Bedouin Tribes of Jordan Rise to Power

Photo: A meeting of the southern Shaykhs, March 2006

February 10, 2011 - The short note on page A11 (“Jordanian tribes criticize the queen”, Globe and Mail, February 10, 2011) understated the significance of the tribes’ criticism of Queen Rania. It was not just the breaking of a taboo, but signaled a shift in geopolitics that could have much wider implications. At its heart, the joint statement, allegedly by the sheikhs of 36 tribes, was not about the Queen per se, but about land and power. His Majesty King Abdullah II was quick to angrily deny the accusations, to point out that the authors of the “joint statement” were not tribal leaders, just members of the 36 tribes, and to threaten the reporter with legal action. Nevertheless, the fact that such a statement could be written and published signals some kind of change, or at least the threat of it.

Since the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan shares dynastic ties with Iraq’s tribes (the former King Faisal was also a Hashemite), this issue extends far beyond Jordan’s borders. How far was shown during the first Gulf War. When Saddam Hussein’s army attacked Kuwait, Kuwaiti pastoralists had to flee with their livestock, but where? They could not legally cross into Saudi Arabia or Iraq, and Saddam had made it mandatory on pain of death for all adult males of Kuwait to join the Iraq army. But Kuwaiti Bedouins had tribal connection in Jordan, and the Iraq and Saudi tribes gave them safe passage as they walked across the 1000 km of desert. Although it was also illegal for them to enter Jordan, in 1990-1991 about 6000 Kuwaiti families brought 1.4 million sheep, goats and camels across the border. They followed ancient camel routes and watered at oases known only to the Bedouins, travelled at night, and hid in wadis during the day. When they arrived in Jordan, the local tribes, who were already squabbling among themselves over grazing rights, made room for the newcomers and their flocks.

Jordan is the eye in the storm of the Middle East. Like Canada, Jordan is a constitutional monarchy with a parliamentary government; the main difference is that in Jordan, the King can prorogue Parliament, while in Canada the Prime Minister has that power. Jordan is the closest Arab country to a democracy, the most open socially, the most peaceful, the most religiously pluralistic, and the most lawful. Jordan and Egypt are the only Arab states formally at peace with Israel. Too often, news about the Middle East that mentions “tribes” contains “lawless” in the same sentence. It’s true in Jordan that tribal law is strong and exists alongside government law, but that does not make it lawless. Tribal leaders in Jordan are struggling to adapt their laws and customs to the 21st century. The nomadic lifestyle is disappearing, leaving an economic and social vacuum.

Jordan and the other Arab states are governed by two parallel systems: constitutional laws and tribal laws and customs. These two systems come together in the person of King Abdullah II. All the tribes owe allegiance to the King, who in turn ensures the tribes’ financial and political security. But this is a two-edged sword: The tribes are more cognizant of their ancestral territories than modern country borders and often take their flocks into Syria, Iraq, or Saudi Arabia in search of pasture. Although illegal without export/import permits and fees, the authorities condone it. If the tribes’ loyalty to the King were to be somehow sundered, there would be nothing keeping them from offering their loyalty to other emirs.

Bedouin society is organized in a traditional family-clan-tribal hierarchy. Each evening, the clan chiefs get together with the sheikh and decide the affairs of the tribe. One of the routine decisions is: Which bright young men and women will be sent to Amman for education? The tribal elders know that they need representatives among the business leaders and politicians of the country. in 2002, I was out on the trackless desert, meeting with Bedouin elders wearing their flowing robes and headdresses in a tent that appeared to reek of poverty, when the chief’s son arrived in a brand new SUV. Individual families might not have money, but the tribe has money.

Much of their cash flow comes from the well-armed Badia (“Desert”) Force, whose members, recruited from the Bedouin tribes since the country was created, patrol the kingdom’s borders on camels. As well, many or most members of the army are Bedouin. Therefore, the tribes are linked to power not only through tribal loyalties, but through the military.

The Bedouin traditions are strong and their culture persists. They comprise about 40% of the country’s population. Outside of the cities, about 98% of the people identify themselves as “Bedu,” (French Bedouin: “people of the desert”) and identify with one of the 40 or so Jordanian tribes. Almost all have at least a few sheep or goats, while those better off still count their wealth in camels. More than 60% are semi-nomadic, spending at least a season away from their homes in search of pasture, and 5%–10% are fully nomadic, with no permanent homes. They have a deep attachment to the land and all whom I talked to in four years of working with them professed to love the lifestyle.

