Learning the Bedouin Way in Wadi Rum
I lived in a tent for a month to master the secrets of the desert
The invisible thread of intuition tugged my puppet strings. When a Facebook post appeared about a Bedouin in Wadi Rum seeking volunteers, I was inexplicably pulled by the humble invitation to experience desert life.
Without missing a beat, I connected with Hamad Hussein Zalabia, a Bedouin homesteader in Wadi Rum. He extended an invitation (in English), sharing videos of stunning desert landscapes, his DIY construction projects, and a cornucopia of animals. The Bedouins have traversed the Middle East for centuries and are masters of skills long forgotten to us city folk, including survivalism, navigation and animal husbandry. The chance to access this knowledge and integrate myself into this foreign culture was irresistible.
The arrangement was as follows: in exchange for help around garden, Hamad would introduce me to secrets of the desert. I was sold. I started planning my travels and roped in another friend to join.
An Unexpected War Strikes
My plan to fly to Jordan via Istanbul, Turkey on March 2nd, 2026 was upended when Donald Trump attacked Iran just days before. With missiles inundating Middle East skies, I decided to stay in Istanbul and delay entering Jordan. The conflict was devasting for regional travel, even in far off Turkey; deserted streets, empty shops, and no business.
Ironically, this disruption only motivated me to complete my journey. I was naturally alarmed by the headlines. But I also felt like I was being herded into a state of irrational worry by the news cycle. I did not like how easy it was for a source of ‘authority’ (the news) to influence my decisions by labeling an entire region as ‘unsafe’. I had made a commitment to visit the Bedouins and I wanted to demonstrate solidarity by going.
After research and reflection, I concluded that the risks of traveling to and being in Wadi Rum were acceptable. After a 10-day holding pattern that took me and my friend through the Turkish countryside and Egypt, (Iznik, Bolu, and Luxor), we entered Jordan through the port city of Aqaba.
Arrival
A cab dropped us at the Rum Village Market at the edge of town where Hamad greeted us with big smile. Standing next to his beat up jalopy, he perfectly fit my imagination of a desert master: camel-skin cloak, cloth leffa and an deep, piercing gaze. We traveled to his father’s house where a steaming plate of zarb awaited. Our arrival coincided with the holy month of Ramadan, so we waited for the muezzin to signal the end of the fast. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Hamad taught us how to eat with our hands.
After dinner, we drove in the dark back to his garden. We were welcomed by the alarmed barking of his zealous guard dog Max. Intruders, intruders! His incessant cries echoed as we pitched tents.
The next morning, Hamad set the tone for our apprenticeship.
“We have a custom”, he said with a grin. “On your first day, you relax”.
His mother brought dough for a local bread called khubz. We watched in amazement as Hamad skillfully baked this homemade treat in the fireplace ash. Over mouthfuls of delectable bread and hot tea, we received our first taste of life in Wadi Rum.
Bedouin Wisdom#1: Scrambling as Mental and Physical Exercise
Located at the mouth of a valley, Hamad’s garden has abundant access to the desert’s most valuable resource: water. Liquid gold from nearby mountain springs flows freely, a critical lifeline for the trees and animals.
His primary structure, a goatskin tent, consists of an antechamber with a pantry and a main bedroom with a steel-frame bed and an open-pit fireplace. In the corner sits a ring-fenced pen which houses newborn goats. Outside the tent, a plastic tube transports spring water directly into camp. We were told to rearrange its detachable sections to wherever water was needed. A tarped goat pen sits next to the main tent. 15 sets of panoramic pupils stared in unison whenever I approached. Lining the garden are olive, lemon and spiky cassia trees. At the end are several uncompleted structures and two halves of a massive split boulder.
Our introduction to the Bedouin life was a hike to link up with Hamad’s mom who was herding goats. After Ramadan, a regular activity of ours would be to track down the herd and bring lunch to mom. I LOVED bringing lunch to mom! Going out into the wild, finding tracks, bringing nourishment to an ally. I was struck by how something so simple could be so rewarding.
That day, I remember being awe-struck by the rawness and challenge of Wadi Rum’s rocky terrain. Every direction is a potential path to your destination. There are dozens of possibilities. Some days I’d choose the most direct route, and on others, a more circuitous path. With every step, I challenged muscles I didn’t know I had as I flew across uneven terrain.
Over time, my scrambling range and confidence increased dramatically. Several mornings, I’d hike up to the top of the valley surrounding the camp to see the sunrise and watch the village come to life. On other days, my friend and I went deep into the valley to explore its hidden nooks and crannies. One of my favorite daily activities was our 20-minute hike to get drinking water from a mountain spring.
