Member-only story
The Mob
Or, Life in the Gobi When You Have Two Humps
The camels were crowded into a circle, which we could barely make out as we approached. “We” consisted of Naka, my guide, Nasa my driver. Girl, boy. She was my translator. And me, of course, being one who adores camels and anything else with paws, pads or whatever constitutes feet.
We stopped, and all the camels turned as one.
“Yes? You here to help?”
As clear a question as there ever was one. I leapt out of the van and strode across the sandy soil. It was hot. The camels, many of them quite young, all had the bone piece that is pushed through the muzzle to keep them under control. Not my custom, not my country, how I feel about it is none of my beeswax.
As I do with all unknown animals, I slowed down and stopped. A large female stepped towards me, no malice, no danger implied. I stepped towards her. We did this until we met in the middle.
You approach all camels (and most horses) on the left, as that is the mounting side, what they are used to. I reached up and tentatively scratched behind her ear, which was marked with a metal ring.