Princess Sultana's Circle

daughters as the
men employed by us struggled to erect the black goat-hair tents
that would house our families for the next two weeks. We were
content as we sipped hot, sugary tea while lounging on carpets
spread out on sand hardened in place by the relentless desert
winds.
    Installing the huge tents
was no simple matter, even for those accustomed to this task, and
the havoc of toppling tent poles and collapsing roofs caused us to
burst into laughter more than once.
    Watching the men grapple
with the stubborn tents made me particularly grateful for my
privileged station in life. Traditionally, every chore associated
with the black tent is the sole responsibility of the women. Women
first shear the goat hair and spin it into yarn, then weave it into
fabric for the walls and roofs of the tents. Even then, their work
is not finished, for from the same yarn, they must also weave floor
coverings and other furnishings for the tent interiors, such as
wall hangings, carpets, and partitions dividing the tent. These
“houses of hair” have been the homes to the people of the desert
since time eternal.
    Although known as “Black
Bedouin” tents, the tents are not totally black in color but are
shaded with the various colors present in the wool of the goats.
Tent sizes vary, depending on the wealth and importance of the tent
owner.
    Of course, all of our tents
were specially made and much more spacious and elaborate than most
poor Bedouins had ever seen. Each tent was comprised of twelve
broad strips of black cloth, each seventy-five feet long. Eight
wooden frames held up the tent. Even the smallest of our tents,
measuring only sixty feet in length, would be considered enormous
by most Bedouin.
    We women grew weary of
watching the bustling activity long before camp was established.
Although we praised the fastest workers, only five tent roofs were
upright and taut after several hours of hard work by many men. A
large number of tents still waited to be assembled. Surely, it
would be late into the evening before all our tents were
ready.
    In our restlessness, we
decided to ask Asad to accompany us on a short walk outside the
camp area. Soon, with Asad in the lead, a large group of women and
children walked gaily out into the desert, even though the sun was
still high in the sky and would continue to blaze for several more
hours. We turned our bare faces to the sun with much pleasure as we
walked behind the scampering children.
    Amani’s eyes were twinkling
with pleasure, for she was coaxing a young baby camel along on our
walk. Earlier in the day, when the men unloaded the camels and
sheep, Amani had attached herself to this one fawn-colored baby
which now stumbled and cried, swinging its head on its long neck
toward Amani. The animal had been taken too young from its mother,
so it now recognized a new source of comfort, and followed Amani
everywhere.
    When Amani cooed and began
to speak to this camel in a baby voice, I knew that we would not be
eating the tender flesh of this particular animal. With its curly
coat of soft hair, long limbs, and especially its huge, heavily
lashed eyes, the baby camel had stolen all our hearts. My only hope
was that Amani would not insist that the camel be housed in our
tent.
    I sighed heavily as I
stared at Amani, wondering how I would ever cure my daughter of her
animal follies.
    Sara touched my shoulder.
She and I exchanged a rueful glance. My dear sister understands my
every emotion.
    The children quickly formed
groups and spread out in several directions, promising us that they
would stay within sight.
    Asad sat down on a small
hill and said he would watch us all from that point. He smiled
gaily as he held up his high-powered binoculars.
    My sisters and I walked on
hand-in-hand toward a high rise in the sand. I began to study the
infinity of the desert. “Just think, the totality of our past world
once filled this vast emptiness.”
    “ And, not so long ago,”
Sara said, as she stooped to pick a yellow desert
flower.
    “ I cannot even imagine the
bleak life we women escaped,” Dunia lamented, shuddering at the
thought of the bustling work even now going on in the
camp.
    Nura chuckled as she rolled
her eyes. Sara and I exchanged knowing smiles. We had both been
truly shocked when we heard that Dunia had agreed to join us on
this trip into the desert. Rarely did my sister Dunia venture
outside the safety of her palaces. To our surprise, once she was
assured there was ample room for her