That time I tried to ride a camel and lost. (My best friend’s account)
Maybe it’s where their eyes are on their heads, or the impossibly long lashes, I’m not really sure. But what I do know is camels look like they don’t trust you. I was ready for that; I had prepared myself for the judgment and skepticism of a pack animal that clearly thought I had no idea what I was doing. I was not prepared for their scarred and callused knees and bellies, or the brays of protest as they went down on their front then back knees. I repeated “You can do this, you can do this” to myself, over the screams in my head that this animal did not want to be here and was NOT a willing participant. And it worked; I threw my leg over and I was on the animal. Success! Nope, because then he stood up, same as he had laid down, front knees then back. The moment he moved, alarm bells—very loud alarm bells—announced over and over, you in fact cannot do this, you are not safe, you are going to fall.
With encouragement from our guide and an internal scolding that screamed you’re too old to be this scared, we moved forward. I. Felt. Every. Step. As my internal monologue screamed “Not safe. Gonna fall.” in time with the camel’s steps, I tried to control my breathing and just keep swimming, so to speak. My camel walked any way he could that was not a straight line while the guide steadily pulled him along, and my best friend’s camel protested continuously as he nudged my thigh in a constant rhythm. I was high-key freaked out, but we were on flat land and it wasn’t so bad. I felt like I was swaying wildly and dangerously from left to right in the saddle as Nadr walked (that’s what I decided the camel’s name was for some reason), but I was making it; I could do this!
Nope again, it was then that I saw a hill, just a slight dip in the road ahead, nothing Nadr couldn’t navigate, but how the hell could I? The constant swaying that likely felt 75 times more dramatic than it was, the chorus of “not safe. Gonna fall.” The incessant braying and nudging from Samha (the other camel’s name) all coalesced into a certainty that Nadr was going to take the opportunity of that hill to throw me and make his displeasure clear.
Was the thought irrational? Absolutely. Did I persevere and show Nadr who’s boss? Not even a little bit. Because as irrational as the thought was, it was also persistent and loud. It joined “Not safe. Gonna fall.” and created a cacophony of fear that got louder and more alarming the more I tried to ignore it. It was like there was caution tape, flashing red lights, and alarm bells on that hill and that would not be ignored. Eventually, I almost yelled I can’t do this, and the guide turned around. We went back and Nadr knelt again, front to back, and I hopped off like he was on fire. I said again, as calmly as I could while on the verge of a panic attack, that my friend should continue, and I managed not to run away from the camel.
So yeah, Nadr won. My friend looked so regal atop Samha, and I’m glad I snapped a pic before I ran screaming from my tormentor Nadr. But as I sit here at the camp, looking at the cage with all the baby camels and observing the behavior of the adult camels, I’m more and more convinced they don’t want to be here, and I sure as hell don’t want to be the one riding one when he decides enough is enough. So maybe I won after all.
Back on the hump 24 years later (My story)
The first time I rode a camel was 24 years ago, during my first international trip to Egypt. I was a teenager back then and shared a camel with one of the chaperones in our group. When I began planning my trip to Morocco, I knew I wanted to experience the desert and, of course, another camel ride—this time as an adult, on my own camel.
Much like my love-hate relationship with heights, I’ve developed a similar one with large, four-legged animals, particularly those used for transportation. I’m mainly talking about horses here. My biggest fear is being thrown off if the animal gets spooked, startled, or worse, decides to make a break for freedom after a life of captivity. My main concern with camels was what might spook them and how they would react—and, just as importantly, how secure was that hoop I’d be gripping to stay on. Unlike some people, I don’t consider horses or camels to be mindless; I always fear a “Planet of the Apes” scenario where they rebel. Yes, I can be extreme in my thinking. I often have to have an internal pep talk to build up my courage for activities, even the ones I pick for myself.
For me, camels seem to move at a slower pace than horses and are rarely known for throwing riders or rearing, which makes them feel like a safer bet. I’ve ridden a guided horse before, so I figured I could manage a camel. Plus, having a friend along on this trip boosted my confidence. So, our desert excursion began with just the two of us on an hour-long camel trek. We were dressed for the part, mounted on our camels, and led by a guide through the desert—at least that’s what I thought was going to happen.
From the moment I mounted my camel until I dismounted, it was extremely vocal. In my mind, this meant that the Camel Revolt of 2024 was about to begin. I knew I was overthinking it, so I tried to stay calm, but when my friend decided to forgo the journey, I started to question if continuing was a smart decision. We were in the middle of the desert, and my guide, Carem—who couldn’t have been more than twelve and spoke little English—did not seem like the ideal ally in case of a rebellion. But then again, this was a tour company with experience, and my friend would be back at camp, ready to send help if things went wrong.
In the end, I told myself what I had said to the Black women we met on the way to the waterfall: I’d come too far to turn back now.
So, I stayed on Samha, my camel, despite its constant braying, side-stepping, and head-turning, while Carem led us deeper into the desert. Throughout the ride, Carem reassured me that he and Samha were old friends, and there was no reason to worry. Eventually, I mustered enough courage to take some photos and even let Carem drop the lead rope to take a video of me “riding through the desert on my own.”
Despite Samha’s non-stop soundtrack and the language barrier with my guide, the ride was a fun, memorable experience. I’m glad I stuck it out.
Tip: Don’t forget to lean and rock with the camel’s rhythm. And trust me, you’ll definitely feel it in your muscles a few days later!
A Memory and a Conversation 
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