There was hardly a breath of wind last night. “Wilderness” seems the wrong word for such perfect tranquillity. Even the jeeps whose headlights I could watch moving across the wadi were far enough away to be noiseless. But as for meteors, no luck. The moon set, casting a long shadow across the ghostly landscape, but the horizon was already beginning to lighten. There wasn’t any glorious display as there was at Petra.

With morning, I found myself to be halfway to Rum already, so I walked back a couple of km- to the Suleiman tent. I was only going to refill and get some photos, but that would have seemed odd had they seen me, so I approached.  They were just as welcoming as before, thankfully. Three sheep were slaughtered yesterday, and a hundred people came to the mansaf: must have been an incredible spectacle. After just 2 glasses of tea, I set off, skirting the southern massifs today. Cresting a dune I found myself looking down on the other Bedouin tent I had seen yesterday, with the mouth of Wadi Rum in the distance, and 2 kids shepherding the flock towards me.  Fumbled the film change, so I don’t think I’ve got the picture. The kids came up to me, very bold, bright white smiles, and showed me the oats which the sheep were feeding on. They then brought be down to the tent.

Madame Fatheera greeted me, shook hands, not shy in the least. Her husband was working in Aqaba. She had a ring in one nostril, was dressed in the long thin black dress which the 9yr old daughter Hathera also had on, with the head scarf worn as a band, as is the practice here. We talked about festivities – they hadn’t been to the mansaf, but there was a birth celebration tonight. Her son was getting married in a month’s time, and coming back to Rum to party and then to settle. There is work, apparently. The photo of the fiancée looked like a graduation ceremony though, so I wonder what the bride will think of it. When Madame’s brother and family arrived in a pick up, she introduced me, even saying how many brothers I had. Finally they invited me to come to the festivities tonight, and of course I didn’t refuse. And Hathera and big sister Rayal were so cute. A sheep was limping around with both forefeet in splints – seemed quite affectionate!

Ya gamar nawer aleina

Yabeid el ahzan noorak

Leklieerli ma tijuna

Zoorana walla nazoorak

Ya eenab roman siirna

Mahad tamakhta fi zahoorak

Shaaro el ahzab siina

Ya gamar makthar zahoorak

Is alooni bil Ammani

Majara ibthik el messiieh

Kul sheyin ibawana

Oo kul miiteh ilha meniieh

Ya shabab el ishuk

Arju esna oo mini

Alwusiyyeh, La ta ashgu

Kul rrmin alla jimallah

Wel heliyeh.

Bis bab niran gelbi

Leilunaha jiihii mish illi

Deyim fijawer min betron

El Urdunieh.

In the meantime I walked on to Khaz Ali. It looks as if the whole mountain has split in two, with the crack going all the way to the ground, where dry rock pools have formed. I left my rucksac and began to climb up one side. It was fairly risky stuff, because the canyon was still sheer sided, and going all the way down. So I clambered back down, stripped off my salt encrusted clothes and lay down for a siesta beneath the rock.

Back at Fathera’s house (“bayit”) they told me I had missed all the Nabatean graffiti. Then they asked me to sing a songc, but my ballad reduced them to giggles. Then they taught me the two Arabic songs. Yellow submarine didn’t catch on. Aid showed me his schoo books, then taught me “siijeh”.

5×5 grid of dimples are made in the sand with thumbs, and the middle one marked with a few wheat grains. One player uses dungs [ughh], the other stones. You lay on 2 pieces at a time, and the person who lays first also gets first move. If you sandwich an opponent’s piece horizontally or vertically by moving, it is removed, and you can move again if you can take another piece. You can also take 2 at the same time. After a few games I had the hang of it and nobody was winning anymore.

The sun was getting low, turning the sand floor into a rosy, dappled carpet – the kids were anxiously listening for a car, all excited about the “hafli”. 13yr old daughter Thraya appeared with the sheep, and with Hathera’s help herded them into the pen. Finally Nasser, Fathera’s brother and proud new father, drove up and drank tea while the girls put their party togs (including shoes!) on. Both grown ups rolled and smoked this pungent tobacco which I could have sworn was hashish, but they looked shocked at the suggestion, saying that would be haram (forbidden). Myself and the littlest 2 girls got into the back of the pick up and we bumped down the wadi, reaching his house after dark. There were about 20 jeeps and pick ups, and 4 tents, one of which was completely open with the men sitting round the fire. I was mostly ignored. Soon food was served, 4 massive trays of pancakes covered with rice, topped with bits of lamb. Everyone leapt forward on to one knee, and dived in with their right hand. Gravy was ladled on top. It was almost totally dark – the only time you could see someone’s face was if they lit up a cigarette – so now I was huddled in with 12 guys, shoving dollops of rice into my mouth, trying not to touch the huge, bony, fatty lumps in the middle. As we ate, someone said “Lawrence!”. “Kaan sadiiq el Bedu” I replied (friend of the Bedouin), and that went down well.

People dropped out one by one, returning to the mats to be served tea. I couldn’t see what was happening next tent but one in the women and children’s tent (although many men had their little sons with them on the mats), it was surprisingly quiet, but then a mature voice, like that of a muezzin, began to sing. A line of men in jellabiyas were singing, clapping, standing side by side a respectable distance from the women’s tent. 2 girls, veiled totally and wearing big black shawls on top cam forward and began to dance in front, twirling the ends of their shawls. I couldn’t make out any words to the song, but for about 10 minutes the leader would sing a line, and the others answer. I joined in of course. Then the song turned into a lecherous chant of “heHIye, heHIye”, and the girls began to dance like bats, spreading their shawls out and flapping: that chant then became “ahud, ahud, ahud, ahud” like someone approaching orgasm – the tempo upped, claps doubled, but then it began again. In formation, the men would drop to a squat, and the dancers (now 4) would follow, then leap up again.

Finally, Sadem Abu Khalid would step forward with a shout and wave the dancers away – sometimes one of them would reach down and smack the sand, but I couldn’t work out the significance. By now the nearly full moon had risen, and it was all taking place in the bizarre light.

I now had a new name – Khether – something to do with green? Abu Khalid had adopted me, and he being one of the best singers began improvising lines for the 2 of us to sing, alternating with the others. They started off as “hello, hello” but improved to “entah jamil, shaarak taawil” (you are beautiful and your hair is long – not that we could see). To stir up enthusiasm, some of the married guys joined in, and someone fired off a couple of ear splitting rifle shots. And this went on until nearly midnight – supposedly the women are meant to become exhausted and suppliant, but they had more stamina than us lot.  To close, Abu Khalid seized two of the dancers (another escaped) and sat down with them, facing us. They huddled together coyly while Abu Khalid looked at us seriously. Sabah explained that now the singers would offer prices in money and animals for the women, and Abu Khalid would accept what he deemed appropriate. I was terrified that this was serious, but eventually he leapt to his feet, and it was over, and the dancers went back to their tent. I had nearly lost my voice, was very tired, and after joining Abu Khalid for one last chorus, hit the sleeping bag back at Fathera’s tent.