camels and chickens. There’s lots of climbing on the walls going on and games of hide and seek.
But I’m not one of these people, and when I go out, I feel really awkward. And even though we’re living with this family, we have days when we feel like we’re in the way. There’s a bit of a misconception about the amount of work we’re doing as well and it’s causing some tension between us “helpers” and the women of the family. They don’t realize how much energy we spend every evening at the camp taking care of the guests and cleaning the camp. So when we are constantly asked to sweep and clean and teach, it’s a bit overwhelming. I suppose any time an agreement is not well defined, there’s bound to be problems. Also, the mother and girls are practically living on a different planet, not being able to interact with men and the outside world. I’m not even allowed to take their picture because they are afraid it will end up published or on the Internet. So there is such a difference in freedom between us that we can’t seem to really connect. Well, we have a couple more months to go here. Lots of room to grow.

To Stand Alone

“Where is your husband?” They all ask, inevitably, if they get me alone. This is not a question for public discussion, but the men here are curious about this. Whether or not they’re interested in making me their Bedouin wife is another question. Sometimes I say yes, sometimes I say no. Obviously, I say yes when I see a little twinkle in their eye. They are usually older than me too. Like, way older. But then again the men are very weathered here. I think they are attractive people, always smiling, but the sun and desert air give them all an aging Moses look. I tell the truth when I know them well and if they are married. “Oh, I’m sorry!” is the usual response, given in a serious tone. There’s a soap opera on TV here where one character is a single mother. She is always depicted as sad and lonely, often just crying in her room with her young bastard child moping at her feet. I’m thinking this is good propaganda to discourage such a damned lifestyle… if only they could see the truth! I’m not saying that single motherhood is easy or always pleasant, but it has some seriously wonderful benefits. Bailey and I form a team. She isn’t so much the child of a parent couple as much as a full member of a duo. I think it’s easier to compromise between two rather than three people. And, needless to say, I get to spend a lot of time with my teenage daughter, keeping her close by in an unstable world. But don’t get me wrong, I love companionship and being in love! I just think being a single mother has been really good for me, for all the obvious reasons. I didn’t always feel like this though. When I first ended up on my own, I was always wishing for a love in my life, feeling incomplete. I wanted my life to be like the fairy tales. It took me about 3 years to stop this wasteful wishing, but I spent quite a few evenings feeling sorry for myself. I got sick with Meniere’s Disease (inner ear disorder) and my focus became my health and Bailey. Now, I’m feeling good and appreciate every day, whether I’m alone or “taken”. My happiness comes from my family and friends, my creativity and nature.
So, I respond back to the men, “I am not sorry. I am happy!” And I can say that and really feel it. I mean, there is someone that my heart skips a beat for back home, but I’ve learned to take those feelings of longing and sometimes unrequited love and just appreciate the sensations as being part of my sentient life. Like the other night, looking at the moondrenched mountains from camp, it was easy to desire romance. But that feeling in itself was romantic and I breathed it in and realized what a great life I have.

Camp Life

The weather has been cold the past few days. We've even opted to stay in the village during the evenings and play cards or work on the new Sunset Camp website that we're collaborating on. Wind and sand and cold are quite painful. But yesterday morning, the air was still and blue. All I thought about was getting outta the house and going to the camp. So around noon, we jumped into the jeep with Ferris and Abu Ayman and headed out. The sand seemed to feel like sludge under us. I thought maybe it was because of the rain from the other day, but actually, we had a fat flat tire, right under my butt. Was it my tall western weight that did it? We'll never know. So we stopped to fix it. Bailey and I sat down and had a cookie and Emeline walked away from us into the desert without saying a word. We watched her walk until we could barely see her anymore. She doesn't communicate well and leaves us wondering what's going on a lot.
Once the tire was fixed, we had to drive through untracked desert to go get her. Ferris kept his sense of humor and speeded right by her, laughing. Come to think of it, he even laughed when he saw the flat tire. There are no clocks around here. No stress.
Once we got to the camp, Bailey and I started cleaning the tents. Just a few minutes in, Abu Ayman came knocking at the tent and handed us two little glasses full of a thick sludge called coffee. It was delicious, but a bit too strong for us. Nevertheless, we sat around the kitchen shack in silence and sipped. Bailey and I eventually and secretly dug a hole in the sand next to us and buried the coffee. Don't tell!
After we cleaned, Bailey and I got out mattresses that were ripped and sewed them back together. We sat on a pad in the sand, overlooking the Wadi Rum. We talked about people behind their backs and made plans to change my dining room into a Bedouin tent, pricking our fingers every few minutes. Abu Ayman started cooking for the guests with Emeline and Ferris curled up in the sand and slept. A very happy camp!

