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Oppressive heat thickly settles downward balanced with ripples rising from the road. Twilight gaining from the west obscuring my vision, creates a real mirage. I blink and see sand, and in the distance bolts of lightning dancing between dark clouds. From the bumpy road, the camouflaged tents of the Bedouin people can be seen. Inside the sitting place of this dwelling cardamon-spiced coffee flows freely among soft strains of music of the shabbaba, and rababa and sweet songs of life. This fertile little oasis is home until it can no longer sustain them. Tonight it will have some help from above, a splash of rain and a crash of thunder. I blink again, then see the wiper blades slapping away at the essence of life as they steadily keep perfect rhythm with the music of other travelers.
It was REALLY hot here, today. The traditional instruments of bedouin musicians are the shabbaba, a length of metal pipe fashioned into a sort of flute, the rababa, a versatile, one-string violin, and of course the voice. The primary singers among the bedouin are the women, who sit in rows facing each other to engage in a sort of sung dialogue, composed of verses and exchanges that commemorate and comment upon special events and occasions.
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