The freedom of route-finding in Wadi Rum is something I’ve never experienced in an urban setting. When you want to go somewhere you just go. Your only limit is your climbing skill. With time, paths that once intimidated you become do-able. You get a huge sense of accomplishment when you discover quicker routes, reach a vista you once glimpsed at from afar, or fill your water bottle with life-sustaining water. Trekking at Hamad’s garden is free, rewarding and endless.
One day, Hamad encouraged us to observe the Ramadan fast. A whole 14 hour cycle without food or water. I agreed, but was privately terrified. I know, I know, easy peasy…but I’m a city snowflake. I expected to sit at camp in a deliriously famished state counting down the minutes till dinner, but Hamad had other plans.
“We’re hiking to that peak”, he instructed, pointing to a mountain in the distance.
And that’s how we ended up going on a three-hour scramble while fasting. Surprisingly, not only did I have ample energy, I felt spectacular afterwards. I’m not entirely clued in to the science behind fasting, but this experience makes me wonder how much of my desire to eat is simply habit and conditioning versus true biological need.
Bedouin Wisdom#2: Fire is a Way of Life
My city upbringing conditioned me to view fire as a hazard. Living with Hamad, I discovered fire’s undeniable enhancement of food flavor and the magnetic allure of simply watching a flame.
In Wadi Rum, you are free to collect firewood and start a fire wherever you want. Fire is a a central part of the Bedouin lifestyle. Because there’s is no electricity at Hamad’s camp, the only thing we had to warm ourselves and cook with was the flame.
In Hamad’s tent, we savored fire-cooked meals nightly. I loved the simplicity of Bedouin meals. Most times, the only seasoning added to dishes was a smattering of salt. I was mesmerized the first time I watched Hamad cook as he masterfully manipulated the three phases of the fire (open flame, hot coals and ash) to sear eggplants, grill onions and bake potatoes.
One of our regular tasks was to head into the valley to collect deadwood. This was like a treasure hunt for something that provided immediate value. Over time, I grew proficient at locating wood; I recognized the flow of water and could guess where logs were likely to be trapped.
Hauling firewood was probably my favorite activity in Wadi Rum. Surprising, right? But there’s a deep sense of fulfillment when you locate and deliver a life-sustaining resource that provides for loved ones. I can’t describe the pride I felt the day I hauled a 60-pound log over one mile of steep rocks. That beast lasted us four days, and the meals we cooked with it were the best of our stay.
Bedouin Wisdom#3: Water is More Precious than Gold
In the desert, water is life. During Ottoman times, Bedouins roamed freely between water sources and grazing lands. From Saudi Arabia, to Jordan, Syria and Iraq, they went as they pleased. The rise of modern day states after World War II and the enforcement of borders signaled the end of the Bedouin’s full-time nomadism. Hamad’s grandfather was the first generation of Bedouins to settle in Wadi Rum. Claiming the plot of the garden, he shrewdly secured access to the most important currency of the desert.
During our stay, a rare storm passed through the region, drenching us in a day of non-stop downpour. As I shivered in Hamad’s tent bitterly pondering which I disliked more; the cold weather or the billowing smoke from the fire, the Bedouins were outside celebrating. The downpour had caused beautiful waterfalls to form in the valley.
The rainstorm, something mundane for me, was nothing short of a godsend for Wadi Rum. Those waterfalls symbolized life; the replenishing of water stores and an explosive grass crop.
“So what?” I thought innocently.
“So what?” exclaimed Hamad. “This means we won’t have to spend money on expensive animal feed from the government”
And it suddenly made sense. At a time when incomes had plunged to zero due to a lack of tourists, the provision of ‘free’ animal feed and abundant water was nothing short of a miracle.
Bedouin Wisdom#3: There’s Magic in the Herbs
On one unfortunate firewood run, I was hauling a trophy through the valley when its branches got stuck. My American conditioning led me to a brute force solution to clear the logjam.
WHAM
The recoil of branch as it cleared the obstacle whacked me straight in the eyes. I managed to limp back to camp and spent the next hour wincing in agony. The clinic was closed, and I had no eyedrops. Hamad had an ingenious solution.
“Wait one minute”, he said to me, as he scurried into the rocks. Five minutes later, he returned with a clutch of wild herbs called Hnaidia (wormwood), brewed an eye wash and instructed me to rinse. Instantly, my pain vanished.
That was my introduction to Bedouin herbalism. These masters of the desert know the uses of every flower and plant in the region. To cure coughs, brew some Za’atar (hyssop) in tea. For stomach aches, there’s Baitaran. Habbag (wild mint) grows plentifully by springs and is great for tea and flavoring water.
One day, Hamad took us in in the valley to experience wild cooking. Chicken livers were flavored with Shia (thyme) picked in the mountains. After our sumptuous feast, he ground up a handful of Ajaram (anabasis articulata) on sandstone to create Bedouin hand soap lather for washing.
