#Desertflower

Not many people know it but, I can be very shy.

Coming from the country where the term ‘rastitute’ might even have been coined by Rough Guide (maybe I’m making this up); having witnessed sex tourism in many countries; maybe even having fallen for a rogue or two myself; as a single woman traveller I’m overly cautious about ending up in a vulnerable situation.

Let me make it categorically clear. I feel totally physically safe here in Siwa. Siwan/Amazigh men have been only respectful, with one exception when a man groped himself in the ruins while saying, ‘Show me’. I mean, really? I told him to “Fuck Off” and decided he was a visitor and not Siwan.

In Siwa, hospitality feels like a reflex action that every Siwan has. In my first months, about once a fortnight, I’d ask the local fixer for the film to take me into the desert and he would gallantly agree but soon, I became uncomfortable asking. Doing lovely things for someone gives pleasure for both the instigator and recipient. I grew up in a house where my father would have parties for visiting friends; he would take them to Maracas Bay for shark and bake; the Asa Wright Nature Centre; a non-masquerader, dad even donned a costume one carnival when, I think, my sister and her husband visited for carnival. The best food in Siwa is probably found in homes, residents go to Cairo to shop, no one’s heard of Amazon and living in a hotel meant I could not entertain at home so, reciprocation was a struggle. Eventually, foreseeing imminent offence being taken but seeing limited options, I sheepishly offered to give the fixer some money to, at the very least, cover expenses. Total offence taken, I dug the hole deeper and then I pretty much just ran away.

One person I met had relocated to Siwa and bought a tuktuk to better explore the area with a view to buying a piece of land. He offered to take me on a tuktuk tour and show me Siwa, off the beaten track. For some reason, maybe because he was not Siwan, I braved it and asked, “How much do you charge?” This led to practically being told-off via a conversation about transactional relationships and a moneyless economy.

Continued hospitality and being helped by Siwans I know and don’t, made me consider reciprocity and my fear of taking advantage of people as a Western hang-up. I say hang-up because it feels like I’m keeping count of how much I owe just about everyone I meet for their good deeds, for want of a better word, rather than living in the mode of simply paying it forward whenever I can.

Years ago, when a boyfriend who was ‘from country’, Toco to be exact, and his brother were watching TV one would ask the other to pass an item, the remote control, the ashtray, an orange, some object that was actually equidistant to both of them. Neither analysed the position of the object in relation to them they just passed said object to the other without a thought. It seemed a manifestation of being part of a whole, a community. That too, is what being in Siwa feels like, far from the individualistic functioning of Western culture or maybe it’s the product of me being raised an only child.

Which brings me back to the lesson I continue to find so hard to learn- how to let go, to relax and understand that any sense of being control is actually an illusion.

A few days ago at sunset I decided to go wander through some olive groves somewhere but which ones… the ones on the way to Fatnas island - far? or towards Dakrur – too many people or should I deal with going to the tuktuk stand and dealing with communicating in Arabic to non English speakers to take me to a place where I can access the Sa-hara that I can’t even describe in English plus ask him to wait until sunset (miming comes in handy here) and find out how much all that costs (shit I still haven’t learned Arabic numbers yet). Yes, I’m such a faffer. I decided it was such a lovely evening I’d summon up the courage to have a ‘conversation’, maybe ‘human interaction’ is more apt, with the tuktuk drivers. For some reason it went swimmingly. There were about five of them – none of whom really spoke English. But, together the group of drivers were able to figure out what I was saying. To be fair, I did use some of my Arabic words which includes the ones people do understand and my Trini mime. Ana (I) ayza (want) riha (to go or some version thereof) Sa hara (desert) and then pointed in the direction with both arms as if I was trying to bring a plane down onto an aircraft carrier. That kinda looked positive. Then I drew a map on the ground with my feet… that added some confusion so I nipped that in the bud. But, ‘60’ was said and my sunset (fist of one hand as sun setting below my other arm although in hindsight I think I did sunrise not sunset … oops… good on them)! So, off we went, after miming and saying maya (water).

On the way, the driver stopped where some men were sorting parts of palm fronds for firewood, hatab, he told me. He communicated he’d make a fire and would have tea ready for me on my return from my sunset walk. With some potential and unwanted transactional exchange on the horizon, even knowing I was at no risk of harm, some idea that doing things my way gave me the illusion of being in control I objected, "Shukran, ana mesh mehtaaga shay" ... then I told myself I was being unreasonable, I relaxed and said, "Shukran", thank you.

More and more, I think Siwan people understand that life is a journey and they live life enjoying what some might see as mundane but, that really for them… there is no mundane there is only the present moment.

Thank you Adel for such a wonderful Siwi sweet tea-filled sunset.