Page 33 of Under the Arabian Sky

When we arrived, Tariq steered Huda under the shade of a frayed canvas canopy and Habibi followed. Tariq ordered Huda down and dismounted her, then eased Habibi onto her knees. This time my landing was a little more graceful… well, at least I didn’t almost break my face. Tariq still caught me as the camel lowered herself though. I wasn’t sure how necessary his assistance was this time, but I was still happy for his help.

Happy for his arms to catch me.

Happy for his strong embrace.

Happy for his body pressed against mine, even if all he was doing was helping me off a camel.

Once I was safely down, he took off his head-dress. He put the ghutra in the pocket of his kandura but held onto the black, rope-like agal. “May I have your agal also?” he asked.

“Of course,” I said, sliding off my ghutra and handing him my agal. “What for?”

He knelt beside Habibi and rubbed her neck lovingly, then slipped my agal around her bent front knee. “A camel can smell water from two miles away. This keeps them from wandering off, which is the last thing you want in the middle of the desert. Think of it like a park brake for camels.”

He did the same to Huda, and there in the shade the camels happily sat.

“Hayak ya,Tariq,” came a voice from the doorway of the dwelling. “Mamnun ‘akmamnunat ‘ak!”

We turned to see a beaming, older man with a greying beard and worn clothes.

“Mahir,” Tariq walked over to the man. “Allah yahayeek ya.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, the two men kissed each other on one cheek, then the other.

The sight of it surprised me. I thought any act of intimacy was banned in Oman. I was taken aback that a kiss between men was even allowed, especially a kiss of such a casual nature.

Tariq gestured to me and said by way of introduction, “Mahir, this is my friend Arthur. Do you mind if we speak English… for his benefit.”

Mahir nodded agreeably. “Of course… but my English… not good.”

“It’s better than Arthur’s Arabic,” Tariq joked. “Now tell me, where is our poor patient?”

“This way. This way.”

Tariq fetched his medical bag and Mahir led us past his goats to a small stable with holes in its roof and a door barely holding onto its rusted hinges. Inside, our eyes took a little time to adjust.

“Over there,” Mahir said, pointing to a shadowy corner of the stable. “She must have come through hole in roof. She must have come seeking shelter.”

Squinting into the dark, I eventually made out the shape of a large bird huddled in the corner.

“What’s wrong with her?” Tariq asked.

“Hard to see. She did not let me close, but I think…” He made a slicing gesture with his hand. “I think she has cut on leg.”

“Do you have a towel I can use?”

Mahir’s expression told us he wasn’t sure what Tariq had said.

“Munshafa.”

“Ah… yes,” said Mahir, hurrying off and quickly returning with an almost threadbare towel in his hands.

When Tariq held it up, he saw that it had so many holes in it that he changed his mind. “Nevermind, but thank you.” Instead, he pulled his ghutra from his pocket and slowly approached the injured bird.

The feathered creature retreated even farther into the corner and gave an agitated shriek.

“Easy,” Tariq said in a hushed voice. “I’m a doctor. I’m here to help you. I’m going to make you all better.”

Listening to this kind, caring man talking to a bird as though it was a human patient warmed my heart… even more so for the fact that he did it in English. Did he do that for my sake, to try and melt my heart a little? If so, it worked.

---