Seeing Eye to Eye

Seeing Eye to Eye

By K. Bellows

My companion and I sit cross-legged on floor cushions facing Hamoudi, our Bedouin guide, in his simple four-room house. We have just roared up the rugged hills near Petra, Jordan, in a rented vehicle, navigating dusty streets choked with goats and dodging Hamoudi’s camel in front of his home.

Friends and family drift into the room. Hamoudi’s wife brings in small cups of broth and a huge platter mounded with rice and meat cooked in yogurt. As we pluck communally at the dish, we talk about the stirring ruins of the ancient Nabataean city of Petra, where Hamoudi works. We talk about the six-day camel trip into the desert that my companion wants to take with him.

We also listen uncomprehendingly as side conversations of Arabic chatter unfold around us. Soon Hamoudi’s children crowd in and we are introduced to photo albums, a daughter’s displays of gymnastic accomplishment, and letters from relatives in America.

The food is delicious, and as it dwindles I realize that under the blanket of rice is the head of a young goat that has been slaughtered and pot-boiled this very morning.

We are urged to drink the broth in which the goat has simmered. And this is when I see the eyeball, bobbing in the glass. I eye the eye. My hosts eye me. I hesitate, tip the glass, then swallow the eyeball whole. The Bedouin grin and nod approvingly.

After spending four hours on the floor, I get in my car and drive into the twilight, the sound of the Muslim call to prayer echoing off the hills. And I remember what Hamoudi said to me when I met him. “Come to my home and eat. That way we will become friends.”