The tribes’ joint statement is itself historic. They live in villages mostly deserted in summer as they wander with their flocks in search of grass across vast stretches of desert, and some of the tribes are traditional enemies. In 2006, to plan a country-wide rangeland restoration project, I helped organize two meetings, one with the sheikhs of all the northern tribes of Jordan, and one with all the southern sheikhs. During the meetings, the enmity between certain of the sheikhs was palpable. My boss, a member of the Higher Council for Science and Technology, commented, during the obligate feast that followed, “this is a historic meeting, you know. Some of these sheikhs have never met each other and never have they all met together.”

The joint statement came at a moment when the regimes in Egypt and Tunisia had fallen and there were demonstrations in half a dozen other Arab and North African countries. To forestall foment in Jordan, the King had already announced constitutional and other reforms, and soon after he charged Parliament with implementing them.

Their beef with Queen Rania—whose family is from Palestine—is more about her humanitarian support for Palestinians in Jordan than with her alleged lavish lifestyle. One of the ways that the King has sought tribes’ loyalty is apportioning seats in Parliament partly by land, rather than by population, with the result that the tribes’ representatives currently control parliament. This gives them not only the usual perks and power of politicians, but more important to them, the power to regulate affairs critical to their communities, such as land and water rights. But between 2005 and 2010 the Queen's office has helped many Palestinians obtain Jordanian citizenship (the Joint Statement gave a number that the subsequent Royal statement said was wrong); as well (or as a result), Palestinian businessmen are gaining an increasing share of the economy. Jordanian tribes feel threatened, not only by the Palestinians, but since 2003 by the huge influx of Iraqi refugees and other immigrants. If the tribes were to lose faith with the Jordanian monarch, the political consequences in the Middle East would be enormous.

Canada's Failures in Middle East Policy

Photo: Al Hussein Mosque, in the souk, Amman

January 28, 2011 - In all the commentary following Canada's recent Middle East debacles, the failure to secure a UN Security Council seat and our military getting kicked out of the United Arab Emirates, commentators and politicians have failed to find the causes. It is not just our policies and actions that arouse enmity, but also official government statements, especially those of Prime Minister Stephen Harper.

Now, with demonstrations spreading through Arab capitols, we should take closer cognizance of the Middle East view of Canada. Make no mistake, Canada’s position is known on the Arab street, and it matters.

Working in Jordan in 2002, before the latest Gulf War, through 2006, I had a chance to hear and feel the changing attitude of Jordanians towards Canada. From what I read in the newspapers, Jordanians’ view of Canada is representative of the Gulf States generally. In 2002, on the street, seeing my Canadian flag bag tag, people called out a friendly “Hey Canadi!” I learned enough Arabic to introduce myself and always added, “...from Canada.” This never failed to start a conversation.
I was close enough to the seat of power to have a UN security badge that identified me as a representative of the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan. I regularly met with government Ministers, and among my close colleagues was a member of the royal family. In 2002, wherever I went, whether in the boardrooms of Amman, the souks of date-palm shaded villages, or sitting on colourful carpets in Bedouins’ goathair tents far out on the desert, they asked me the same thing: “Will America attack us?”
America, of course, had already attacked Afghanistan, and in 2002 was sabre-rattling against Iraq. “Us” meant Arabs; Muslims. Jordan’s monarch is a Hashemite, as was the former King Faisal of Iraq. The countries’ Bedouin tribes are blood relatives, their history is intertwined, and their ruling elites are Sunni Muslims. Canada was well-known, even to the tea-boys and street vendors, as a country of peace, a counter-point to our aggressive neighbour, America.

In 2002, I lived in a hotel a long mile from our office. I enjoyed the walk, picking up some fruit, dates and nuts for lunch each day on the way to work, and falafels or a shwarma on the way back in the evening, stopping along the way to look at wares in the shops and chat with the police who guarded every villa and government office. That fall, the terrorist Abu Musab al Zarqawi was indicted for the murder of an American diplomat in Amman, but I felt safe: I’m Canadian.

