Hijra with my host family

We stopped in the morning to pick
good smelling flowers.

Mashakeek on the fire>

        We started the morning by packing the car and driving for two hours, everyone except my host sister who had to study for college midterms. Twelve o'clock found us over 120 kilos from Muscat, off road, jolting through the rocky desert. The only trees big enough to provide shade grew along a dried river bed, we found one that lent
it's shade to flat ground and unrolled our mats and unpacked our meal. The main course was mashakeek, a shish kebab type dish of goat meat marinated in garlic and tamarind, speared onto wooden sticks and smoked on a portable fire grill. Eaten with many different condiments: more marinade, ketchup, mustard, and a creamy white garlic sauce, the chunks of meat were greatly satisfying. As the last of the meat was cooking, a smattering of rain came down bringing a strong wind with it. It was not even enough to call a drizzle but it was the first precipitation I've seen so far in Oman. 

Ominous rain clouds over the desert of our picnic.

      My host brother, sister, and I then went for a walk in the stone filled desert. We attempted to walk to the mountains but were fooled and misjudged the distance. Meanwhile the rest of the family had tea and dates. After washing with bottled water my host family prayed in the shade of another tree, then we packed up and went home.

Nakhal, with all it's green.

     We then journeyed to Nakhal, a village which gets its name from the date tree: nakheel. We drove half an hour through the rocky, grey, flat, desert, when suddenly as we reached the mountains. Date trees and green grass erupted between them. Driving through the town the street curved to avoid water that rushed over rocks and ran right through the middle of the village. At the top of the slope the town is situated upon the source of the water became clear, fresh springs gush water over rocks and into the land below. The beginnings of the springs were crowded with people: mothers washing their children, boys swimming, and even a drum circle. Men sold donkey rides to children, and green mango flavored with lemon and chili. We hiked past all this until we found a pool deep enough wade in. As I reached the water I braced myself for the icy temperature of Vermont rivers, instead the water was shockingly warm. The mountain's springs are hot springs. My host dad, brothers, little sister, and I swam and played in the warm water for an hour. None of us brought changes of clothes so we were all soaked on the ride back home.