A nomad who taught me the true meaning of a thank you.

Dear Captain, And its thanks giving today. I'd like to call it Dhanyavaadi din :) Translations add a little spunk don't they? It set me thinking, how often do I say thank you for the things I have on my platter. We as humans usually think about the things we don't have, the ones we so much yearn to have. Remember that wonderful film of Tom Hanks- Cast Away? I remember watching that scene where he ignites the lighter in a jiffy after he is back from his long ordeal on the island. He just stares at this lighter askance. How easy it was to have a flame while he had such a hard time trying to find a way to make fire. That scene set me thinking as to how much we take everything we have for granted. This laptop I type on, this warm cozy bed I sleep on each night, these have become a part and parcel of my life. How would I feel if I didn't have them?  It is so easy to just drive past homeless people on the streets and label them poor. The winters are cold for us, but freezing for them- a stark difference, the haves and the have-nots, and never the two will meet or would they? Thank you- such a beautiful word. Have you ever noticed the smile on the face of a stranger- their eyes gleaming with gratitude when these two words are spoken aloud! The frown transforms into a smile a mile long. The happiness one feels within is overwhelming. Hmmm, I have to tell you this story of Mohammad Eid who lives in the Eastern Desert of Egypt. He is an Ababda nomad. These nomads have African features and piercing light brown eyes.They own no possessions and keep moving from place to place. For shelter, they make these hutments using discarded wood, so very scarce in the Eastern Saharan desert. Their women are veiled and have tatoos on their faces. They have an interesting custom of wooing men with their hair  during their festivals. They form a long line with their backs towards the men, dancing with snake like movements and their hair falling down on their backs. Their hair are beautiful, black tresses with curls swaying with the rhythm of the Tamboora- a stringed instrument. No words are exchanged but love is expressed in the moonlit night in the vast Ababda landscape. So back to Mohammad Eid, he is an old man or maybe young but a hard life has taken its toll on him He is very poor according to the standards of the world. But he is the richest when it comes to humanity. He wears a white Galabiya, traditional flowing dress of the nomads and has three children. The eldest is mentally challenged and extremely affectionate- a grown up man with a child like bounce, tough to find these days. Every morning at 4 am when I would get up and leave my tent, I would see Mohammad camped outside on a small hillock making Gibana-traditional coffee (green beans) with cinnamon and ginger on the open hearth. I would occasionally go  and sit with them in the wee hours and watch the sun rise. On my last day at Berenike, I had some short bread, a bottle of olives with pimentos and lots of chocolate. I wanted to give them all to Mohammad. As I approached him with my offerings, he broke into tears. He said, I have never been given so much in my life... thank you! I felt so small in front of him. I did not value these few eatables but for him, these things were weaving a memory that brought him to tears. We both cried and watched the sun rise together. I often think of him when I open my bottle of olives or when I feel like throwing something away.Mohammad taught me  that I need to value what I have, a lesson from an Ababda nomad is filled with profound wisdom, His thank you has been the best thank you of my life. He often times gives me a missed call from his friend's shop in El-Shelatin, the southern boundary of the Nomadic Ababda's and I give a missed call back acknowledging that I thank him for remembering....And yes, with that story, I need to thank you for reading this excerpt too ...till my next story....or your response... Sonali