"A rose-red city half as old as time"
John William Burgon, poet, on Petra
I had hoped to arrange a meeting with Sheikh Nuh Ha Mim Keller, whose tariqa was somewhere here in Jordan. An American convert and sufi, famed for his translations of important Islamic texts from the Arabic, I thought he might be of interest to all of us. Apart from leaving it until the last minute, to attempt contact, I found it very difficult to locate an email address for him or any of his institutions. I happened upon a Facebook page for his online academy and left a message on the wall. Several days later it remained unanswered…
As we continued along the way out to Petra, I spied various compounds and set-ups, any of which I suspected could be the Sheikh’s hideout. But in fact, spirituality was not to be found here in an esteemed sheikh of any description. The Jordanian hospitality that I had refused to stop believing in, was not to be found in the mosques or the holy men of Jordan. At least not in the abundance it was to be found in the bedouin people of Petra…
We descended down into the township that precedes the historical, archaeological city of Petra, a thriving tourist centre sporting shops, hotels, restaurants. As we closed in on the 800m walk down to the Siq, a slender gorge that represents the sole entrance into Petra in modern times, there was the inevitable ticket booth found at all Jordanian historical sites, surrounded by small souvenir stalls. We were shocked to find that the entry fee was fifty JD: one JD for locals.
Again it seemed that there was proliferation of men in the public space here. It was only on the way back that I noticed this sign on a, by that time closed, demountable stall:
As I was to discover increasingly over the time I was away, for me, it is always about people: psychology, society, culture. So before I even registered this:
I was already captivated by this: 
As I never asked his name, I have called him Abdul, for ease of expression here. At first, Abdul the camel handler seemed to be just another impenetrable visage, one of many on this trip. But after my initial approach yielded little warmth and openness, I decided to persevere rather than retreat this time.
It turned out that Abdul was merely grumpy because business was bad. He had five children, and was a little tired of being photographed in his traditional dress alongside his camels, instead of people coughing up for a tour. He was unwilling to ask for money for posing for photographs, though Imad forced 1JD into the top pocket of Abdul’s thobe in return for our photo session. His English was excellent, better than most people I had met in Amman.
After a very few moments of chat, Abdul warmed up considerably and was still offering commentary as I was backing away, needing to make the most of my very few hours left in Petra, a place where you really need a three or four day pass to experience it thoroughly.
I had looked at many pictures of the wonders of Petra prior to coming on the trip but had never really thought about it as being a place that is actually, thoroughly, inhabited. I was told that Petra would be touristy and expensive, so had not brought a great deal of dinar. What I hadn’t realized was that all of the stores down in the ancient site were run by local Bedouin eking out a living. Had I realized that I would have brought more dinar to spend in Petra.
Abdul was bedouin, a genetic group of Arabs that were usually nomadic desert-dwellers. Specifically, Abdul was Bedul bedouin, indigenous to Petra. According to brother Abdul, the King of Jordan is very good to the Bedouins. “Because it is our place,” Abdul asserted. I realized then that not only is ancient Petra populated with bedouin Arabs, it also belongs to them. It is their home, or one of their homes, as the vast majority of bedouin are no longer nomadic and have settled in various locations. And apparently without complaint and indeed with welcome, the Bedouin have allowed their ancient homeland to be opened up to tourists.
Abdul indicated his camels and told me that they were worth what sounded like sixty thousand dinar each. Later, on reflection, I realized that it could not have been that much, but that he must have said sixteen or six thousand. Still, the point was that the government gifts the camels to the Bedouin people, to trade with, to offer tours or to work in whatever way they wish.
I demurred at the fifteen dinar for the camel tour. By the time I had trudged a little further into Petra my dickey knee was playing up and I parted with 10 dinar (to be paid after, Samih, the mule handler, insisted) and accepted a mule ride into my next Bedouin encounter.
At no stage was Samih not smiling. But then Samih was a twenty-four year old single man who, although he would have had extended family responsibilities according to bedouin culture, would very probably have had less to worry about than Abdul. I wished briefly that I had given Abdul, with his large brood, my money, but rationalized later that I would have been too high up to have any more meaningful conversation. Down at mule level, however, I learned a lot.
Samih was known widely as “Rasta”, and greeted as such by all passing bedouin, due to his mass of dreadlocks, which, he told me, used to be all the way down his back. He had a very tan, weathered face for a young man, dark-rimmed eyes, almost feminine as if “made-up”, and a mouthful of white teeth. He was very calm and personable. Passing bedouin went out of their way to proclaim to me “Samih good man! Very good man!”
The bedouin honour system values generosity. The more generous a man is able to be, the more respected he is. Bedouin also have a very high regard for authority, although the patriarchy among them is relatively moderate. There will often be, on the wall of a tent or cave, a picture of an esteemed uncle or sheikh whom everyone respects (Chatelard 2008). I wondered whether the ever-present pictures of the king in homes, shops, offices and on cars tapped into this mindset.
