The skies of the nomads

by Sayeeka Farnaz (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

Making a local connection Jordan

We were having dinner- freshly cooked mansaf (a traditional fragrant rice and lamb concoction slow-cooked under the ground) - in the bedouin camp of the Wadi Rum desert when it happened. A group of men in their early 20’s arrived at the camp in open roofed jeeps, their keffiyehs blowing in the sandy winds. The buzz quieted down, the men had our attention. One of the youngest, with big sensitive eyes, black unruly hair stepped forward and addressed us in a soft Arabic accent. “We are from the Jordan Astronomical Society” he said in a slightly shaky voice, seemingly unnerved by having all eyes on him, “we would like to take you to our campsite to see the constellations if you are interested, we also have a short presentation”. Turned out this was one of the optional activities of the tour that I had signed up and paid for. Our cheery tour guide, Issa, explained that he wouldn’t be joining us, we will be driven to the campsite deeper in the dessert to see the constellations in the unpolluted sky. With slight trepidation, I followed the handful that had signed up for this activity. Ishmael, the man that had addressed us, looked at me “Yalla yalla”- he wanted us to hurry. I climbed into the back of the Jeep along with a fashion designer from London, an Indian professor and her personal tour guide, and a nurse from Australia. A motley crew of would-be friends, brought together by this almost surreal experience. We giggled nervously. The moon was full, the air crisp and dry. The hilly outcrops and sand dunes of the Valley of the Moon rumbled past us as we left the lit up safety of the camp, where our fellow mates were relaxing with pots of Arabic tea around a campfire, while our hosts play the Jordanian rababa. The moonlight played with the shadows of the hills, making them look otherworldly. There were no roads to follow, just miles and miles of sandy flatlands. We arrived at the campsite, a lonely set of rooms next to a podium set with telescopes, greeted by a man with a long beard, teary eyes and face lined with wisdom. His voice, against the backdrop of the mystery and allure of the desert, told the story of the cosmos and our place in the universe. The stars shone bright in the indigo sky, unobscured by the light pollution found in civilization. Ishmael asked us to sit in a circle in the sand, while he sat in the middle with a lantern. “These stars have guided us for thousands of years. See the North Star over there? Cassiopeia and Ursa Major lead us to it”. He pointed to the visible star. “That is Scorpius, it disappears into the Milky Way”. As I gazed up at the skies, transported, I pictured the ancient Bedouins making their way through these lands, relying on the vast twinkling maps etched above, millions of light years away, to guide them home. The world today has become a seemingly terrifying place, one where a bunch of astronomy-loving scientists can strike fear, their accents and heritage reminiscent of atrocities caused by a handful of misguided few. I looked at Ishmael, he wouldn’t be out of place at a Stephen Hawking lecture. “Yalla, time to go” Ishmael herded us back into the Jeeps. As I settled in, the winds blowing sand into my face against the harsh backdrop of the wadi, I felt liberated, at peace and at one with the universe. The world we have constructed is one with safeguards at every step, yet we are more fearful than we have ever been. We mistake our fear for righteous distrust, and sometimes even hatred. What was fear to those ancient Bedouins? I imagined them walking through this harsh beautiful place, accepting the inevitability of danger, helping their fellow man along the way by leaving hieroglyphs etched in stone. We arrived back at camp, it was time to say goodbye. It was hard to imagine I was ever apprehensive of this awkward, clearly brilliant scientist and philosopher. “You have Instagram?” I ask with a grin. Ishmael’s eyes were liquid in the moonlight.