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In another visit to Wadi Rum last week, the day that I remember best is an utterly uneventful one. Attayak Aouda was exercising his racing camels and Attayak Ali, Musalem and I drove out to see how he was getting on.
In Wadi Rumman, a long valley with a chain of mountains on the horizon, west of Jebel Rum and right off the tourist track, we finally found him and his companion Hadji Khalil, settled in the sparse shade offered by some scrubby bushes. We sat down to join them, made tea (of course) and discussed lunch. Each party had its own provisions : Attayak Aouda and the hadji tossed some onions and potatoes under the fire to cook; for us Musalem would make "arbud" the Bedouin bread that is baked in the fire. This is an impressively simple procedure, flour, salt and water are mixed together, moulded into a flat cake shape and placed directly onto the raked ashes of the fire. More embers are heaped on top and the resulting bread is delicious, you have to bang it pretty hard to get the ashes off, it's a pity that it gets hard so quickly. We dipped it into a "salad" of tomatoes and tuna - very good. When we had finished, we pulled what was left of the bread to pieces, added the salad, mixed it all up and offered it to Khalil' s dog (Speedy) who had been watching us hopefully.
Then Musalem wandered away and seemed to be banging some stones together on the ground. Seeing me looking a question, Attayak Ali explained that "Musalem was washing his hands". My reaction being "Huh?" he further explained that there was a plant that when crushed produced a sap that could be used as soap. This was new to me and interesting - they collected some of the plant for me to try out at home. After "lunch" the party dozed, except for the two Attayaks, both enthusiastic rock climbers, who studied the rock cliffs through binoculars, looking to see if there was a "new route" to be found up Jebel Rum
I looked at us, and thought how typical a picture the men made, four Bedouin lounging around a fire with four camels and a rather dirty pick-up truck in the background. I was the only anomaly, a European woman in skirt, pullover and headscarf - but I never felt left out of the party, they made me feel completely comfortable and at home with them
As we woke up, a story telling competition developed, the stories getting steadily more vulgar. I fully expected Attayak Aouda to win, but Musalem produced a very successful one that nearly had me blushing.
So : racing camels, making tea under a thorn tree in a beautiful empty sandy valley, Bedouin bread, and soap from a plant - what will be in the next episode?
I arrived at Wadi Rum on the early morning bus with the intention of heading to Attayak Ali's house - he would be free a bit later in the day - when Attayak Aouda passed in his car, and slid to a halt. The usual greetings were followed by an apology : "I am so sorry, Ruth, I'm desperately late to pick up some people at Rashidiya or I would take you to Attayak in the car".
"No problem" I assured him.
"But I'll tell you what, your bag looks heavy. Leave it with me and I'll bring it round this afternoon".
"Fine". I handed it over and he rushed off. He arrived at Attayak Ali's house about 2pm when I was drinking tea with Attayak and his brothers. "Dindin" dropped my bag on the floor, and with a sweet smile handed me a box. I stared at it suspiciously, and then at him accusingly as I took it and opened it.
"There were two kilos of biscuits in here!" I stated.
"Ah, but I was hungry, Ruth, I hadn't had any breakfast. I told myself that Ruth wouldn't want me to be hungry!" he said pathetically, producing another engaging smile. I ignored the laughter starting behind me.
"And the bag was zipped shut!" I pointed out indignantly. "Do you usually rummage through other people's bags?" I demanded.
I swear he had rehearsed all this! He arranged a very reasonable look on his face. "But I had to make sure there wasn't a bomb in it" he explained. I was speechless. The laughter rose to a crescendo and I looked round to see Attayak Ali lying on the carpet whooping, with tears running down his face. His brothers were nearly as bad. I gave up and joined in - it was that or kill Dindin.
Instead he was sent out to the kitchen to make some more tea as we shared out the remaining biscuits (about a dozen). He popped his head back in through the doorway. "The white ones are the best" he advised. A simultaneous shout from all of us sent him back to the kitchen, grinning. There were no white ones left....
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Another time he did give me a lift. As we arrived at Attayak Ali's house and I got down, he blew me a kiss and roared away - with my bag still in his car! [it is NOT true that I had forgotten it as he claimed later, I just supposed that I would have a few seconds to retrieve it from the back seat!]
"What was in it this time?" asked Attayak, a shade hopefully (I could see the word "chocolates?" dancing through his mind).
I disillusioned him. "Only some face cream that Atallah's wife asked me to bring her".
Attayak looked on the bright side. "Well anyway he won't eat that. At least..." his voice trailed away and a doubtful look came over his face.
"Oh God!" I said with fervour.
Attayak nodded sadly.
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İRuth Caswell 2002