The next day, in the hot mid morning sun, Manshad gave Sabah
and me a lesson in desert navigation. We watched as he gathered
stones and piled them conspicuously in the middle of a wadi to mark the location of a trail. When we came to a fork in the
canyon, Manshad got off of his camel to pick up a long stick.
He jammed it into the sand and angled it toward the direction
we were travelling. This marker helps Bedouins find each other
in the confusing maze of canyons and riverbeds. I felt safe with
Manshad and was amazed at his ability to find his way across
the vast space of the
 |
| The troop camped under the shelter of trees and in
valleys for protection from the desert elements.
|
Sinai without a compass or a map.
Sabah was bored with the desert. He went about the tasks of caring
for the camels and making camp, but he did so with the distraction
of a teenager whose mind is somewhere else. Though he never complained,
he dragged his feet and hung his head.
That evening, we made camp at the base of a towering sandstone
rock that sat like a red castle in the wide expanse of desert.
The sun sank into the horizon, painting peach, purple and red
streaks across the few high clouds that had strayed south from
the Mediterranean. I climbed on top of the rock and watched as
Manshad walked away from camp and out into the desert. He disappeared
behind a sand dune that was beginning to turn gray in the falling
dusk. There, totally alone, he faced Mecca and prayed. A devout
practice of Islam is one of the tenets of Bedouin culture. It
was Manshad’s fifth prayer of the day. Sabah had joined his father
in prayer that morning, but he didn’t seem to approach his religion
with the same dedication. A short time later, Manshad returned
to camp, his serene figure silhouetted against the last light
of day. Sabah sat impatiently by the fire, avoiding his father’s
gaze.
The next morning, Manshad and Sabah had a brief conversation
as we were breaking camp. The boy gathered his few belongings
and took off
walking into the desert. He had told his father that he would
walk the 11 miles to one of the few roads that cut across the Sinai. He said he was feeling ill and wanted to hitch a ride
back to Dahab. Later Manshad told me that his son had really
left because he was bored. Manshad had wanted to show Sabah something
about the traditions of being a nomad, traditions that were not
being passed on to the next generation. But Sabah had little
interest in the desert culture of his father. He was born and
raised in a town and was more interested in going to the clubs
of Dahab, which were filled with girls on holiday from Europe
and Israel.
We continued on without him. A few hours later we came to a flat
basin leading to three wadisextending up and away from it. As we climbed out of the basin,
Manshad paused and looked back at the rocky red landscape. He
described a time when he was Sabah’s age, when his family was
one of about three dozen that spent a spring camped in the basin.
He remembered clusters of short, squat woven tents, the traditional
dwelling of the Bedouins. There was abundant water there back
then. He could recall the camels and goats grazing on green plants.
He spoke of children playing and of smoke rising from campfires.
Manshad took a long last look, then put his headphones back on
his ears, and we continued on our way.
It was mid morning on the last day of our trek when we reached
the Red Sea. The canyon opened up and revealed refreshing deep
blue water that contrasted with the dull earth colors that had
dominated our vision for the last four days. We stopped to have
lunch on a long strip of beach, near where
 |
| Camels are known to the Bedouin people as "ships of the desert" for their transportation abilities.
|
Manshad was born. He didn’t know exactly when, but he guessed
it was about 40 years ago when his family had camped there during
the spring. It can take several years before Bedouins return
to a campsite, so this was a relatively accurate way to mark
the passage of time.
We turned south for the final leg of our journey. We had made
a giant 60 mile loop into the Sinai Desert, and we would now
finish by trekking down the coastline to Dahab. The line between
the vibrant Red Sea and the harsh desert was stark and absolute.
The full moon rose over the cliffs of Saudi Arabia, which were
visible across the water. Soon we were riding in silver moonlight,
our shadows cast across the sand. We came across a jeep track
used to cart scuba divers to an especially beautiful reef area.
After another mile we could see the lights of Dahab glowing in
the night.
The next day Manshad would postpone his desert life again. He
would drive his taxi. He would raise his family. He would wait
for his son to come home.
Ben Romano visited the South Sinai Desert on a 10 month adventure around the world. He hopes to make a career as a foreign correspondent.
