The Tile of the Camel

The thought of riding a camel in the dessert was exhilarating.    We set out early in a four-by-four and left the city of Doha.   The roads around the city were new and broad and the morning traffic was congested with small cars and trucks.  Doha is built around a series of ring roads and the rotaries are a festival of vehicles weaving colors around a May Pole.  For better or for worse, our group was typically provided with a police escort with swirling red lights which wreaked havoc and backed up traffic in all directions around each of the rotaries.  On this day, however, only six of us had ventured out to see the dessert so we blended in and our car slipped in and out of the traffic like a local.

As we traveled, the road narrowed, the rotaries disappeared, and buildings became fewer, opening to expanses of dusty beige land that I knew was what Doha looked like beneath its construction.  Several miles out of the city, we passed a major building project where an entire new community was being created in what currently looked like the wilderness.  A long continuous caravan of trucks loaded with building materials entered the compound while an equal caravan was exiting heaped with dirt.   Both lines of trucks kicked up dust to the point that the air was gritty and beige.  One wondered how anyone could work in the heat and the dust.

A mile or two past this bustling effort, I saw the first of many free-roaming camels eating dry short stubble sticking out of lifeless earth.    One had to look hard because despite his size, the camel blended into the surroundings like a white hare in the snow, but in this case a beige hump in the sand.  As the landscape continued to empty, we saw several camels on either side of the road roaming and eating invisible vegetation.   I could barely imagine my bucolic life with green grass and black and white cows grazing on the side of country roads.   What a contrast!

With time, the earth became less compact and sand began to swirl.   The wind picked up and blew the sand over half of each lane, bestowing the white stripe with more significance than is customary.  Intermittently, we had to use our windshield wipers to be able to see.  Then suddenly the road ended.   There was nothing but sand and dunes before us.  The driver did not slow but continued as if driving through parted seas.  Very soon on the right, we saw a large water truck, a huge canvas stretched between wooden poles constructing a makeshift tent, and three camels with men looking like Bedouins. Yes, this was a tourist attraction of sorts, but one knew for sure that no tour buses came here.

The camels were resting with their long legs folded mysteriously beneath them.   Two had crocheted multi-colored muzzles.    It looked like colorful prayer caps had slipped down to cover their mouths.   They appeared to be peaceful, if not bored.  We were quickly told who was to ride which camel.   The camel assigned to me had no muzzle.   I took that to be a good sign; I preferred to assume that I had the camel with a good disposition.

Getting up on a camel requires a tight hold.  My camel was docile and sat quietly while I scrambled up behind his hump.   The saddle had rather large wooden handles that made mounting much easier.  It also gave you something to hold on to when the camel stood.   Camels stand by unfolding their hind legs first.   That throws the rider forward with a jerk and then almost in the same motion they unfold their front legs whipping the rider back again.   One had better hold on.   Once erect, the ride is very smooth.  The camel takes most of the brunt of the journey.

What amazed me most while riding was the camel’s feet.   My previous experience with large riding-animals was limited to horses.   In looking down the leg of a horse, one sees a hoof.   It is hard, clearly defined, and unyielding.   It strikes the ground with both noise and imprint.   In looking down the leg of a camel, one sees a totally different phenomenon.

The camel’s foot is unique.  It is soft and very wide, a malleable divided pad.   While elastic, it is simultaneously tough and impermeable, formed from keratin on the bottom and covered with golden fur on top.   It amazed me to watch as the camel’s foot gave and conformed to the sand beneath it.  I wanted to reach down and touch it.  I appreciated the assurance that it could traverse even the deepest sand and would not sink.  It would conform, yield, and work with its environment, all while attaining its goal of transport.  This experience of being dependent on an unmuzzled even-toed ungulate in the dessert made me think of my own footing.   Do I strike the ground as I carry my load making noise and leaving imprints behind me or do I work with my environment gently, quietly, and with accommodation?

We did not walk far or long.   The ride was just that – a ride.  When we returned, the camel stopped and dropped rather suddenly to fold his front legs beneath him, throwing me forward.  Then he folded his back legs, righting me again, and settled into his resting position.  I climbed down with new respect.

As I left, I continued to think about the camel.   The uneducated eye can not tell where a camel has walked.  The footprints look like natural undulations in the sand.   How do I traverse this earth?   What marks are left behind as a residual of my having passed by as I attain my goals?  The camel made me think about this.  It offered yet one more tile to my mosaic of life.