Sadly, our reputation had changed for the worse by 2003 and has gone downhill ever since. The first big drop from grace was when we sent troops to Afghanistan, prompting Osama bin Laden to put Canada on the list of countries, the citizens of which should be killed in the name of God. Bin Laden’s enmity with America-supported Gulf State dictators resonates with mainstream Arabs, even though most decry his methods and abhor violence. In 2002, my environmental work took me and my Jordani colleagues—ecologists—all over Jordan, right up to the Syrian, Iraqi, Saudi, and Israeli borders. We drove out alone in a rented 4x4, wherever and whenever we wanted. In 2003, with the Iraq war raging, we never went anywhere without armed guards that, outside of Amman, consisted of two soldiers in a pickup truck with a .50 calibre machine gun in the back. We needed permits and an itinerary approved by two Ministries, who sent an advance emissary to all the Bedouin tribes saying that the strangers were not to be molested. We stopped at each military command posts to have a de rigueur tea with the commandant to explain our scientific mission, even though he had been briefed.

By 2006, when my wife and I had an apartment in Amman, our personal feeling of safety and camaraderie with the locals had largely vanished. We felt eyes staring at us. No one called out “Hey Canadi” in the souks. Being Canadian was no longer a plus.

In August 2005, terrorists had fired a rocket at a US warship in Jordan’s Gulf of Aqaba, missed their target, and hit a ferry, killing one Jordanian. In November, bombs simultaneously ripped through three hotels frequented by foreigners, killing 57. My wife and I daily walked to work and back—our client, a high-level Crown agency Director, repeatedly urged us to take a taxi—past a court house where the trial of the alleged hotel bombers was taking place. The lawyers and others who were chatting outside the building seemed to scowl at us: foreigners, Canadian, American, all the same. The big change, even from 2003 had, I believe, a lot to do with Stephen Harper’s continual pro-Israeli/anti-Palestinian statements, first as Leader of the Opposition, and from early 2006 on, as Prime Minister.

These comments are noticed in the Arab world. We read about them in the Jordanian Times newspaper, and heard them on BBC, Al-Jazeera and Al-Arribiya television news. They don’t make us any friends. They reveal our government as biased against Arabs and Muslims, and our leader as being not well informed on the background and history of the region.

It therefore came as a surprise to me last summer to read that Canada would dare to seek a seat on the UN Security Council, which Gulf States and their allies would surely, and did, defeat. The United Arab Emirates’ expulsion of Canada’s air base, used in the war against Afghanistan, although it caught our bureaucrats and politicians by surprise, was a logical consequence of Canada’s continual acerbic comments about issues important to Arabs. Nor have we learned: just yesterday (January 27), www.thestar.com reported that “The United Arab Emirates’ top diplomat says he’s been ‘insulted’ by Prime Minister Stephen Harper’s war of words aimed at his country”.

Demonstrations are spreading through Arab capitols. Even in the Amman neighbourhood where my wife and I once strolled and bought pastries from friendly vendors, 3,000 marched today changing “We want change.” This is a critical time for the region, and it matters what our leaders say. Canada should follow the advice of Walt Disney’s cartoon rabbit Thumper: “If you can’t say somethin’ nice, don’t say nuthin’ at all.”

The Jordan Tourists Rarely See 4: The Sirhan Cyprinid

Azraq Oasis (see January 17 post; photos at the Picasa URL in the Header) used to be a 1250 ha permanent, freshwater marsh way out in the Jordanian desert (the "Badia") that in winter swelled to 12,000 ha or more. It has a huge, not-quite flat catchment basin, so that the annual rain--there's usually only one, in winter, and it's a deluge, but only occurs in a small and random part of the basin--fills a shallow aquifer. Also, a creek (Wadi Rajil) runs in from Syria, bringing more water in winter, so that the aquifer was recharged enough annually to produce two springs that actually flowed all year. Villages grew up since ancient times around each of these springs, which are a few km apart. Nabateans built water control structures to raise the water level and make sort of a boat launch, later Romans built a castle, Byzantines built other structures, and Ottoman Turks controlled it for awhile, until T.E. Lawrence "of Arabia" lived in the old castle while rallying the Arabs to defeat Turkey in WW I. Then the new Jordan government starting pumping water all the way to Amman through a 48" diameter pipe, some 500 illegal wells were dug or drilled for date palms and other farms, the Syrians dammed off Wadi Rajil, and the marsh went dry in 1990 for the first time ever. This was part of my study. The government claimed that it went dry because of the Gulf War in Kuwait, when the 1.4 million immigrants who fled the war forced the government to increase its pumping rate for Amman's water and sewage. But the case didn't hold water (!). Meanwhile, a small cyprinid fish endemic to the marsh (Aphanius sirhani , family Cyprinodontidae, after the Sirhan tribe of Bedouin that still roam that part of Jordan and Saudi Aribia in search of pasture for their sheep and camels), went extinct. Or so they thought. Turns out a fish biologist at the Jordan University had a few in an aquarium. Plus, in a 2001 survey, biologists found a handful still living at Azraq. International donors provided funds to pump some of the water from the aquifer back into the marsh, re-flooding about 30 ha. Just when I arrived to begin studying wetlands and terrestrial ecosystem in 2002, they returned the Sirhan fish to the marsh, and now it has a thriving, though small and still threatened, population. Successful reintroduction to the wild will depend on removing the alien Tilapia Sarotherodon galileus, maintaining pumping into the marsh, and eliminating the illegal wells.

