This New Zealand-born woman with her Dutch ancestry talks about how she wasn't brave or didn't do anything extraordinary: she merely fell in love with a wonderful, decent, funny, charming and intelligent guy -- who happened to be Bedouin and live in a cave in Petra. I met them in the teahouse across from the amphitheater in the spring of 1989 when Salwa was a little girl and the boys were toddlers. Marg and Mo became our lifeline there and secured one of the new government houses in Umm Sehun for us to rent -- with a hot shower and all. We returned in the fall for three more months, learning so much from Marguerite: how to weave a tent from goat hair, to make margluba in one pot and attend a wedding. Each year for the next 10 years (until 2000), we remet and rekindled our friendship, having incredible fun with my own bint (daughter). Now, reading her book, I cherish each page, understanding even more about their special lives and what it means to be part of a Beduoin family.
It is a book that is so pertinent today in understanding another culture and how our American government is clueless about that part of the world and the vastly different outlook, superstitions, meanings, approach to everyday living that the local people have. Bravo Marguerite.