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Camel Corps I heard something about a Camel theft over on planet , I had a Texas Ranger go with me to check it out. We found this item. STATIC The Camel Caper (E) A college student in Egypt accidentally steals a camel. WC: 831 #2349942 by (805) Dear Mom and Dad, Hey from Egypt! The land of pyramids, pharaohs, and enough sand to exfoliate an entire nation. So, before you hear anything weird online or from the embassy, let me just say- everything’s fine. I’m fine. Totally fine. Just a minor misunderstanding involving a camel, a sandstorm, and what might technically be considered “property damage.” I know, you’re already thinking, “Jordan, how do you accidentally cause property damage with a camel?” Excellent question. Let’s unpack that. Yesterday, my host family signed me up for a “once-in-a-lifetime desert adventure.” Sounds magical, right? I pictured soft dunes, a nice breeze, me channeling my inner Indiana Jones (minus the snakes). They handed me a scarf, some bottled water, and introduced me to my camel- Biscuit. Cute name, evil heart. At first, we were cool. Biscuit and I were finding our rhythm. I was humming movie themes; he was chewing something that may or may not have once been part of someone’s backpack. But then, somewhere between the third sand dune and my 47th sunscreen reapplication, Biscuit decided he was the main character. One second I’m snapping photos, the next I’m hanging on for dear life while he bolts full speed across the desert like he’s late for a date. The guide is yelling, the tourists are screaming, and I’m trying to remember if camels have brakes. Spoiler: they don’t. After a solid five minutes of pure terror, Biscuit and I crash land into what turns out to be a small Bedouin camp. Tents, cooking fires, goats- the works. I’m trying to apologize, but between my broken Arabic and the fact that I’m still clinging to a camel like a human backpack, it’s not going well. The camp’s elder comes out, all calm and composed, and starts talking fast. I catch one word: “police.” Great. Exactly what you want to hear when you’ve just used someone’s family tent as a landing pad. Within minutes, a shiny white police truck rolls up, dust swirling, like a desert version of Law & Order. Out steps an officer who looks like he’s been in charge since the dawn of civilization. His sunglasses are reflecting my terrified face back at me. He asks for my passport. Now, keep in mind, I’m sunburned, dehydrated, and my adrenaline is still sprinting laps around my body. So, my brain decides this is the perfect moment to panic. What comes out of my mouth? “He kidnapped me!” Yup. I pointed at Biscuit. The camel. The officer squints. Biscuit sneezes. Everyone stares. One of the younger policemen starts laughing so hard he drops his hat. The older officer does not laugh. Next thing I know, I’m being escorted (not arrested, thank you very much) to the local station “for questions.” Which, honestly, was kind of nice. It had air conditioning, bottled water, and a very chatty guy who tried to sell me papyrus bookmarks while I waited. Apparently, it’s not every day a foreign student blames a camel for grand theft. After an hour or two of paperwork (and trying to explain that “Biscuit” sounds way less threatening in English), they let me call my host family. My host mom was delighted. She said this was “great for the neighborhood’s reputation” and asked if she could post about it on Facebook. Meanwhile, the tour company rep kept insisting I had “led an unauthorized camel detour,” which sounds way fancier than “I got lost while screaming.” Eventually, everyone agreed it was all just a big cultural misunderstanding. I signed some form that may or may not say I owe the camel emotional support therapy, and they let me go. So no, I don’t technically need bail money, though if you wanted to send some for “general survival purposes,” I wouldn’t object. I might need to replace my sneakers, which Biscuit trampled in what I can only assume was an act of revenge. My host brother Ahmed thinks the whole thing is hilarious. He keeps introducing me to people as “The American Camel Bandit.” Even the shopkeeper at the corner store recognized me today and offered a “discount for famous tourists.” I think I’m trending. On the bright side, I’m now a local legend. On the not-so-bright side, I might never be allowed near livestock again. Still, the trip’s been unforgettable. I’ve seen the Nile at sunset, eaten falafel that ruined me for American food forever, and learned that no amount of deodorant can fight desert heat. My language skills are improving too. Apparently, I can now yell “Stop! I’m innocent!” in Arabic with near-perfect pronunciation. So don’t worry. Everything’s fine now. I’ve got some great stories, a little sunburn, and only a slight fear of camels. Oh, and if you happen to get any weird phone calls from Egyptian tourism authorities, just tell them I’m in “deep reflection” about my choices. Love you both (and please don’t cancel my credit card), Read, review and write about Camels. This post about camels made me think about the wild camels of the Southwest. A lot of people do not know that during the pre-Civil War Era (1850s) there was an official camel corps, and camels were used as pack animals in the Southwest. The Civil War ended the experiment, and the camels were sold off, but some of the camels escaped and wandered about the Southwest until they died out in the 1920s or so. But the last camel was sighted in the 1920s. They died out because there were too few of them to create a self-sustaining breeding population. CO-pilot provided background information. |
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