Mt Sinai at 1:30 a.m
- Nowena Piispa
- Oct 13
- 2 min read
At 1:30 a.m., under a blanket of stars, our Bedouin guide led us toward Mt. Moses.
The air was crisp, the desert silent — only the soft rhythm of camel breathing breaking the stillness.
It fellt lile this one-and-a-half-hour ride up to the Bedouin camp almost dreamlike, as if time had paused just for this journey.
When we arrived at the small enclosure where the camels waited to be chosen, I didn’t look with my eyes — I listened with my heart.
There he was — proud, calm, and curious.
I could feel his energy reaching toward mine, wondering if I’d notice him.
I walked straight to him and whispered the name that came to me — Samba.
His handler looked at me, wide-eyed. I had guessed it right.
We set off into the mountain trail together — silent companions under the moonlight.
At one point, Samba nudged gently, inviting me to rest my legs across his neck instead of letting them hang loose.
It was such a simple gesture, yet it felt like grace. Like being cared for by the desert itself.
After sunrise, when the climb was over and we began our descent, I saw Samba again — waiting calmly by the path.
I approached him, on a prayer position, I thanked him for carrying me so faithfully. I told him how proud he should be for doing such a good job.
And then… he lowered his neck flat to the ground — a deep bow, like a soul’s “you’re welcome.”
Sometimes, the sacred finds you not in temples or prayers, but in moments like this — between a human and a camel, under the stars of Sinai.
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