May 7, 2006: Tourist trap

I don’t like tourists. They freak me out. They walk around with a manic look in their eyes and I just know at any moment they’re going to snap and I sure as hell don’t want to be around when that happens. In Madaba, they were everywhere. When did this little town become such a tourist destination? I find out later that tourism in Madaba is definitely on the rise, encouraged in part by the government. The majority of tourists come to see the oldest map of the Middle East, which is a large mosaic housed in the St. George Greek Orthodox Church. Then they shuffle off and head to Mount Nebo to overlook the promised land. We were headed there as well, but I decided to forego Mount Nebo due to the haze that covered the valley. “La shadra, il youm” I told the driver and pointed out at the horizon and then my camera. No good for pictures today. He got the point.

A few hours later we were traveling along the highway on our way back to Amman, when I caught a glimpse of some shepherds close to the road. “Wa-if losama!” I suddently burst out. Yousef quickly swings the car into a dirt shoulder and comes to a stop. “Shukran!” I say, laughing slightly and hop out of the car. He's probably wondering what he did wrong to ever get this assignment. I peer at the shepherds through the trees, all the while slightly tentative about walking up to strangers holding sharp knives who I can’t communicate with. I realize that I walk a fine line between being respectful and utterly obnoxious. They see me and motion for me to come closer. I put up one finger and run back to the car and get Yousef.

As we walk down the hill to where they are working I see that there’s an old woman sitting on the ground and in front of her are three men in the process of shearing their sheep and goats. The sharp knives are actually large bulky scissors, which they’re using to slowly undress the animals. The old woman pulls out a cup, fills it with Pepsi and hands it to me. I have no idea when the cup has last been cleaned, but I can’t refuse. I just tell myself not to look at it and take a big gulp. One by one the shepherds fetch a sheep or goat, lift them up and lay them on their side, tie their feet together so they can’t get up and start cutting away a year’s worth of hair. It’s fascinating, but pretty nasty to see the underside of a sheep. All that hair has accumulated a lot of shit. Literally. There is a good amount of their own feces that they’ve been packing around with them, stuck and matted in their own hair. It’s amazing how docile the sheep are during this whole process. It makes me wonder if they somehow look forward to it. They come out of their haircut half the size they were and probably 30 degrees cooler.

The shepherd on the left, looks at me, looks at the sheep and then says something in Arabic, which makes everyone laugh. What the hell? Did he just make a lewd comment about me and the sheep? Damn, I wish I could understand what they’re saying.