The Jordan that Tourists Rarely See 3: Qasr Amra

Not only merchants, but rulers and imperial administrators crossed the desert while attending to affairs of state. They built very different castles from the caravanserai, sort of private hunting lodges/resort spas. The most elegant is the small Qasr (Castle) Amra, between Qasr Kharaneh and Azraq Oasis. South of the black basalt zone, it is built of white sandstone. Its builder, a Caliph (ruler) of the Umayyad Dynasty—scholars aren’t sure which, but most likely either Walid II or Yazid III—brought in top artists of the realm to adorn its walls with beautiful frescos of huge historic interest and artistic merit. Some are of political themes, including images of the six kings of the known world, presumably intended to show the Caliph’s power and influence. One of these is King Roderick the Visigoth of Spain, whose short reign dates the images, and probably the building, to around 710. Other images depict daily life, hunting and wildlife species, some of which, such as the lion, are now extinct in Arabia. Included prominently are rather un-Islamic scenes of nearly naked women drinking wine, evidence that the Caliph’s mind was not always on state business. In 1985 it was designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

The Jordan that Tourists Rarely See 2: Qasr Kharaneh

In ancient times, Jordan was at the cross-roads of camel caravan routes. Travellers going between Damascus and Mecca, for example, or between Baghdad and Cairo, had to cross Jordan. It was not, however, the arid landscape we see today. The Byzantine and Early Muslim eras were moister, and nourished a lusher ecosystem. It supported more sheep, goats and camels, and consequently a higher Bedouin population. Travellers could hunt game such as gazelles and oryx, but had to fear their predators including lions, cheetahs, striped hyenas, wolves, and, in the mountains, brown bears and leopards. But because of these and the danger from Bedouin raiders, merchants built caravanserai at strategic points a day’s camel-ride apart. These fortresses were large enough to house the whole caravan: all the camels and their merchandise, as well as accommodations for the merchants, residents, and perhaps a garrison of troops. There would be shops, a bazaar, and the ancient equivalent of cafes. Qasr Kharaneh (or Kharana, Hraneh) is a largely intact and restored example. Scholars think now that it may also have functioned as a sort of conference centre, as it is too richly appointed to be strictly functional. Outside, it is a massive, mud-brick rectangle baking in the sun; inside, it is a wonder of shady coolness with light playing on the central courtyard and surrounding arches and porticos of stable rooms on the lower level, and stairways between the upper and lower levels. The vaulted upper rooms are decorated with rosettes and diamonds. From Muwaqqir, about 25 km southeast of Amman, it is another 38 km east.

