In it to Bedouin it

After finishing up my volunteering and visits with Iraqis, I headed out to the desert for Thanksgiving and Eid al-Adha with Katkuta and Nawaf, a Bedouin guy I know.  He lives in Wadi Musa near Petra, and I had stayed in his cave a few months ago.  After he picked us up at the bus station, we drove down to a wadi, seasonal creek valley, near the Bedouin village.  Nawaf, his uncle, and his nephews were working on a dam to provide water for sheep in the mountains.

The Approach

Along the way, we had to scale a 25 ft. cliff face with a rope hanging down from it.  I wasn't sure of my own rope-climbing abilities, but I saw Nawaf's uncle, who is 70, doing it in sandals and a dishdash, while smoking a hand-rolled cigarette.  He even adjusted his kuffiyeh halfway up.  Apparently, the secret to aging well is tea and cigarettes.


At the top, the Bedouin boys (including Awidh, a Saudi paratrooper who is Nawaf's nephew) broke rocks to make the approach to the dam easier.  Then, they broke more rocks because they're boys, and throwing big rocks off a cliff is fun.  I made a fire for tea, while Nawaf's uncle boasted about the gun he has up on the cliff.  Another hour of rock-breaking, and we were heading down, by which I mean climbing down.  Nawaf had to go back home to get some supplies, so Katkuta and I started walking to Wadi Araba, a desert on the Israel/Jordan border.  Nawaf told us not to get into a car with strangers, and he'd pick us up later on the road.

Hiking out of the wadi along a possibly ancient aqueduct

After an hour or so, a white Lincoln with Kingdom of Saudi Arabia plates pulls up.  It's the nephews and they tell us to get in.  After a short drive, we got to the edge of a valley.  In front of us was Wadi Araba with the lights of Southern Israel in the distance.  As we sat on the ground looking out, the Bedouins cranked Dr. Dre and Akon from the car stereo.  It was a little bit surreal, but quite a sight.


Soon, Nawaf pulled up in his pickup truck and we descended into the desert below, going off-road for a while before ending up at his tent.  While Nawaf and Katkuta cooked thanksgiving dinner (meatball curry with potatoes), Awidh and I went out to get firewood.

By moonlight, we gathered brush. Très romantique!  However, when we had filled the back and were ready to go, the truck was stuck in the sand.  After a half-hour of gunning the engine and then digging out, we gathered some brush and put it under the tires.  The truck finally got out.  Exhausted and relieved, we came back to camp.

Thanksgiving Dinner, 2009

After gorging on the meatballs (after fasting all day, save tea and water), the predictable thanksgiving food coma set in.  After the requisite arak and campfire, I fell asleep.  It wasn't after 8:30pm.

Camp at dawn.

The next morning, I awoke at dawn.  Awidh was already up making tea, and we watched the dawn.  Très romantique!

Sunrise in Wadi Araba

After lounging around camp for a while, we went into town for Eid.  I'd been to Nawaf's house before and met his six (or seven?) kids, ranging from 3 months to ten years.  Most of the day was spent serving as a jungle gym for Abdul Salam (his four-year-old) and Ola (his three-year-old).  Neighbors and relatives came and went all day, bringing gifts and candies for the kids.  It was a wonderful mixture of Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas.

The day after Thanksgiving was Eid al-Adha, the Festival of the Sacrifice in Islam.  It commemorates Abraham's offering of Isaac and subsequent sacrifice of a ram.  I thought about this during Eid quite a lot, and I can't help wondering a bit about Abraham.  I mean, three major religions revere this guy.  However, I'm of the belief that when God is telling you to kill your child, it ain't God talkin'.  I know the story is supposed to show Abraham's devotion to YHWH and that whole deal, but what parent would even think about doing that?  That's insane.

That aside, Muslims generally celebrate by sacrificing a sheep, goat, or even a camel for the holiday.  They keep a small amount of meat for themselves, and give the rest to poor families, migrant workers without families, and others in need.  But as many of us are wont to do, I just skipped straight to the meat.  In fact, there was a traumatic event in between.

Never bond with an animal you know is going to be killed shortly.

The brothers and cousins go to work.

It is finished, mostly.

Several years ago, I gave up eating mammals for ethical reasons.  I empathize with sheep, cows, and pigs.  I don't really empathize with chickens or fish.  Anyway, I suspended my dietary restrictions because Iraqis and Arabs have lamb at pretty much every meal.  This was really hard to watch.  Pain and panic filled the sheep's eyes as it bled out, struggling.  It spasmed for several minutes afterward.  I'm glad I saw it to understand where meat comes from.

I could write a bit more about the other events in the desert - a foot race down a sand dune, a few fires, and a lot of shai, but I'll leave it at the sacrifice.

Eid sayyid