Text and photos by Tor Eigeland

IN many ways I dreaded the trip into the Rub al-Khali, the formidable Empty Quarter of southern Arabia. It was summer and the heat could be intense to say the least – possibly soaring above 50 degrees Celsius – in the shade.

And shade could be hard to find. My assignment (for the National Geographic Book Division) was to photograph Bedouin life in this sea of sand that lies on the Tropic of Cancer, in the same arid belt that created the Sahara.

The Empty Quarter, which covers some 650,000 square kilometres, is the largest expanse of sand in the world. You could throw in Spain, Belgium and the Netherlands – and still have lots of room to spare.

Up until the days of vehicles like the Landrover only one European ever crossed these sands. The one man who accomplished this feat was the intrepid British adventurer Wilfred Thesiger. Accompanied by a band of Bedouins, he crossed the Empty Quarter on camel back and travelled throughout the region between 1945 and 1950.

Why did I dread this adventure? Firstly, knowing that my diet would basically be that of the nomadic Al-Murrah Bedouin – the toughest and proudest of all Bedouin – I had found out that one of their basic sources of nutrition was camel's milk . . . warm, straight out of the camel served in a frothy bowl. Their black camels are famous all over Arabia for their sweet milk – and there would be no way to avoid drinking it!

I knew from previous experience with Bedouins that I would enjoy their rice, boiled sheep, camel's meat, endless sweet tea, coffee and dates. For some peculiar reason the thought of drinking warm milk straight from the camel, possibly with a few hairs in it, had me lose sleep.

The test came on the first night, having arrived in the evening at a Bedouin encampment where there were about ten large tents and hundreds of camels. Our party of three, an American anthropologist by the name of Donald Cole who was well-known to the Bedouin, al-Corby, the al-Murrah driver, and me, were warmly welcomed.

After a tasty meal of rice and young camel's meat eaten exclusively with the hygienic right hand (as the left hand has other uses), we washed our hands with soap and water poured from a metal jug by the host's son. Coffee and tea followed.

'GREAT! NO CAMEL'S MILK!!!' I thought to myself.

At this very moment our host dispatched his oldest son to milk a splendid looking black camel conveniently parked near us. A few minutes later a big white bowl filled with milk, frothy on top, was carried in – and proudly presented to me.

Thinking quickly, I politely offered the bowl to the oldest man present as a token of respect. "No, no, no," laughed the host. "You first. Drink, drink!"

My plot defeated, I brought the bowl to my lips and had a small sip, trying not to taste it. To be polite, I had another sip, and then found myself guzzling the milk. It was utterly delicious – rich, creamy, slightly sweet.

The host looked enormously pleased and everyone laughed seeing my considerable nose covered in white, milky foam. The ice was broken and I'll never again dread camel's milk!

I had also dreaded the extreme heat, and with good reason. Although the desert nights and early mornings and evenings were wonderful, peaceful, cool, the middle of the day could be nightmarishly hot in a very claustrophobic way. Everyone has to find some kind of shade – often lying in the sand under the car. Worst of all, you know there is NO WAY TO GET AWAY FROM IT!

Oh yes – and I dreaded getting stuck should our car break down, especially since we were travelling in one car only. This, of course, did happen. One day our engine cut out in the middle of nowhere. At the hottest time of the day.

As if that were not enough, the big water tank in the back of our car had sprung a leak. We were left with one Thermos flask of water for three men. In this heat just one whole day without drinking anything would see us all dead from dehydration. We would normally drink several liters each per day.

Were it not for al-Corby, our Bedouin driver, Donald and I would almost certainly have died young. But al-Corby was totally unbothered.

"Look!" he exclaimed – and pointed towards the horizon. A long string of dozens of camels, at least two or three kilometres away, seemed to be slowly gliding along. Due to the extreme shimmering heat it looked as if they were floating in the air just off the ground.

Al-Corby took off after them on foot at a loping stride. I remembered something Donald Cole had written about the sayings of the Al-Murray: "To go there without the herds is to court death. With the herds it can be a land of plenty."

Al-Corby returned with the "borrowed" herd. We were safe. We milked two of them, managed to fix the car and drove on to the nearest major Bedouin camp which as always was located by a well.

What else did I worry about? When nature calls and there is no toilet around, where does one go? The Bedouins are covered by their long robes which serve as built-in toilets. They simply move away a few metres and squat in the sand.

Around the camps it seemed that no matter how far I walked with my roll of toilet paper, there was a Bedouin coming over the next sand-dune.

Awkward, very awkward. Also, it is considered shameful to stand up and pee. Sanitation remained a problem. In truth, nothing goes unnoticed here. These tribesmen can even tell whether a woman is pregnant by her footprints. And, yes, about women. I had to promise the al-Murrah that I would not photograph their masked women – something I had to respect. And, except for one time when a woman actually asked to be photographed, I observed this rule.

Curiously enough though, I sort of got to know some of the women in spite of their black masks. More than anything it was their intense, beautiful black eyes – often clearly smiling–- that gave their different personalities away. That and their voices.

The women never sat in the circle of men. They would gather behind us when we sat down for a meal and often loudly made their thoughts and opinions known as we talked. One afternoon when most people were away with the camel herds I suspected that I had an invitation to slip into the next tent, but I didn't understand the subtleties of Arabic nor was this my style…

Another natural concern was for film and equipment. Normally I slept in the sand near the Bedouin family tents, my cameras and film put away next to me in tightly-sealed foam rubber-lined aluminium cases. In spite of the intense heat and the blowing sands I never had any problems with the Kodachrome films, nor with the Nikon cameras. The Kodachrome turned out to be indestructible as did the Nikons. When the winds were too intense and the sands blew I used a Nikonos underwater camera as it is as sand proof as it is waterproof.

Another problem I had was that I was nearly always hungry as the Bedouins, due to long practice, ate three times as fast as I did with their deft right hand. Seated on the ground in a circle, all would attack the meal at the same time. Then, as soon as I was getting going, an elder would get up, signalling that the meal was finished for everyone!

This situation was somewhat mitigated by the huge supply of Mars bars that I took with me and ate secretly at night under the starriest skies I have ever seen. Like my precious photographic film the Mars bars never melted.

Regardless of a few physical problems, the weeks I spent with the Al-Murrah tribesmen were some of the happiest of my life. Their hospitality, although a tradition, always seemed warm and heartfelt and I shall always be grateful for that.

Another memorable quality in these proud people was their great sense of humour. Laughter, play, clowning and joking forms a natural part of their rugged lives. Come to think of it we have a lot to learn from them.

If you have any comments or feedback, Tor Eigeland can be contacted at tor.eigelandwanadoo.fr