Samih’s English was even better than Abdul’s.
“Did you learn English at school?” I asked naively.
“No school,” replied Samih, grinning. “Life is cool without school,” he added, grinning wider. “Read books: lose your time,” he expanded. “If you need to learn something, it will come.”
“Then from where did you learn such good English, Samih?” I pressed, missing the obvious.
“From the tourists,” he said.
(When comparing notes later with others in our group, I discovered that many of the bedouin tourist workers also know French, German, Spanish, Dutch, sometimes three or four European languages, learned from tourists.)
At first glance it might seem that bedouin children are simply allowed to run amok, especially the boys. The first Bedouin boy I glimpsed in Petra was hanging from a rock in the Siq, singing. But as Dr Geraldine Chatelard, Research Fellow at the French Institute for the Near East, asserts “…they are living an education in which they learn limits for themselves and make the direct experience of pain and danger- though within a framework: if the parents are absent, another member of the community is almost certainly nearby and can exercise authority” (2008). It makes me wonder whether boys like the ones we were later to encounter in the Whidat refugee settlement, who seemed to be running wild in the streets instead of being in school like the girls, perhaps craved that more hands-on, outdoor style of learning.
Although many young bedouin people are attaining university level education, they will still often have illiterate parents living in a tent. Chatelard expresses concern for the disconnection from traditional knowledge that she believes schooling creates, and the loss of “entire swathes” of Bedouin culture. She also observes that sites such as Petra and Wadi Rum merely offer a “staged” version of Bedouin encounter and are a “pale reflection” of bedouin culture (2008).
However Chatelard also acknowledges that the bedouin have not been averse to moving with progress (all bedouin tourist workers I encountered sported mobile phones!), whilst also attempting holding on to their traditions. For example, even bedouins who do own a house, will often still keep a nearby family cave, or have a tent set up next to the house, which is inextricably tied to rituals of coffee and hospitality (Chatelard 2008).
Abdul had mentioned that the Jordanian government helped the bedouin with housing as well as employment, and that he and his family had a house in the small community just outside the ancient ruins.
Samih, however, chose to dwell in one of the caves of Petra, as apparently many still did. Currently, he happened to have an Australian man staying with him: Andrew, who was writing a book on bedouin life, and who had been there for twelve months. (I and my family were also earnestly entreated to come back and stay in the cave and “eat bedouin food!”) Samih told me that in the small housing community of about two thousand bedouin, there were at least twenty European women living. I was amazed. Some were learning Arabic, bedouin dialect, others had chosen to “stay with bedouin man”. And here was where vague bells began to ring for me.
I remembered coming across a book on the internet called “Married to a Bedouin” which had caught my interest, however I was not sure I had wanted to part with the Kindle price at the time. It was by a New Zealand woman named Marguerite Geldermalsen, who, twenty-five years ago, came to Petra and promptly fell in love with a bedouin man named Mohammad. I was under the impression that she had gone back to New Zealand after her husband had passed away, but when I mentioned her to Samih, he said “Margaret? Oh yes, we just passed her shop. Do you want to go back and meet her?” I declined as I felt we ought to press on with the limited time frame we were working with. I figured that we would catch up with “Margaret” on the way back.
I was curious to know how the bedouin felt about the area having been opened up for tourists: whether they felt in any sense invaded or occupied.
“How did the bedouin feel when the tourists came?” I asked.
“Good!” said Samih, “They bring work for us!”
Everything was fine with Samih. From living in a cave, to the lack of formal education, to village life, to the tourist trade, to bedouin food (which he enthused about). When I asked him what his dreams were, what he wanted to do with his life he said “Just to keep doing this nice job and meeting people”. And to eventually get married, insha Allah. It could have been the tourist spiel, but I felt that Samih’s happiness and peace of mind was genuine and, in fact, that I, with my “Western” dilemmas and stresses, may have been missing something.
Before the hour-and-a-half's ride back I finally had the ultimate salat experience. Click here to read all about it. Regrettably I never did meet "Margaret", she had shut up shop by the time we got back. I think I might be more inclined to shell out for that book now though...
Dr Geraldine Chatelard's insights apper in an edited version of "Bedouins Aujourd'hui en Jourdanie" by Nabil Boutros, translated by Isabelle Rubin and published by Amman French Cultural Centre:
Navigate to Appendix I of this blog to learn more about the realities of Bedouin life at Petra.
Unlike the bedouin of Petra, the bedouin of the Sinai, Egypt, are not only “excluded from the tourism industry” but are also routinely harassed and threatened by Egyptian authorities:
http://www.aljazeera.com/indepth/opinion/2012/02/201221413149992744.html
“Unrecognised” bedouin tribes in Israel are denied basic services, even access to fresh water:
http://www.aljazeera.com/indepth/opinion/2011/06/20116238174269364.html
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