The Land of Exodus

on the way up to Mt. Sinai, please show me sign how high more do I need to climb?

The wilderness of Sinai, according to biblical story, was where the Israelites from Egypt, led by Moses, wandered for 40 years before they reached the promised land flowing with milk and honey. That was how I first learned of Sinai, as a teenager attending bible study class, and for many years that followed, though I hardly recalled the details in the Book of Exodus nor have I turned a believer, Sinai remained in my memory as a surreal realm where severe hardships and miracles happened.

Eventhough I could locate the Sinai Peninsula on the map – an inverted triangle sandwiched between Africa and Asia – it remained obscure and unreal to me, even right until I have set foot onto its soil. Why on earth people choose to live here? It’s a landmass of arid, rocky, sandy, scorched earth void of green, in short, it seems unfit for habitation.

For six hours after crossing the Suez Canal into Sinai, whenever I stare out of the window of the moving bus, all that I could see are rocky mountains and desert that at times stretching right into the Red Sea, so much so that I could no longer tell if that’s a beach or desert. Though the view could be impressive especially during sun set, it is also depressingly lifeless, even the small towns (which are few and far apart) along the way seem to have blended into the landscape – blocks of matchbox-style low-rise apartments are quiet as stone, hardly any human activity visible.

The harsh environment has for centuries left Sinai sparsely populated, though its isolation has also provided passageway for conquerors, including Alexander the Great and later the Arabs, to mount surprise attacks on Egypt and vice-versa. Its remoteness too has harbored those seeking refuge, including the Israelite exodus and the Holy Family – Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus, who ran away from the Massacre of the first born.

Since time immemorial, Sinai seems like a transit land for many, either to wage warfare or as a temporary safe haven for the exiles; eventually, it becomes steep in religious significance for various faiths in the region, and turns into a route of pilgrimage, for Jews, Christians, and Muslims alike. Yet the people who truly claim to inhabit the land, not taming it, but rather embracing its hardships, are the Bedouin — the desert dwellers spread out in the Middle East and northern Africa.

“We, the Bedouin, are strong as rock, soft as sand, move like wind, and free like bird,” says one Bedouin who preferred to be called the Cave Man, though traditionally, fellow Bedouin are semi-nomadic people live in tents and roam the rocky, sandy environment for survival. But the Bedouin my sister and I met in Sinai are roaming no more, they have settled into brick buidlings, though they still make camp fire and gather in tents to entertain guests (paying tourists) with tea and music, yet their lifestyle is becoming like a showpiece.

Today, these so called native of Sinai are reportedly no longer the majority in this land, especially in major towns and cities that have seen a boom in tourism in recent decades, as people from Egypt mainland have flooded Sinai coastline and some interior mountains steep in biblical history to compete for the tourist dollars.

Yet the Bedouin remained a force in Sinai, or perhaps more like a brand-name that sells. Browse through any news report on Sinai, you are bound to stumble upon stories that champion the cause of the marginalised Bedouin; read Sinai travelogue online, and you would find loads of articles along the angle of “in search of the Bedouin”.

Visit places like St. Catherine, where Moses purportedly received the Ten Commandments on top of the Mt. Sinai, or walk around beach resort towns like Dahab, you would see advertisement of “camp run by the Bedouin”, “desert safari with the Bedouin”, etc; even travel guide books would advice “informed tourists” to frequent businesses owned by the Bedouin, as if that’s the morally correct thing to do.

As a tourist on a short visit, unfortunately, I don’t think I would learn about the real Bedouin, except paying to join some of those “safaris”, yet I’m reluctant, in fact, I start to hate being a tourist…..

Today, Sinai is seeing another inflow of “exodus migrants” in the form of tourism, it is perhaps enriching and eroding the life of the locals at the same time. For instance, water usage is on the rise due to increased population and upgraded tourist facilities, yet this fragile land hardly received rain fall, neither is it blessed with huge lakes nor rivers, as a result, the people here are digging deeper into the ground for water, and over-exploitation of aquifier, especially near the coast, could lead to contamination of underground water; indeed, the well water here taste salty and bitter.

“Back in 1914, when my grandfather first started an olive farm here, he only needs to dig 2m deep and the water flows. When it is my dad’s turn to build a farm in the 1950s, he had to dig 5m deep. By the time I build this tourist camp and the adjacent olive garden in 1996, I have to dig 55m deep,” says Farrash, a Bedouin from Al Milga Village next to the St. Catherine Monastery in interior Sinai.

Yet water problem would not stop Farrash from expanding his tourist camp, he would only dig deeper when the needs arise, as tourism is the main source of income; like any development, it comes at a cost, and the awareness of sustainability usually comes too late. I can’t help but think that, perhaps, certain places are best left untouched…….

A group of children playing football in sandy ground in Al Milga village, near St. Catharine, Sinai.

St. Catherine monastery at the foothill of Mt. Sinai.

Mid-way up Mt.Sinai stands a deserted chapel.

View from high-up of Mt. Sinai, which has 3,750 steps to the top, I gave up climbing on the last 750 steps.

The few types of vegetation in arid land.

Journey into Sinai….. view from the moving bus….