Meeting Mahmoud, the Bedouin Driver

Mahmoud, the over-sized Bedouin driver my friends and I hired to show us around Jordan, introduced himself as the “Desert Knight.” He lived up to the name with his wild jokes in limited English, relying heavily on innuendos and body gestures. Easily twice my size, he said he is so big because “I drink lots camel milk. Makes man strong. Can please women.” When Mahmoud laughed, we laughed along, not always because we understood, but because his mania was contagious.

During a driving break, Mahmoud jokingly asked to marry me; through laughing, I negotiated for 200 camels, a high price nobody could afford. Mahmoud passed me his gold ring, which engulfed two of my fingers.

But his mood shifted. At times he euphorically serenaded me off-key while at other moments he sat down sullen with bloodshot eyes. Unprovoked, he started picking us up, throwing us over his shoulders and walking away until the person wriggled free.

During a serious moment, Mahmoud told me he jokes so much because he needs to forget he is sad; 12 years ago he arranged to marry a woman. “A week later, she died. Now I 36 and alone.” Resolute, he grabbed a CD and using one hand, broke it. He ate a bite of the disc, threw the rest out the window, grabbed a new CD, put it in a case and handed it to me. “Keep for rest of your life.” The CD was called, “cool stuf,” with one ‘f.’

After sunset I sat outside with my guy friends. Mahmoud’s nostrils flared. He grunted that no boys could talk to me because I was his fiancé and he moved in between us. Panic-stricken, I thought, “what if he really could collect 200 camels?” I ended the ‘engagement.’ With cold eyes Mahmoud slowly turned to my friend and asked her to marry him, but she knew this was not a joke anymore. Nobody spoke.

We headed inside to sleep on mats on the floor in the lightless tent. I bee-lined to a spot nestled between my friends, feet away from Mahmoud. I slept fitfully, waking up in the opaque black night from mats ruffling or loud breathing to see who, if anyone, was awake.

During our final ride the next morning, silence reigned. When Mahmoud dropped us off, he did not meet our gaze, just said a gruff ‘salam’ (peace) before driving off.

When I returned from my trip, I played the CD Mahmoud gave me and had one final laugh with him; the songs were mostly Mariah Carey ballads. While I did not hear the Desert Knight recite ‘cause you’ll always be my baby,’ I pictured his singing resonating through his jeep to his next travelers.