For lunch, we all sat in a circle and dipped pita in a vegetable and meat mix. Mmmm, so good. Then, Emeline, in her broken English, tells us it's chicken hearts and livers. Oooo. Ok. I continued to eat, although reluctantly, but Bailey went to eating just bread. If we just hadn't know, we would have filled our bellies, no problem. What's so different about eating organs as compared to flesh (ew, gross word)? Why does it repulse me? They both have a function in the body? But when I think of the organs, I think of them pulsating and processing, whereas thigh meat seems like a harvest. I need to get over it if I'm not going to be a vegetarian. I appreciate the fact that Abu Ayman used every single part of the chicken. Nothing went to waste. And he did it with love.
So the afternoon was peaceful and the shadows started to grow longer. Some of the guests arrived from their tour, 4 American college students. We showed them their tents and when I walked back to the common round tent, Emeline was sitting in the sand sobbing. She was incapable of telling me anything, so I asked Ferris to drive us back so I could take her to the Medical Center. I know she'd been having some migranes and figured that's what was going on. Once into town, Mohammed drove us about 5 houses away from his to the small hospital. There was no one in there, so Emeline just layed down and the doctor appeared immediately. She got a shot and some meds and Mohammed put everything under his name so that the whole thing cost only $1.50. The doctor spoke perfect English too. Great facility, funded by the USAID.
Well, I put Emeline to bed and made her drink some water. She's only been drinking tea. Not good. Then, Ferris and I headed back to the desert. We would stop every once in a while, jump out of the jeep and pull dead bushes out of the ground for firewood for the camp. Prickly things! Once back at camp, I joined everyone in the round tent and we talked, ate, and danced to the lute and drum. When I say dance, it's more like an aerobics class around the fire! Not many fancy moves, but you get a workout and lots of laughs. The moon was half full, so I went out and stood on a rock by myself for a while and looked out. I could stay here a long time, I know it. There's purpose and quiet here.

Live Food

Today, I walked out beyond the town wall, through the sand and climbed a couple of dozen feet up one of the sandstone cliffs. I went out with Emiline, who has been so quiet and reclusive. She’s here doing the same thing as me and Bailey, but I felt as if she was not feeling like part of the group. So we trekked out together and talked about rocks and goats and camels and peace. We sat up on the cliff in silence, admiring the village. It’s so small. Completely surrounded by the same red concrete wall that encloses all the properties within it. From up high like this, it looks like a labyrinth game. Anyway, there aren’t any trees AT ALL except for inside those walls. Again, it looks like something else from up high, like a seedling tray or a Chia Pet. I find our house in the maze by retracing our steps. There are camels set free to graze and roam with unlimited freedom and a herd of goats being chased back to town by two Bedouin girls. I wave hello to them and they smile and wave back. On our way back, we pass through a field of death. There are goat hides turned inside out, legs, jawbones, and even a perfect little goat head just laying there, scattered around this one area. I guess they leave that stuff there for the scavengers after the slaughter. I feel like I’m in a Jurassic Park movie. That, combined with the monstrous groans of the camels can feed a fertile imagination!
Speaking of food, I’ve been eating so well here. Mostly pita, hummus, rice, chicken and all sorts of vegetables. There’s no cookies lying around or boxes of anything for that matter. The vegetables are stored in crates and stacked up on shelves under the kitchen counter. In the fridge, there is a plastic bag with a furry leg sticking out of it. I just hope I’m not here when they decide to eat the contents. Maybe I already have, though, and just don’t know it. The family bought the goat alive a few weeks ago, kept it a few hours, then they took it out and killed it, bagged it up and now it’s in the kitchen. The whole family went out together for the event. I guess you have to desensitize the kids early! I’m not sure it’s something I want to participate in, to be honest, even if it would make good blog food. Thank God they don’t eat the camels. They have the sweetest eyes and the longest lashes, even if they do sound like creatures from the deep.
Back at home, Emiline and I cut up tomatoes, cucumbers and parsley for a salad and Leila, the mom, cooked the most delicious smelling rice mixture. We spread the rice around on a giant platter and poured the salad on top. Everyone got called into the back room, we plopped down around the tray and ate with our bare hands, squooshing the rice in our hands before popping it in our mouths. All veggie this time around. No goats for me right now, Shukran.

