Princess Sultana's Circle

and even
today, a pervasive and continuing conflict exists between them.
City Arabs mock the Bedouin as simple-minded fools while Bedouins
revile city Arabs as amoral sinners. In the not too distant past,
the “wild Bedu” would stuff their nostrils with cloth when it was
necessary for them to come into the city, to avoid being polluted
by the odor of city Arabs.
    Still, Bedouins do always
extend warm reception to visitors to their camps, even though this
hospitality is often short-lived.
    I had been in several
Bedouin camps during my youth, and now I was interested to discover
if the years in between had brought any improvement to their grim
lives. I recalled that the Bedouin I had seen had been packed into
tents filled with their own garbage.
    The life of the Bedouin
begins with a high risk of infant mortality. Those children who
survive infancy run barefoot, unschooled and unwashed through the
camps. And, the women! I could scarcely think of them without an
involuntary wince. Certainly, in every class of Saudi Arabian life,
women are looked down upon as naturally and irrevocably inferior to
men, but life for Bedouin women is worse by any measure, for they
do not have the necessary wealth to relieve their harsh lives.
Bedouin women are terribly burdened by hard physical labor. Besides
waiting on their husbands, and taking care of many children, their
nomadic responsibilities even include the setting up and
dismantling of camp!
    These thoughts were in my
mind as we endured our bumpy ride over the desert floor.
Thankfully, the distance we rode was no more than fifteen
kilometers. Soon the curling smoke of a campfire could be seen in
the distance. But the men of the camp had seen the dust from our
vehicles long before we saw their campfire. More than twenty men
had mounted their camels and were now waiting a short distance from
the entrance of their tent settlement.
    One particular Bedouin
caught my eye. He was a robust man of middle age, with chiseled
features and dominating black eyes. With his long black cloak
flowing behind him, he was regal, as was his magnificent mount, a
strong, young female camel. His Bedouin gaze was piercing and
directed toward us with unquestioning self-confidence. No smile
came to his lips at the sight of strange visitors, although I found
it amusing that the lips of his camel seemed permanently carved
into a smile. In a strutting kind of dignity, he rode around our
vehicles more than once, as though inspecting us. I knew without
asking that this man was the chief of his village. The Bedouin are
proud, and not in awe of any man, not even men of the royal family.
He would show us all that our welcome depended upon his
approval.
    When Ahmed stuck his head
out of the window of the vehicle, the Chief, who said his name was
Sheik Fahd, finally stretched his face in a welcoming smile. With a
voice like thunder, he greeted us with the hope of Allah’s
blessing. With a flourish of both hands, he pointed the way to his
village.
    At this sign, the other
Bedouins began to shout their welcome. They rode cheerfully
alongside our vehicles as we slowly made our way to the
camp.
    When Sheik Fahd called out
that he had honored guests, the Bedouin settlement instantly came
to life. Veiled women with their arms filled with infants, and many
poorly dressed young children emerged from the row of sloping
tents.
    The moment I stepped out of
our jeep, I was struck by the strong odor in the air. My nose
twitched with the stench of close-living animals and blood-soaked
slaughter pits. I stepped daintily, for the ground was polluted
with animal droppings. This was a village cleaned only by the
rains, and no rain had fallen for a long time. I told myself that
each step I took was a step backward in time.
    More than ten women dressed
in brightly colored dresses and covered with the Bedouin veil
walked toward us. It is customary for Bedouin women to leave their
eyes uncovered, while the tradition of city Arab women is to
conceal the entire face. When these women welcomed us, all their
energies flowed out through their dark and vivid eyes.
    Our husbands went off with
the men to the Sheik’s tent to enjoy tea, while my sisters and I
followed the camp women. The tallest of the women, who was dressed
in a brightly colored blue dress covered in gold embroidery was
named Faten, and she quickly let us know that she was the favorite
of the Sheik’s four wives. Her eyes flashed with pride as she led
us toward her personal