| By lohtaufiq,
on 01-10-2005 12:29
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Published in : , Stories |
At midnight I set out with my guide, an elderly Bedouin man know as Amm Musa (or Uncle Moses). The full moon was high in the sky and lit the rocky path in front of us. Our goal was Amm Musa’s stone hut, set high in the jagged mountains of the Sinai, a good three hour hike from the famous St. Catherine’s monastery.
We climbed and climbed until we reached the top of the overpass. Suddenly my load felt lighter and the path seemed to fly under my feet as we made our way through the dark valley. I had no idea of our surroundings, were there people, animals, houses? After following the valley path for some time, Amm Musa directed me to the right, through some sort of hut and halfway up a mountain to reach his home. I struggled not to trip over the small rocks since my flashlight had died long ago.
A welcome fire was burning outside of the stone hut, where his wife, Ammaraya, and daughter were sipping tea. Immediately they both stood up and we exchanged an abundance of kisses, hugs and the traditional Arabic greetings. From what I could make out in the thick darkness, Ammaraya was covered in a black shroud from head to toe. And her lower face was hidden by a veil covered in shiny coins that sparkled in the firelight. She offered me the most delicious tea which she delicately poured into a glass. Soon after, they showed me where I was to sleep: a stone hut next to theirs, with only the sky for my roof and dirt for my mattress. Aaah, how beautiful is the life of the simple mountain folk. I soon found out that my room companion was a feisty cat who found it amusing to play with my hair as I slept.
I awoke in the early morning to find camels and donkeys wandering below the house. I located an old jerkin and made do with a few drops of water to wash up. Soon Ammaraya was up and about, already lighting the fire to prepare the tea. Finally, I had a chance to see her in daylight and get to know her. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, so comfortable and so free in her mountain environment; it was if she was part of the mountain itself.
Her face was dark brown and leathery due to years of exposure to the harsh Sinai sun. Underneath her long black shroud which trailed on the ground, she wore an ornately decorated face veil that started beneath her eyes and hung down until her waist. Her hair showed from beneath the veil, and it was heavily oiled and braided in a very complex fashion. Every inch of her clothing was richly embroidered by her own hand and hung with fancy beadwork.
Her days were very busy, drawing water from the deep well, tending to the chickens, goats and camels, working in the garden. Every time that she took a rest, she would boil up a pot of tea which she would share with her husband, and roll up a cigarette made of local herbs. She would sit cross-legged, back against a tree, slowly puffing on her cigarette. It was at these times that I would listen to her stories of the past, of her life growing up in the mountains, and most of all, about her love of the mountains. She spoke in that beautiful and careful dialect of the Bedouins, so pure, so much softer than the dialect of the city people. When she spoke, in her pure Arabic dialect, it was as if she was reciting a qasida, or classical Arabic poem. She would frequently speak of her love of the mountains, as if they were her lover and reason for existence.
How happy she was in her humble home, the sky was her roof, and the land fed her. But many had left; at times she was the only inhabitant of the narrow valley which held tens of stone houses and beautiful, lush walled gardens. All of the younger generations had left; her daughters and sons, her sisters and brothers, and even her husband spent only a portion of his time with her. She was the only one left, the only one faithful to her lover, the only one who found solace and ease in the mountains.
As for the others, they turned to small, concrete houses, television and obtaining money. They were scared of the mountains, of the jinn (genies) and afarit (demons) and wild animals. How many are there left in the mountains like Ammaraya? When she goes, who will live in the stone huts and tend the goats and camels? Who will harvest the almonds, olives and figs from the trees and who will draw the water from the deep well? I too left, and only after a week of scrambling among the mountains and valleys of this mystical place. I returned back to Cairo, the city of all cities where one can pass 8 million souls in a half and hour walk. Sometimes when I am sitting in my room, high up a tower, surrounded by millions of people, buildings, cars, I stare at the brown hazy sky, and try to imagine that deep azure sky looking down on the Sinai, and onto the little stone hut where Ammaraya might be sipping her tea in front of the fire.
Last update : 01-10-2005 12:29
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