Like Camel

There's a man living in the desert valley, about 1 km outside of rum. I first saw him from my camel's back. He was sitting crosslegged in the sand like a buddha. I thought maybe it was a tourist in meditation. But who would pick that spot? Some random sandy dune? As we rode out of sight, I kept looking back and watched him fade into the distance, motionless in his long white robe.
"Mohammed", I asked "who's the man in the desert?"
"He's crazy man. Lives in desert. He has family in Rum. They give him food."
Oh. Hmm. "Is he scary crazy or just slow?" I asked.
Mohammed then put his hands to the side of his face, like blinders, and said, "No dangerous. Just... like camel!".
That answered my question. If you know camels, they're stubborn, ornery and not too bright. They love just sitting in the desert sun too. I saw him thismorning outside the house. He was headed out of town with a loaf of bread under his arm, as seen in the picture. To us humans, he's just the village idiot. But perhaps he's wiser than we know, sitting out there where Moses himself lived alone and contemplated God.

Home on the Range

Today was sweet. A day in the life of a "Rum"ienne. Bailey and I woke up at 6:30 this morning in an attempt to beat Sarah to the computer. Well, everyone was up as well and so we joined the family for a breakfast of homemade flat bread, homemade yogurt, and some kind of oil and herb mixture. Lets not forget tea with camel milk. Once the older kids were off to school, Sarah and Emeline (french girl helping out for a while as well) and I cleaned the kitchen and common areas. The 5 and 2 year old "helped" me sweep, so it took me twice as long! Fun, though. So the day was spent chatting with tourists, hanging with the family and watching the camels. I love watching Leila milk the mamas. Bailey had a turning point today and she is spending lots of time with the two girls her age, talking about their cultures and playing with the photobooth and garageband on her computer. She even wore a skirt with leggings underneath. Going native! We played cards in Sarah's room with the camp cook and Mohammed Hussein and now we're kinda doing our own things in the family room. Kids aren't shy to fight around us and I feel free to come and go. Feels like home.

The Desert

Being in the desert, outside of Rum, is the purest quiet I've ever known.  Our first trek out there that first night was surreal.  First of all, I still had no idea what Wadi Rum looked like, because we arrived well after dark.  So, we're bouncing through the desert tracks with young climbing guide Mohammed Hussein driving.  For kicks and to freak us out, he turns the lights off and drives by starlight.  We're all laughing nervously, but then we realize there is no road to follow and nothing to hit, so it's all good.  I feel myself surrender to the waves of sand and feel a sense of trust in the land and people ignite in me.  

At the camp, we park and scramble up some sandstone boulders to the tents.  We head for the round tent and join the circle of Bedouin men drinking tea around the fire.  A few minutes later, Abu Ayman, the humble aging cook, brings out five platters full of food for us!  Unbelievable variety of the most delicious middle eastern food.  We eat hungrily and happily and we smile and nod at Abu Ayman every few minutes.  He sits by the door, smoking a cigarette, nodding back.  This is a man who deserves his own cooking show, but he's opted to live in a goathair tent beneath the sandstone cliffs of Wadi Rum and cook for the tourists in the evening in a kitchen the size of a closet.  The rest of the evening is spent talking by the fire and then we settle in our sleeping tent.  We pile 3 very heavy blankets on us and listen to the breeze blowing outside.  I can't sleep.  Too much tea.  So by 1 am I get up and just stand outside the tent and look at the blanket of stars.  The moon had set, but I could still make out the outline of the mountains by starshine.  I felt like I was on Mars.  I think I could actually feel the planet flying through space with me just barely glued to the ground by some futuristic magnetic shoes.  I breathed deep a few times, walked back to my sleep mat and fell asleep.

In the morning, I awoke to some voices and light filtering through the weave of the tent.  No words to describe the color of morning reflected off of the orange rocks and red sand, contrasted by the blue of the brightening sky.  Wow.  I ran back to Bailey and shook her like it was Christmas morning.  We opened up the tent door and stepped into our new world of rock and sky.

