The Bedouin

The drive from the gated entrance of Wadi Rum to the campsite was not for the faint hearted. My friend and I were stood up in the back of the truck, squealing like little pigs as we bashed the sand dunes at high speed. Naturally, I had overpacked for our Jordan trip and my excessively large suitcase was simultaneously bouncing around in the open trunk of the pick-up truck. It was epic!

After the short and treacherous journey, we arrived at our destination, slightly travel sick, but in one piece. We got chatting to our driver and host, Mohammed, and asked him if there was a good spot for us to watch the sunset.

Mohammed, who was born and raised in Wadi Rum and from a lineage of nomadic desert dwellers, obviously knew the best spot in town for catching sunsets and kindly agreed to take us.

So, ever the epitome of 'all the gear, no idea', I grabbed my new Canon D3500 camera, armed with zero knowledge on how to use it and jumped in the truck. We took a short detour enroute to the sunset spot, where Mohammed let us rag his pickup truck around the desert. Sadly, the fun and games were abruptly put to an end when I almost destroyed the clutch.

To get to the viewing point we had to climb up a small mountain. The rocks were smooth, weathered by raindrops over many millennia. Wearing a jumpsuit and a pair of fresh Vans with soles as smooth as a baby seal, I was not equipped for the climb. Meanwhile, Mohammed, cig in mouth, dressed in a kandura and sandals, was jumping from rock to rock like a baby gazelle.

Eventually, after a rather clumsy clamber, we made it to the top. The three of us sat and chatted waiting for the sun to start its descent behind the mountains. Mohammed, many years our junior, possessed the quiet confidence of a man who had already experienced eighty years of life in his short time on earth, comfortable in his own skin. He told us of his wife and growing family. He fondly, assigned us Arabic names; My friend, Najma, which translates to ‘star’, and for myself, Qamar, translating to ‘moon’.

As the sun began to disappear behind the expanse of copper mountains, we sat in silence atop that dusty, sandstone rock. Each moved in our own way by the scene that lay before our eyes. I glanced over at, Mohammed, as he sparked up another cigarette and took a drag. He was lost in reverie, soaking up the view of the desert landscape, a place he called home.

Even in the silence, I felt intrinsically connected to him, our worlds polar opposite, yet our essence the same, both made from the very same earth that we were sat upon. He looked handsome in the amber hues of the dusky sky. I felt compelled to capture him and this moment, magnetized by a palpable energy that words cannot accurately describe. One that can only be felt by the soul.

Perhaps in another life I could have been a Bedouin wife, like, Marguerite van Geldermalsen, who married a Bedouin and lived out her married life in a cave in Petra. Evenings spent basking in the warm glow of the campfire, Orion’s belt overhead, clearly visible against the backdrop of the unpolluted, inky night sky. Eating food that has been cooked in the ground while the oud plays its melodic sound.

In another life where I’m not so bougie, perhaps…

I like to think my photography skills have improved since this photo was taken in 2019. Granted, I never used the camera again, but I have a decent camera in my pocket these days. Despite my perceived improvements in the world of photography, this is still my favourite photo. A moment that in reality didn’t need to be captured, as the memory is forever engrained in my heart.

"Maktub. If I am really a part of your dream, you'll come back one day."

Paulo Coelho ~ The Alchemist