The most interesting concoction we had was Harreg (desert nettle) tea. These awful plants, which grow all over the valley, leave a painful burning sting with the slightest brush on skin. But when you boil them, the plant loses its potency and imparts a delicious and irresistible earthiness to tea.
Bedouin Wisdom#4: Animals are Your Bank Account
While Bedouins depend on tourism for 90% of their income, it’s animals that are their ultimate source of security. Fickle tourists come and go, but animals give, even when the missiles are flying. Goat provide wool, milk and meat, and can be sold for cash. Guinea fowls provide eggs and cleanse the land of scorpions. Pigeons produce fertilizer, are an emergency source of food, and vastly improve aesthetics.
In Wadi Rum, I gained newfound respect for animals. Huffing through the valley, I watched enviously as goats danced across treacherous rocks. I also grew fond of dogs in this environment. Unlike city pets, the wild dogs of Wadi Rum aren’t needy and don’t require endless care.
In Hamad’s garden, I developed a particular liking for his half-wolf dog, Max, the one who barked at me unceasingly on the first night. On our second day, he greeted me with a semi-suspicious growl in the morning. I called to him softly, extending an open palm. Crooking his head quizzically, he decided I was a friend and sauntered over for a neck rub.
“Hey, this guy smells good and those scratches behind the ears are awesome”, I imagined him thinking.
That’s how I became best friends with a Wadi Rum guard dog named Max. During my stay, he was my personal bodyguard, escorting me through the garden, accompanying me on treks and warding off intruders. One day, a bulldozer came to camp to pile up sand. As it approached my tent, Max charged and started barking furiously. Hamad told me that Max was protecting my tent.
After a supply run to Hamad’s mom one day, my friend and I went off on a hike. Max craftily peeled off from the herd guard duty to join us on our adventure. Sometimes he showed us the path. When the terrain got difficult, he found his own way. No leash, no monitoring, just a free dog guiding his human pets. He rejoined the herd just as it was returning to the garden. It was Max’s crafty attempt to give Hamad the ‘impression’ that he had been working the entire time. Hamad wasn’t fooled, but he did say that he wanted to “breed more Maxes”.
At end of my stay, I wanted to support the family as a gesture of thanks. I knew they would never accept a cash gift, so I waited for their suggestion. Hamad’s mom said I could buy a goat and her kid for the herd. What a brilliant idea! In name, I would own the animals, but in practice, it would be theirs to manage and do with as they pleased. It was an elegant way to offer support and establish kinship.
Hamad insisted I name the two goats. He’d been teaching me Arabic and we’d been joking about regional politics, so I named the mother ‘Nawawi’ (nuclear —> my hopes for her fertility, as well as a reflection of the times), and the kid Yahoo (short for yahu —> iykyk).
Reflections on a Month in Wadi Rum:
Apprenticing with Hamad was one of the best things to ever happen to me.
His world connected me to a delightful method of living that is non-existent in urban life. I loved the agency I possessed to solve issues in the challenging Wadi Rum environment. My daily actions, like starting fires, procuring firewood, and taking care of animals were tied to immediate needs.
I also gained a deep respect for the Bedouin culture. In the survivalist environment of the harsh desert, you must rely on others, you must be resourceful, and you must think for yourself. Most importantly, the desert forces you to be present, and to enjoy the daily joys of life, like an unexpected waterfall during heavy rain.
At the same time, we cannot ignore the impact of modernity on the Bedouin way of life. In just three generations, they went from a nomadic self-sufficient lifestyle to a settled existence. While they retain their survivalist mentality, they now are utterly dependent on market-priced commodity imports (like gas and food staples) and on tourism for cash.
I am excited for Hamad because he chooses to approach the challenge of balancing tradition and modernity with a entrepreneurial and values-based mindset. His goal in seeking apprentices is to prepare his garden as a community-based camp for climbers, nomads and other outside visitors. In this way, he can earn a living while offering authentic Bedouin hospitality on his terms.
I completely support him in this mission. I hope the Bedouins, and other cultures confronting modernity, continue fighting to maintain their way of life.
If you’re ever in Wadi Rum, please reach out to Hamad. He will gladly show you the secrets of the Bedouin way.
(Hamad can be reached on Whatsapp +962 7 7653 8675)
Make some YouTube videos of Wadi Rum, hope y’all enjoy!
You have the best adventures Ming. I think it comes down to your openess and the trust you have in people you've never met. I love the determination to keep going and not turn around in Istanbul. It looks like that perseverance was certainly rewarded.
This sounds incredible! I loved my week in Jordan and loved meeting some Bedouin, but wow that’s not what we did! Thanks for sharing 🙂