Page 114 - November 2020

114
Litterateur
November 2020

Poems on Kings Highway Jordan under the nocturnal desert sky

Other companies had their service stations nearby, the smell of spicy food from
the neighbouring tent lured me on a late evening and I strolled over to the tent,
which stood at a distance of hundred meters.

Three men, apparently locals, sat around a stove, roasted meat and cooked.

Amazement was on their faces. Assalamu alaikum I saluted.
W alaikum assalam. Come in.
I shook their hands.

Tea? Yes, with pleasure. I got very sweet mint tea in small glasses. They wanted to
know where I came from. Germany. Ah yes.

One of them was Jordanian, the second Syrian, the third came from the Lebanon.

The large pan sizzled. Rice with meat. Lamb, as I found out. They invited me to join
them for their dinner, what I gladly accepted having a welcomed alternative to the
one-sided diet of my British colleagues.

Rice with roast lamb in yoghurt sauce, served with olives and pita bread.

We started talking. They described poor living conditions, lack of opportunity of
work and education but being glad to work in the phosphate mine, enabling them
to support and occasionally to visit their families.

Their faces bore witness of untold stories.
The basic philosophy: The human being does not decide on his fate alone. You
can achieve anything with God's will.

When I parted, they gave me dates, dried onions, garlic. - Hospitality like a
thousand years ago.

In the morning, the technicians complained of my absence at dinner. My report did
not meet with a positive response, it was seen rather like a betrayal. It did not
bother me, I am accustomed to do, what I thought was right.

At noon I made an appearance to discuss spare parts requirements. I got an extra
helping of beans and a second tomato.