Free The Turtle of Oman by Naomi Shihab Nye

very alive and constantly shifting and changing.”
    A string of camels, some big ones and some smaller, like teen camels, gracefully crossed along the top of a dune way up ahead of them on the horizon. They walked in a perfect line, as if they had very good manners. But Aref knew camels sometimes got irritated if people made them carry things and walk for a long time. All of a sudden, they might go berserk and start spitting. The camel that had licked his head out here three years ago was very sweet, though.
    Aref wished they could talk to the man who was riding on the first camel, and ask him for directions, but the caravan was too far away. Another man who looked like a shepherd in a flapping cloak walked behind the line of camels.
    â€œI wonder if they take turns riding,” said Sidi. “Maybe not. I wish I could talk to them, find out where they’re going or coming from . . . I wonder if they’re Bedouins. See that fat saddle-bag under the first one? They’re carrying their pans and food and water in there. Their blankets. It’s their suitcase, all wrapped up. Everything they need, so they can camp at night. He’s sitting on his traveling suitcase.”
    â€œShould we hike over and talk to them?” asked Aref.
    But Sidi said it was getting too late. He didn’t want to be lost in the desert. The sky turned orange and puffed. The camels shrank into little moving spots.
    Finally, when Aref was really starting to feel a little worried, the Night of a Thousand Stars camp appeared in the distance, with its loops of glittering white lights strung from posts and a few thin, deserty trees scattered around as if outlining an oasis. “There it is!” Aref cried, very happy the long drive was almost over.
    Sidi parked Monsieur beneath a crooked desert tree. He took a deep breath and said, “Yes! I was getting worried. Did you know that? Could you tell? I tried to hide it. I thought we might have to sleep in the jeep. And that is not good sleep. Jeep sleep.”

No Roof

    I t was strange to arrive anywhere new. You felt awkward for about ten minutes, then felt yourself sinking into the new scene, becoming part of it very quickly.
    Aref sat down on a green wooden stool that turned out to have one leg shorter than the others, so it rocked. He switched to a small blue chair and adjusted it on the hard earth patio decked with small metal tables. Sidi chose a larger red chair with yellow flowers painted across its back rung. The chairs had flat cloth pillows on them. Some people from England were eating and drinking at another table. Three older Omani men in dishdashas and hats sat smoking a hubble-bubble in the corner, speaking softly in Arabic. One was rocking in a rocking chair. Sidi raised his hand and nodded to both groups.
    An Indian man named Naveed greeted them. “Welcome! How was your trip?” He complimented Aref’s starry shirt. “In a few minutes you will see even more stars in the sky—keep looking up!”
    Sidi held out the watermelon to him. “My friend, we brought you a present.”
    Naveed bowed and looked happy. “My favorite!” he said.
    Naveed was wearing a yellow turban. He brought them lemonade in clay cups on a tray. “I will be back momentarily with the rest of your food.” Then he served them curried vegetables and mounds of very fragrant rice and hot bread on large clay plates. Aref was extremely hungry. A fire blazed in a pit lined with stones. The desert became chilly the moment the sun went down. Aref stared at the sinking sun with a softly hypnotized feeling.
    â€œOh my!” said Sidi. “This is delicious! My stomach is happy! And my legs are cheering in relief, to be out of the jeep!”
    Aref wondered, where had this food come from? Was there a cave in the earth filled with secret refrigerators? Did a helicopter fly low overhead and drop food supplies down in a basket attached to a parachute? It was