Voyage into Dumb…I mean Rum

It’s pitch black.
The stars crowd the sky.
The night is quiet; the breeze is light.
And I am incredibly anxious.

The night sky in Wadi Rum is unparalleled for stargazing. Here there are so many stars that it’s difficult to make out even simple shapes like the Big Dipper or Orion. They are outshined by constellations that most people will never see in their lifetime. Under normal circumstances I would revel in this spectacular light show, but enjoyment eludes me.

I’m lying on my back on a mostly flat section of sand, hands resting absently on my stomach. To an outside observer, I may appear relaxed, but every muscle in my body is tense—instinct telling me that something is going happen, while my mind is trying to convince my body that it’s wrong.

M. is laying beside me and has fallen silent, but I know he’s still awake. I feel vulnerable and a bit duped.

Earlier in the evening M. had asked where I wanted to sleep. I had asked what my options were. He had given me a vague response, “Well, the village, or the campsite, or wherever…somewhere outside,” he had said with a wave of his hand in the direction of the vast desert.

“Well, I think the village would be best, especially since I have all my gear,” I replied with a wave of my hand to my bags in the back seat.

He shrugs slightly, thinking about that possibility. “Hmm…,” and mumbles something unintelligible.

Now, he asks the question again as we are driving away from Diseh Camp and I restate my wish to sleep in the village.

“Well, I didn’t make any arrangements in the village and it’s late,” is his reply.

Suddenly it all becomes clear, the bypassing of the village, the visit to Diseh camp, the extended dinner, the line dancing…all of this so that there would be no choice but for me to spend the night in the desert—alone with him.

Godammit!

When we reached the campsite he plucks two mattresses from the cave (I had insisted on sleeping out in the open), but only one blanket—meant to share.

Brilliant...

Now lying side by side, looking up at the stars, I’m desperately hoping I see another falling one so I can make one fervent wish.

There’s a slight movement beside me and a moment later all hopes of wishing upon a star evaporate as M.’s hand finds mine in the dark. I go as still as a corpse, but my mind is racing. What does one do in this situation?

Running away from this scene means running miles through uneven terrain without a flashlight, not to mention leaving all of my gear. Even if running miles in the dark was an option, I have no idea how to even get to the village and at 2am, it’s doubtful that anyone would be around to help me. Leaving the campsite is not an option. But, now what? What are the repercussions of rejecting a tribal leader who is used to getting whatever he wants? Powerful men typically don’t take rejection well. Would he feel slighted? Humiliated? Would that turn to anger? And, who even knows I’m out here? I begin to wonder. This situation could get ugly very quickly.

Think!

The little voice inside my head says: Stay calm, play it cool, don’t be a bitchy American. Be the shy, demure Asian girl that people expect to encounter when they look at you.

“Hey! Look at that one,” I exclaim and with a quick motion I free my hand from his grasp to point out a non-existent shooting star.

“Hmm…?” he replies sleepily.

“Oh, did you miss that one?” I ask innocently.

I’m quite happy with my chess move until a few minutes later my hand is again seized. I try to make it as limp and lifeless as possible—like a dead fish, is the feeling I was trying to invoke.

“Your hand is cold,” he says.

Hmm, maybe this dead fish thing is working…

“Don’t worry, I’m easy. I’ll hold your hand and just fall asleep.”

I say nothing in reply, not sure what to believe or what will happen next. I start to plot my next move, but try to factor in his responses to those. Let’s see, if I pull my hand away and he really is in the process of falling asleep, will that wake him up and start the game all over again? Or, will he reach for something else? My shoulder? My waist? (shudder) Right now, it’s just my hand. It’s kind of like a weak handshake…I mean, better a hand than a breast, right? Because then I’d have to smack him and then things would really get ugly…. FUCK!

I stare up at the heavens looking for an answer and to my delight I hear slow even breathing to my left. Whaddayaknow, he really did fall asleep...

I slowly extract my hand from his, much like tiptoeing away from a sleeping baby’s crib.

* * *

At the first signs of dawn I spring from my bed in the sand before M. could even entertain the possibility of morning hand holding, morning spooning, or even worse—morning wood.

“Where are you going?” he inquired to my quickly retreating back, “it’s too early, you should sleep more.”

Fat chance, buddy.

“Ah, but the light! The rocks! …take photos…I must…before sun…too late..” came my disjointed reply over my shoulder as I headed to the more permanent part of camp and reclaimed my personal space.

I must have taken 30 shitty pictures, but I would have gladly taken a 100 more.

shitty picture#28