On the far reaches of the Jordanian galaxy sits Azraq, a village in the desert not far from the Saudi and Iraqi borders. The place is a dump, a dive, a hole in the ground who's main function is a way-station for truckers and tourists to and from those desert lands. Trucks are piled high with carpets, furniture, and mattresses ; expensive cars enter into Jordan from Saudi Arabia as Gulf State millionaires come to hunt in the desert or on their way to Syria and Lebanon.
The whole place is one street, lined with shops and restaurants. The restaurants are a poem in themselves, since they all serve kebab, and sheep are parked on the sidewalk in pens waiting to be slaughtered. As you walk down the street, the blood gushes from open jugular veins and skins are removed. The waiting sheep can see what is happening and the smoke of their roasting brothers blows right by them. Ahmed, our charming host assured me that this practice was against the laws of Islam, in which a slaughtered animal is to be treated with utmost respect.
We were brought to Azraq because of the Desert Castles, beautiful stone khans built by the Omeyyades to protect travellers and offer them shelter from the extreme form of Islam practised at that time. Here they could hunt and sit around and have affairs, an Oriental paradise built far from prying eyes!
We met Ahmed in the post office. He is a Jordanian of Tchetchnian descent who holds an American passport, after studying engineering in the States for 7 years and he came to speak to us because he saw our car and the East of Eden logo. In fact, he thought we were treasure hunters! Treasure hunters? Well, it seems that the entire country is ripe with rumours about buried treasure; and all sorts of people are on the lookout for signs and wonders. After tea at his place, he and his wife, nicknamed Angel, invited us to leave our hotel and stay with them, which we did with great pleasure. Ahmed then took us around, and showed us castles which predated the Ommeyades by several centuries. The story is that they were built by Jews, possibly under the reign of King Solomon and are said to contain treasures. Maybe the Ommeyades left treasures, but I can assure him that we Jews are experts in taking it with us.
Azraq means blue because of the oasis which was there, but since the authorities began pumping water to Amman and Irbid a few years ago the reserves have dried up, the water buffaloes disappeared, and the birds gone to the Sea of Galilee to find water on their way North and South. Ahmed remembers swimming like a happy fish as a child in waters now murky and shallow.
Every castle he took us to is guarded by Bedouins who jump up whenever some one comes around to make sure no one is digging for treasure. Some smaller castles have been pushed over by bulldozers to get to the non-existent treasure, and Ahmed was awash with stories of mysterious rocks and miraculous stones and djiins and Hebrew carvings. I wish I could have helped him out. The East of Eden logo is just our fancy and if the Hebrew script is too old I cannot read it.
Our time with Ahmed and his family was wonderful. That very morning Marie-Do and I were wishing we could find a devout Muslim who spoke fluent French or English and could explain things to us, and here he was. The word or God was beautiful on his lips and he was an inspiration to us, since his every word and gesture conveyed dignity and robust faith.