After tying the camels down for the night and feeding them a dinner of dried corn, Manshad’s 17-year-old son, Sabah, returned and sat beside his father. Sabah’s dark eyes reflected the flickering light of the campfire. His curly black hair peeked out from under his traditional Bedouin headscarf, the kufiyya. Though it was not late, we were exhausted from the first day of our journey. We fell asleep in the shelter of a woven cloth that blocked the chilly breeze. The crackling fire was the only sound in the desert that night.

Manshad was my guide for a five-day camel trek through the South Sinai Desert. He had agreed to introduce me to his traditional way of life — a way of life that is disappearing as more and more of these formerly nomadic people settle into towns and villages.

Above: After growing up in the desert Manshad leads his camel with ease. Top: Manshad guides the way on the five-day camel trek through the Sinai Desert.

The Bedouins had lived in the South Sinai for centuries, herding sheep, camels and goats from oasis to oasis and caravaning goods between towns. They camped throughout the desert only as long as an area could support them, and then they moved on. But when Israel pulled out of Egypt in 1982, the demilitarized Sinai entered a period of economic growth as tourists from around the globe began to visit the region. Over the span of Manshad’s 40 years, the majority of South Sinai Bedouins have settled in towns such as Dahab, Egypt, which dot the Red Sea coast. Young Bedouins such as Sabah never experienced the nomadic lifestyle of their parents and prefer instead to remain in the city.

I first met Manshad at his small three room house, which is typicalof the dwellings in the Bedouin section of Dahab. I had been staying about a half mile to the south in one of the many hotels that cater to people who flock to this Middle Eastern scuba-diving haven. Here Manshad lives out his day-to-day existence. He drives a taxicab, and his wife does laundry for tourists. His younger sons and daughters split their time between going to school, tending the family’s goats and chickens and making bracelets to sell to tourists.

We could hear the gentle lapping of the Red Sea as we packed fresh vegetables, dates, flour and a few personal items into brightly colored saddlebags and burlap sacks. We filled plastic jugs with water and packed a green Coleman cooler full of chicken and mutton for our journey. After saying goodbye to Manshad’s wife and children we drove for half an hour into the mountainous interior of the Sinai, where Sabah was waiting for us with our camels.

Manshad and Sabah strapped wooden saddles to the camels’ backs. Father and son worked side by side, tying items together and carefully balancing our provisions. Manshad quietly followed Sabah, checking his work. At times, he readjusted his son’s loads and retied his knots. When we were ready to leave, we climbed on top of our gear and set off on the first leg of our journey.

To the Bedouins, camels are the "ships of the desert" that once carried dried fish and charcoal to the markets of Suez and Cairo. Our camels plodded along slowly, sometimes walking one after another. Other times they spread out and picked their own course across the sandy desert, perpetually stopping to munch on the dry desert flora. Drought-toughened shrubbery, grasses and the occasional bushy acacia tree peppered the ground as a testament to a water source buried far below. In places, the terrain flattened out into seasonal riverbeds, or wadis.

In only a few days the author caught on to the technique of leading a camel along a straight line.

The sand swished under our camels’ feet as we continued across the desert. The awkward looking animals are actually well balanced and well equipped for the terrain. They have soft, pancake-like feet that can stretch and flex like a tire. The camels glided along with an even and comfortable gait through canyons that wound around steep cliffs, rock falls and spires. Red and brown walls extended hundreds of feet into the air.

Manshad looked around often, smiling and breathing in the dry desert air. He wore the Bedouins’ simple, traditional garment called a jalabiyya. Made of light woven cotton, it provided protection from the hot sun and kept him warm during the cool nights. From head to toe Manshad seemed the portrait of a traditional nomadic Bedouin, except for the set of headphones he wore constantly as we crossed the desert. But Sabah wasn’t adjusting to the desert as well as his father. He shifted uncomfortably in his saddle as we traveled, yanking the reigns and hitting his camel with a stick when it strayed too far from the group.