Sisterhood

Mohammed's house is big by Rum standards.  Eleven people live in it, but there are only 5 rooms.  The biggest room is the front room.  It's where all guests come and have tea, sitting on mats lined up against 3 walls.  There are 2 small square tables in the middle to hold the glasses and a kerosene heater for chilly times.  This is where we first met Eptsam.  She's the most outgoing and eldest daughter, and she speaks English.  Even though she's only 15, she has an air of authority with an amazing smile.  Actually, her name means smile.  Then, the mother arrived with tea and we sat a few moments, with Eptsam as our interpreter.  There was some noise outside and the two women suddenly jumped up and said, "come! come!" and we ran into the back of the house.  I had no idea what was going on.  They took us to another sitting room in the back of the house, next to the very dark kitchen.  It's about 1/4 the size of the front room, but same kind of seating.  The kids all started coming in and pretty soon it was PACKED in there.  More tea and more smiles.  I felt weird still about running out of that other room, like the wolves were chasing us or something.  I felt like I had been sleeping in someone else's bed and suddenly they were coming home.  A weird sense of anxiety still lingered in me.

Sarah, the other helper who's been here 3 weeks already, finally appeared.  She was a little out of breath, having run over after hearing we'd arrived.  More "getting to know you" talk and then she asked us to come back to the front room.  The rest of the family did not follow.  And that's when I remembered that women are not allowed to visit with strange men in their house.  In that room were several Bedouin men drinking tea.  Mohammed stood up and smiled big.  He speaks English really well so there was no problem talking freely.  It felt weird, though, leaving Eptsam and her mother, Leila, in the back.  Some kind of betrayal of sisterhood.  In the back, since then, I've come to feel at home.  It's where everyone sprawls - babies, mother, kids.  It's where we eat and watch TV and do homework.  It's also were I get down on my hands and knees every morning to scrape crumbs out of the carpet!  Anyway, back to the front room.  That first night, we didn't spend much time there.  Instead, we threw our backpacks in the hostel room (located behind the camel pen) and jumped in the jeep for a night out at the camp.

First Impressions

The desert wind has picked up pretty hard outside, so we've all come inside the communal tent here at the camp.  The sun is setting and the light filtering through the goathair tent is becoming burnt orange and red.  Everyone's talking, but I feel I need to write about these last few days.  I'm not such a tourist anymore, even though I still write like one.

I haven't told my story here yet.  Seems I'm so absorbed by the present to write about the past.  Bailey and I arrived in Amman at 2AM.  I had made a Jordanian friend on the airplane and he helped us wiz through customs to our taxi driver waiting outside.  We drove to Madaba, slept, and awoke to hammering.  I guess we were sleeping in a little late.  Once we were dressed, we walked around the town for 2 hours, looking tall and foreign.  There were women with full Burkas and military with AK47s mingling on the sidewalk.  We ate falafel and hummus in a pita in a cafe full of traditionally dressed men - a bit daunting, but they paid no attention to us.  The town was bustling and a street fight broke out between some teenage boys.  Exciting, but we were ready for the quiet of the desert.

Our taxi driver was the same as the night before.  We drove a while through a brushy desert, occasionally spotting a herd of goats with a shepherd.  A few times, they were standing in the median, all 20 or so goats, eating the precious grass while cars buzzed by at 60mph.  We drove beyond the sunset to the Wadi Rum.

Our first stop was the Welcome Center, which seemed more like a police checkpoint.  They were curious about us and had us come in a sit down in the office.  I was ready for an interrogation, but instead they came out with the most delicious sage tea.  We had some friendly conversation and got back in our taxi for Mohammed's house.  We had to ask around, but finally found the low concrete house.  There are no streetlights in Rum. Only moon and starlight.

