camp tudho

it bothers the young most, I think:/ an unviolent slow death./ still it makes any man dream;/ you wish for an old sailing ship,/ the white salt-crusted sail/ and the sea shaking out hints of immortality
sea in the nose sea in the hair/ sea in the marrow, in the eyes/ and yes, there in the chest./ will we miss/ the love of a woman or music or food/ or the gambol of the great mad muscled/ horse, kicking clods and destinies/ high and away/ in just one moment of the sun coming down?
Charles Bukowski

Still, it is perhaps the camel that links the bedouin most firmly to the desert, in a grand ceremonial sort of way even when it isn’t really needed anymore. No one will say that aloud. Instead, you might have a family sacrifice a camel for a special occasion, as they did when we spent the night in Tudho on our last leg through the Empty Quarter. As the light faded and the camp settled down for another desert night, a handful of men flung themselves into the animal pen and onto a young camel. It screamed for its life, of course, just like I had the previous evening when I saw my first camel spider. The second step involved flinging it down side-first on the bed of a pickup and driving off into the night. All I could see was its little head peeking out from under bedouin feet, crying for its mother.

< Previous   Next >



© 2001-2007 p i n a k i