The Jordan that Tourists Rarely See 1: Azraq Oasis

Driving east from Amman, the desert at first seemed flat, featureless, and empty. The bushes got smaller and the patches of grass more meagre until they disappeared entirely. I was glad for the air conditioner struggling to keep the 45 °C heat at bay, and the radio. One of my colleagues, a Jordanian ornithologist, called out the names of birds we passed. For such seemingly uniform country, there was an astonishing variety—nine species of wheatear, for example, a songbird that perches upright on the highest rock in its territory. This diversity implied a variety of habitats that was not at first obvious.
At intervals we stopped the car and took short hikes to examine the terrain. The ground was covered with black basalt stones big enough make walking difficult. This is the "Harra", the ancient outflow from an extinct volcano just over the border in Syria. Even so, there were flocks of sheep here and there, gleaning tufts of grass from crevices. A bright blue agama lizard sunned atop a rock. We saw a variety of Mourning Wheater, that, unlike the typical variety that has a white belly and crown, is entirely black except for under its tail, a colouring it evolved the better to hide among the black stones. On a later trip I saw a black variety of spiney mouse that only occurs in the Harra, in constrast to the normal red or tan ones.
Further along, there were no large stones, only reddish to grey, marble-sized flint pebbles that cover the ground. This is the Hammada, the typical surface of the Syrian Desert that covers southern Syria, eastern Jordan, western Iraq and northern Saudi Arabia. Over the eons, any loose soil has long since washed away, leaving a sort of pavement. It forms a vital ecological service by breaking up the raindrops that typically fall in only one or two torrential raisn per year, preventing erosion, while in spring it retards evaporation, giving life to the few shrubs and perennial grasses and other plants that can survive severe dessication by sending their roots deep. Meanwhile, the light soil washed from the Hammada accumulates in depressions and ephemeral runoff channels called "Wadis." There it provides a deep, soft bed for seeds of annual grasses and wildflowers that have lain waiting all year for a rain to burst them into bloom. In one such swale filled with grass, a shepherd grazed her sheep while a laden donkey followed, carrying lunch and water. The frequency of flocks of sheep made me realize another fact of the Jordanian desert: the Bedouin culture is alive and well. Although not easy to see because they spend most time far from towns in search of pasture, living in their traditional goat-hair tents, they remain a prominent part of the cultural and political life of Jordan. From a vendor by the road, I bought a beautifully woven, 4-metre long kilim, a narrow rug that they recline on in their tents.
Then we came to Azraq Oasis, a wetland nature reserve fringed with palm trees. Though now mostly dry, a 30 hectare lake remains, fed with springs is choked with cattails and reeds and raucous with the sound of birds. We passed through a village, South Azraq (formerly Shishan) and went into the Royal Conservation of Nature centre at the edge of Shishan Springs.
The Azraq Oasis has been famous for its wildlife since ancient times. It is fed by springs that formerly (before overpumping drained the aquifers) filled about 1,255 hectares with permanent, fresh water, and in winter by runoff that flooded a mudflat of about 12,000 hectares, and in wet years up to 30,000 hectares. Its ecological stems from two features: (1) it is on the migration routes for birds migrating between Eurasia and Africa, and (2) as a large oasis in a very arid desert, it provides a unique habitat essential to many resident species of birds, fish mammals, amphibians, reptiles, invertebrates and plants. Some 70 species of birds have bred at Azraq and 300 resident and migratory species have been recorded there. In the 1960s and 1970s, up to one million birds were using the oasis annually during spring migration, with up to 50,000 being present at any one time. Besides waterfowl, the waterbirds included up to 2,500 common cranes, thousands of shorebirds use the mudflats, passerines such as swallows, wagtails and warblers use the dense shrubs of the marsh edges, and preying on them were many species of hawks, falcons, harriers and eagles.
Roman use of the Azraq wetlands is still evident in a low wall that they constructed, apparently to facilitate boat launching, and also possibly to contain the wetlands. In prehistoric times Azraq was a wildlife paradise with lions hunting wild boar, Syrian wild ass, Arabian oryx, and aurochs, the progenitors of domestic cattle. Cheetahs chased gazelles in the surrounding desert, and a considerable array of medium-sized carnivores hunted hares, gerbils and jerboas. The lions and wild boar survived into the Byzantine period, the ass and cheetah until the 8th century (Umayyad period) and the oryx until about 1960. Predators that still occur in Jordan’s eastern desert include Syrian jackals, Arabian wolves, red foxes, Ruepelli’s foxes, caracals (a medium-sized cat), sand cats, wild cats, and Syrian striped hyaenas. 300 species of birds have been seen at Azraq, and for most of the last century it was internationally famous for waterfowl hunting. Under the Ramsar Convention ("Convention on Wetlands of International Importance especially as Waterfowl Habitat") Azraq was designated as a "Wetland of International Importance" in 1977. The same year an additional 1,245 ha surrounding the spring-fed marshes were declared Jordan’s first Wetland Reserve. But after it went dry in 1991 and was then partially restored by 1999, an ornithologist estimated 150,000 birds of which 39% were raptors, 30% waterbirds, and 31% songbirds.
We drove up a little ways to North Azraq (formerly Druze) for lunch of the ubiquitous hummus, a salad of cucumber, tomato, and herbs, and a roasted chicken in a shady, roadside restaurant. We took an hour to look around the castle, one of the largest and best preserved of its type in Jordan. It was probably built first by Nabateans, then enlarged or rebuilt by Romans, Byzantines, the Umayyad and Ayyubid Caliphates, and the Ottomans. Parts were crumbling by the time English archaeologist and adventurer Gertrude Bell photographed it in 1913. Later, her protégé, T. E. Lawrence, used it as a military base while fighting with the Arabs against the Ottomans during World War I.
Then we drove back south a few kilometers to the Shaumari Nature Reserve and saw Arabian oryxes, goitered gazelles, blue-necked ostriches, Persian onagers, a striped hyena, a crested porcupine, and other wildlife, all species native to the Jordan desert. The Royal Society for the Conservation of Nature is breeding the oryxes for reintroduction to the wild. Suddenly, the seemingly empty desert was coming alive.
Previously, I posted a note about Pella and one about the Bedouin coffee ritual. From time to time I'll post other notes about special places in Jordan.

