Said, the head of the family, was lying in the sand next to me, trying to take a nap. It was hot and his youngest son, a toddler, was climbing all over him, pulling his hair and clutching his gown. Said seemed not to mind, which struck me as odd. I assumed Arab men could, with a simple grunt or raised eyebrow, absolve themselves of child rearing and impose obedient silence in their homes. Every now and then he'd reach up, gather the kid in his arms, and roll over with him like a sleepy lion. Said's wife sat a few feet away, weaving a bracelet from threads fastened to her big toe. The infant she had just nursed was now asleep-her grandson, her oldest daughter's baby. Her own ten children were scattered around the camp-sleeping, embroidering, and playing tag with two newborn camels.
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