Warda of Wadi Rum

I have a Bedouin name. Mohammed calls me Warda as if I've always been called that. It means flower. Bailey is Nowara, little flower. The desert is full of flowers now, after the winter rains. Little thin white petals surrounded by grasslike leaves growing right out of the sand. I first saw them from my camel, riding out to the desert camp with Bailey and Zed. The wind had started blowing a bit, so I was forced to look down at long shadows and occasional dry bush. At first, my mind could not accept that there were flowers, and I tried to fit their shapes to other things, like pieces of paper. Then, as the wind died down, I looked up at realized the desert was alive with them. I started to see what I thought were snake trails, but then I saw little claw prints on either side of the serpentine tracks. And as I looked further up the horizon, the towering cliffs surrounding the Rum Valley brought me that humbling feeling of stillness... except for the camelback bellydance I had been doing for an hour already. We rode in silence for 2 1/2 hours like this, occasionally brought to laughter by Zed's gassy camel. When we arrived at the camp, I tried to tell the camel "Shukran" or thank you, but he just showed me his teeth and grunted. He probably didn't appreciate me as much as I did him.
We've spent every evening at the camp. The other times, we rode out with Mohammed in the jeep. On the way back to town around 10 last night, the thing broke down. Nowara helped shine a light on the engine for a good 15 minutes. She's become very comfortable out here, opting to go shoeless during the daytime. At night, though, it's quite chilly. Stranded in the was not unpleasant for that short time though. There are more stars than we have numbers for, so it is never pitch black. Anyway, Mohammed got the car started again, and off we went through the sand at 55 mph, flying off our seats with every bump. Once back in the village, we are staying in the "hostel", which is a plain clean room with two mattresses. Sooo quiet here. I sleep well.

I will write again soon. There so much to tell, but I've got to go help the mother with the dishes. Mar Salam.

Moving Sidewalk to Jordan

I've moved through today as if I've been on a moving sidewalk. From Grambois to buses to planes to taxi to here in .... Madaba, Jordan. It's surreal. I can't remember even walking today. We're here and it's 3:30 AM. My Google toolbar is written in Arabic! It's dark out. It's really really really quiet outside. We're falling asleep now. We're here.

Clear Skies

Tell me if this is true for you...
You don't get along with someone for months, maybe years, but then, the day before you're set to leave, everything's all rosy. This describes my last day here in this thousand year old Provence village home. When I first planned on coming here to help out, I imagined that the sheer wonder of being in such an amazing place would give me the strength to deal with my aging, lonely Aunt. Today, she and I rediscovered our familial warmth. She gave Bailey some vintage couture dresses from the 60's and me a gold watch she's had most of her life. Such contrast to her accusations the other day that I ate some of her cereal, which I did admit to and was planning to replace of course. Why is it that it takes an impending departure for the claws to retract? I've had this experience in other places too. Maybe I needed it most today with Jacqueline. We can part at 6AM tomorrow with love flowing between us again.
My backpack is belted down, I'm in good standing with the IRS, caught up with my bills, and back to being a nice niece. I'm ready.
I'm going to go watch some old episodes of Monk and make it an early night. Thanks to everyone who visited and left comments. They mean a lot!

I am listed in the Big Blog Collection

Muddy Sandals

I've returned from possibly my last picnic in the Luberon hills here in Provence. Bailey and I have been here since mid October, staying with my eccentric aunt Jacqueline. We've been going on these hikes almost every day that we have been here, first hiking down to the stream by way of an ancient spring, then slowly huffing and puffing it up through the hills covered in thyme and stunted pines. Some of the time, we're hiking on an old Roman road. Centuries of rolling cartwheels have dug into the road, making perfect gutters for rainfall to run down. It's been raining at night, so there's lots of mud around, and the moss makes a squishy sound when you walk on it. Today, we hiked up and had a picnic of "craquante" bread, kiri cheese, mandarine oranges, and 2 chocolate cookies. No bugs around. No sounds other than the wind in the trees and maybe a bird here and there. When you look up in the sky though, there are half a dozen jet trails crisscrossing the sky. Up until seeing the jets, I'm present, I'm here in Provence. But as soon as I see those white lines cutting the blue sky, I'm off.

Happens every time. I used to be a flight attendant, so I know there are hundreds of people in those dot airplanes. They each have a story, going to, coming back from, happily, sadly, indifferently.. some place too far to drive to. And I'm going to be one of those people in two days. I've already cleaned up my room and set aside my backpack. I've gotten all my finances in order. Yet, I still feel cluttered. Most of it is guilt, I think. I feel guilty for not having "saved" my aunt from herself. Instead, I think I've made it worse.

So, I'm off to clean my mind and my soul. We're headed for Jordan Friday morning. Going to live in the desert for 3 months with a Bedouin family. I fantasize about seeing God in a burning bush. Maybe I'll get some answers there, maybe not. But, as the French say, I've got to go over there to see if I'm there.