The Trek of the Al-Kuwaiti

During the 1990 Gulf Crisis, more than 4100 Bedouin families entered Jordan and about half of them walked the 1000 kilometres from Kuwait. Almost nobody knows about this migration because it was illegal. They were illegal immigrants and smugglers, having not paid the 5 dinar import fee for each of their animals. They brought 1.8 million sheep, goats, and camels into rangeland already overgrazed and fully occupied by resident tribes.
Jordan is the eye in the storm of the Middle East. It is the closest country to a democracy, the most open socially, the most peaceful, the most religiously pluralistic, and the most lawful. Too often, news about the Middle East that mentions “tribes” contains “lawless” in the same sentence. It’s true in Jordan that tribal law is strong and exists alongside government law, but that does not make it lawless. Tribal leaders in Jordan are struggling to adapt their laws and customs to the 21st century.
On August 2, 1990, when Saddam Hussein’s bombs began falling on Kuwait, Sheikh Al-Kuwaiti called his clan leaders together. (This is not his real name; I used a pseudonym for the Sheikh’s name and tribe’s name to protect their identity.) This took some time because many were scattered with their families and flocks across the arid rangelands. By the time they met, their situation was dire: tanks and troops were everywhere and their sheep and goats couldn’t graze. There was talk of other countries attacking to drive the Iraqis out of Kuwait; clearly, their animals could not survive in a war zone. Without their livestock, Bedouins are nothing. Saddam had ordered all able-bodied men to join the Iraq army on pain of death. Without her husband and sons, a Bedouin wife and mother struggles because she can’t show her face in public and would have no financial support. It takes the whole family to raise and market sheep and care for the goats, donkeys, and camels. No honourable man would leave his wife, mother, or daughters to such a fate. They must go. But were?
In the first days of the war, 1.4 million people, mostly foreign workers and students, fled Kuwait for Jordan, the only safe haven. Most booked a flight to Queen Alia airport, took a ferry to Jordan’s port of Aqaba on the Red Sea, or bought a bus ticket to Amman via Iraq to the Jordanian border outpost at Ruwayshid. Other Bedouins from Kuwait and Iraq had hired trucks to drive their animals to Jordan, and tens of thousands per day arrived at Ruwayshid. But these options were not open to the Al-Kuwaiti tribe. They were “bidoon jinseya,” people without citizenship in any country, a relic of the formation of the modern Gulf States. They could not legally enter any other country. The Sheikh made a decision that saved his tribe from destruction, but at a high cost: they would walk. They were Bedu, after all: people of the desert.
Travelling at night and hiding in wadis by day, they followed the ancient migration routes to avoid capture by the Iraqi army and the Saudi border patrols. Under the August sun, the trek took about six weeks for some and longer for those who veered south through Saudi Arabia or north through Syria to avoid the Jordan-Iraq border.
Only the Al-Kuwaiti know what rigours they faced, and they rarely speak of it to outsiders because of legal issues. Jordanian veterinarians working for the Ministry of Agriculture reported that their animals were starving and carried high disease and parasites burdens. The toll on the humans can only be guessed.
In 2002, my colleagues and I began interviewing the Al-Kuwaiti and other tribes and studying the ecology as part of Jordan’s claim against Iraq for damages to 7.1 million hectares of arid rangeland and wildlife habitat caused by the overgrazing. The land was already overgrazed before they arrived, but the doubling of the livestock population in just a few months forced the starving animals to eat every living plant, even pulling up shrubs to gnaw at the roots. Wildlife, such as the goitered gazelles, a species unique to the region, virtually disappeared. The Royal Society for the Conservation of Nature (www.rscn.org.jo/) had started a captive breeding program for the Arabian oryx, which had been extirpated from the wild about 1973, and was about to begin releasing them back to the wild when the war broke out. But with such severe overgrazing, there was no suitable habitat left to release them into. The release was put on hold, and the program began winding down. When we surveyed the eastern desert in 2002 (our team included Jordani ecologists and engineers, British environmental economists and American lawyers), there were large areas with no shrubs at all, but with dead stumps of bushes proving that what was now bare desert had previously been a brushy, shrub-steppe grassland. By then, Jordan had granted citizenship to about 2000, but most of the Al-Kuwaiti were still living in tents.
