He ran his tongue over his dry lips and forced himself to push on. His wide hands and strong fingers gripped the rough sandstone rocks. His toes found cracks to balance on as he climbed higher and higher up the liquid-like folds of the cliff. Across his shoulders, a thick leather strap held a large waterskin in place on his back. The skin was made from the stomach of a camel and should hold almost 10 litres of water. The bag was empty not even a drop remained, and he'd been looking for 12 hours already. Time was running out.
In the desert, with no water, you have two days before death comes for you.
He knew in the mountains he could find hidden water, and this is what drove him to climb and climb. His need for water. He had to find some. His life, the life of his little daughter, his two young sons and his wife depended on him.
When he closed his eyes he could see their laughing faces dancing across his eyelids. He could not give up now.
He had seen an old Bedouin sign on the rocks, he knew he was close. These signs left by Bedouin centuries ago, suddenly found new purpose in 2058. After the Disi Aquifer finished in 2056, 10 km3 of water sucked up by hungry pumps and a booming population, the precious contents used, spilled and lost, Jordan had begun to fall apart. The government had failed to implement the structure required to provide enough treated recycled water. Everything quickly fell apart. Who's going to show up to work when they need to find water for their family? Using a little more than 100 litres of water per person per day 10 km3 was finished in 30 years. At first, the government holed up in the North, later they disappeared in planes, leaving 10 million people with no water and no-one in charge.
When the pumps first stopped people thought it would last a few days, a week at most. Everyone bought bottled water until the days turned into a month. Then, the bottled water stopped coming in truckloads to the town shops, and thirsty mouths began to seek water from new sources. People swarmed to the river until only a trickle of polluted water remained.
Water quickly became more valuable than gold. And then a drought hit, there was no rain. The countries surrounding Jordan shut the borders down, and no-one could leave. After all, most of those countries already had water problems of their own. Jordan was the first domino to fall, and the rest would follow shortly after.
He had heard the scenes in the cities were chaos as people realised there was no way out.
They had been reasonably sheltered in the desert before those moments. When the bottled water stopped coming to the village, Bedouin families had gradually started using the spring water more and more. There were fights, but overall they'd kept things together and everyone had stuck to the Bedouin rules. Rules which originated in their traditional nomadic lifestyle, life lived with very little water.
They managed until the city people came.
When things became impossible in the cities people began to leave. At first with their cars, and then on foot, more and more people began to arrive. Everyone knew about the natural springs of Wadi Rum. They came in droves hopeful of survival.
Wadi Rum, once a famous tourist destination with the tourists long gone, began to attract a new kind of traveller. A desperate kind whose only thoughts were for water.
He remembered the old Bedouin saying his father used utter like a mantra.
"Any water in the desert will do".
Indeed. Gone were the days when people would expect clean water to gush from pipes and taps at their convenience. Any water would do, and we all needed the precious liquid desperately.
Our seven springs couldn't handle the volumes of people. The water which continuously trickles from deep inside the mountain wasn't enough. 24 hours a day, at each spring, you could see a chaotic crowd of people. All trying to fill jerry cans, bottles anything they could lay their hands on. Every drop of water was siphoned into waiting containers as people came to take the precious liquid with which they could survive. For every person who left, ten came to replace them.
Animals began to die. The horses and donkeys went first, then the sheep, the chickens, and goats. Lastly, even the camels began to drop.
After his favourite camel had died, gentle M'hayra (which means a group of galloping foals) he knew the time had come for action.
He couldn't sit any longer by the springs as more and more people arrived to make demands on their flow. He knew it was only a matter of time before violence erupted, and blood, not water would pour over the sands of Wadi Rum.
The same night, he woke his family, and they loaded up the surviving camels with a few belongings. The objects his father had left him, objects which for many years had sat in his home functioning as decorations. Now, as he prepared to head deep into the desert, those objects took on new life and gave him hope.
- Six woven bags, made from goat hair slung over the camel's backs to hold their few remaining belongings
- A flat metal disk used for making bread in the fire
- Four camel stomach waterskins
- A teapot
- An Arabic coffee pot
- A metal cup
- A bronze pestle and mortar
- A large metal bowl
- A large metal tray
- A flint for fire lighting
- A few sheepskin rugs
- A small black and white Bedouin goat hair tent, handmade by his mother
They headed south, deep into the desert, step by step, leaving the hordes of people behind. As they pushed on, he would climb to fill their waterskins from pools of water hidden in gnarly cracks and canyons in the mountains. From hunting trips with his father, he knew those mountains like the backs of his hands. But as they got further from the places known to him, his finds grew further and fewer between.
He returned to his senses, and as he peered over the top of the cliff he had just scaled, his handsome face betrayed no emotion. He knew he was close, but time was short, he could feel his body aching for water. And he still had to get back to the canyon where he'd left his family hiding from the punishing sun.
He continued climbing down into the narrow canyon which had revealed itself to him, and then he saw a glimmer. His heart leapt and he sprang down the remaining sides of the canyon wall, hopping from side to side until he reached a ledge hidden from the sun. A ledge where a small pool of water glistened, quietly unaware of its own importance.
He faced Mecca, fell to his knees, and put his forehead to the ground, as he did, he gave thanks to Allah.
He quickly went to work, filled the waterskin, carefully closed the top and returned the skin onto his back. He desperately wanted to drink but he knew he couldn't take the risk. If he got sick who would fetch more water?
He closed his mouth firmly and shifted the waterskin on his back until he was comfortable. Now, he had to get back to his family, without falling. The extra weight on his back would slow him down.
He began to climb.
A full 24 hours after he had left his wife and children he returned. As he approached the canyon where they were hidden his stomach formed a tight knot. He feared to find them gone or dead. He took a deep breath and called out.
"Hoy, hoooy".
He heard his wife trill in response and his footsteps quickened. When he saw them all there, alive he couldn't hold back the tears. He embraced them all, and then they quickly made a fire to boil the precious water.
When they finally drank tea, they drank long and deep, each taking a turn, until they could drink no more.
Later, with thirsts satisfied, his children slept, and he lay down next to his wife. They looked up at the stars. He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. They had survived another day and he felt overwhelmed with gratitude. Gratitude for the skills his father had taught him, and gratitude for the gift of water. They would make what he had brought last, and tomorrow he would return to the same place for more.
Yet, over the course of their daily struggle for survival, and the victory he felt every time he returned with water, he was always filled with equal volumes of sadness. Sadness for all the children he could not save, for his sisters, his brothers, his nephews, nieces, cousins, and the growing numbers of people trapped in chaos at the village, as they scrabbled over the limited spring water. He could not shift the sadness he felt for all the people, the old and the young who had already died in the cities. They died waiting because they had no means to bring water for themselves.
In the desert, without water, you take two days to die.
They had survived for 6 months since leaving the village, and every day they continued, they had no guarantees. All he had was the few belongings they brought with them, their camels, and the knowledge his father had given him.
And other than water, what was the thing he wished for most? He longed for the power to turn back time. Then, he would run in the streets, shout from the mountaintops for the whole world to hear, "beware, beware we are heading for catastrophe".
If enough people had taken action 40 years ago millions of people would not have died needlessly. Suffering and destruction could have been prevented. We had the knowledge, the technology, the signs were there, but no-one paid attention, and no-one took action.
He shook his head, he could not turn back the time and dreaming was a luxury he could not afford.
He looked up at the timeless stars, he knew they would not miss a soul, closed his eyes and slept. Tomorrow was another day. His focus would be the tasks he needed to do in order for them to survive.
Seek food, find food, and eat food.
Seek water, find water, and drink water.
Repeat.