Of course, this influx of livestock and people did not only affect the rangeland and the wildlife that live there. It also affected the resident Bedu, who had had to compete with the newly arrived Kuwaiti and Iraqi Bedu for grazing land. They also had to find a way to integrate them into the Bedu society, a process not easily accomplished for a tribal society with deep attachments to their lands and traditional affiliations and animosities among tribes.
In 2005, as a result of our work, the United Nations Compensation Commission awarded Jordan $161 million damages for the overgrazing. In 2006, we went back to help design the rangeland rehabilitation program and met with Sheikhs of all the desert tribes to seek their input. The damage to the Bedu, however, still persists and I believe is irrecoverable. The overgrazing was so severe that, along with other factors, the average number of sheep per family fell from about 400 to around 20, and many men were forced to leave the livestock business and seek wage employment. This tore the social fabric and disproportionately affected women, who for cultural reasons often cannot work outside the home. Before the Gulf Crisis, virtually all women were “employed” in managing the family livestock business. After it, those whose families could no longer make a living raising sheep were “unemployed” in that they had nothing to do and contributed little to the family’s livelihood. Many girls began to think about school or employment, causing tension with the traditional-minded men.
Even so, the Bedouin traditions are strong and their culture persists. Outside of the cities, about 98% of the population identify themselves as “Bedu,” and identify with one of the 40 or so Jordanian tribes. Almost all have at least a few sheep or goats, while those better off still count their wealth in camels. More than 60% are semi-nomadic, spending at least one season away from their homes in search of pasture, and 5–10% are fully nomadic, with no permanent homes. They have a deep attachment to the land and love the lifestyle. Nor are they without power. Land tenure and other issues pressured the government to apportion seats in Parliament by area. One consequence is that the tribes have strong, possibly even controlling representation. A family might have no money, but the tribe does and the Sheikh controls it. He and the clan leaders decide who can buy a new truck for the livestock, how the families will share it, which bright students will go to university, and what they will study.
Once, in 2002, to interview a clan chief in a remote part of the desert we had hired a local guide to find him and needed a good 4x4 to navigate the trackless desert. As we sat in his tent on killims (rugs of woven goat hair dyed in the beautiful patterns of his tribe), sipping tea, this man and his family appeared to be the personification of poverty. There was no furniture, no equipment that couldn't be easily loaded onto a camel, and the tent showed the wear of decades. He and his sons wore the traditional white robe and Hashemite-patterened kafiya, or man's shawl, and their dress also reflected the toil of life in the desert. His wife and daughters, of course, stayed in the private part of the tent. A hundred or so sheep and a few goats grazed outside and a lamb came into the tent, and was petted by the youngest son while we talked. Then his other son drove up in a new Lincon Escalade and got out wearing a business suit. Such are the contrasts of modern Bedouin life.
The rangeland restoration program is now underway. A new, large nature reserve is under development in the northeast, and a captive breeding program for the endangered Arabian oryx has been rejuvenated. The government is encouraging families to keep fewer sheep and goats to that the rangeland can recover, and is attempting to develop alternative sources of livelihood for them. How these tribes, clans, and families respond to the new reality will determine Jordan’s political, social, and economic future.
References
My Jordanian colleagues and I published the outline of this story in a journal article about the Arabian oryx [Harding, L.E., Omar Abu Eid, et al. (2007). "Re-introduction of the Arabian oryx (Oryx leucoryx) in Jordan: war and redemption." Oryx 41(4): 478-487].
Details of the UNCC claims and compensation awards can be found at http://www.uncc.ch/.
Information on the Bidoons of Kuwait is available at numerous Web sites including http://www.state.gov/g/drl/rls/hrrpt/2001/nea/8268.htm, http://www.fco.gov.uk/en/travel-and-living-abroad/travel-advice-by-country/country-profile/middle-east-north-africa/kuwait?profile=all, http://www.unhchr.ch/tbs/doc.nsf/(Symbol)/1fae9818c5381a0a8025673e00390939?Opendocument.

Bedouin Coffee and other Rituals

Visitors always enjoy meeting local people and in the Jordanian desert, the feeling is mutual. The Bedouin tribes who make up almost the whole population outside of the cities have a cultural compulsion of generosity to strangers. The Koran requires it and they are proud of their custom of hospitality. Often isolated in their tents and remote villages, they also enjoy meeting and hearing the views of foreigners. Canadians are well liked because of our perceived neutrality in the Israel-Palestine conflict. The children may enjoy practicing their English. During the four years that my wife and I worked in Jordan, upon seeing our red and white maple leaf bag tags, people often called to us, “Hey, Canadi!” It is well, however, to be aware of local customs, one of which is the coffee ritual.
The ritual is performed at every formal meeting, for example, with government officials, and reflects the tradition of the Bedu, as they call themselves (“Bedouin” is a French corruption): “people of the desert.”
Almost every Bedu family has a least a few sheep and some have hundreds. They still measure wealth in camels. About 60% are semi-nomadic in that, although they have a home in one of the many villages that dot the desert, they spend part of the year living in tents and roaming in search of pasture. Between 5% and 10% are completely nomadic, having no permanent home.
Although most tourists only meet Bedu in places like Wadi Rum and Petra, and pay for the privilege, you can walk up to a tent anywhere and usually be well received, as long as someone in your group speaks enough Arabic to say “As-salaam halaycum,” (Peace be upon you) and explain that you just want to say hello. Then you will most likely be invited inside.
Every Bedu tent has two sections: a public area where the men greet visitors and a private area for the women. Visitors of both genders go into the public part. Do not ever go or even look into the women’s section unless invited, and a male stranger will never be invited. Outside the tent, if you chance to meet a woman, she will usually avoid eye contact and you should too.
Inside are usually four long, narrow kilims arranged in a square. The women weave the kilims of goat or sheep wool in traditional patterns, and they are treasured. Remove your shoes before stepping onto the kilim. There will be, or your host will quickly bring, pillows for you to recline against as you sit or half recline on the carpet. Then begins the coffee ritual.
A son of the tent’s owner—usually the youngest who is old enough to complete the task competently—brings an urn of coffee and a single, small cup without a handle. He goes to the eldest male guest, offers the cup, fills it with coffee, and then stands there expectantly. Take it with your right hand and never touch it with your left. Arab coffee is thinner than the Turkish coffee that you get in the cities, and usually flavoured with spices such as cardamom and sumac, or desert herbs. As it is a real treat, and valuable, you should act appropriately grateful. Do not set the cup down or dally with it. Drink it quickly and give the empty cup back to the lad with a side-to-side tipping motion, as if demonstrating that the cup is empty. This indicates that you have had enough. If you have failed to make the tipping motion, he offers to refill it. Decline. You may say “shukran,” thank you. He will then take the same cup to the next visitor, and so all around the tent until everyone has sipped.
After the coffee ritual, the lad brings sweetened tea, often flavoured with mint or herbs of the desert, and glasses for everyone. There is no ritual with the tea; it is simply refreshment, but there are customs to observe. The lad pours everyone a glass and sets the tea kettle on the sand in the middle of the square formed by the four kilims. On the sand is also where you place your glass when you want to set it down. This protects the kilim in case of a spill. Water for washing is in short supply in the desert. Do not drink your tea too quickly, as it will keep the lad jumping up to refill your glass. Taking a second or even third glass, though, is no affront.
Your host may ask you to stay for a meal. Decline. If he offers a second time and appears to insist, decline. If he offers a third time, and if your meeting has been especially friendly and fulfilling, you may accept. But remember this: if you accept his hospitality once, it means nothing because his religion and culture require him to offer it. If you accept his hospitality twice, it means you have become friends and there may be obligations. He may, for example, expect you to help his son or daughter get into university in Canada. If you accept a third time, it means you are willing to die defending his family and property from attackers. Later I'll post some photos at Picasa.