I sat comfortably in the air conditioned bus early that morning from the Petra Marriott Hotel feeling relieved away from the desert heat threatening to return. We had arrived the day before, and were now headed for Al-Batrāʾ-Petra, a historic and archaeological city in the Jordanian governorate of Ma'an. Our tour guide, a Bedouin Arab who stood in the bus corridor, kept us watered in a distinct Arabic accent with well-rehearsed details of the site we were about to encounter.
‘Established sometime around the 6th century BC,' he said, 'as the capital city of the Nabataeans, Petra is a symbol of Jordan. It was unknown to the Western world until eighteen twelve when a Swiss explorer Johann Ludwig Burckhardt stumbled upon…’
I didn’t catch the rest of what he was saying as my attention was drawn to the dry red ancient looking rocks we were rapidly approaching.
On disembarking the tour bus, our tour guide led us down through a dark, narrow gorge he called the Siiq-Shaft, which term I found rather amusing for obvious reasons, a natural geological feature formed from a deep split in the sandstone rocks.
Through the narrow gorge the skies opened up revealing a gigantic a red structure hewn into the sandstone cliff.
‘Welcome my friends,’ our guide beamed, ‘to Al Khazneh-Petra!’
The imposing rock entrance standing before us was breathtaking. The mud red structure had six sanded rock pillars at its base, a door-like entrance into the darkness inside the cliff, and six other rock pillars standing high above holding what resembled the roof structure with roman engravings hewed into the rock above them.
‘As you can see a little farther from the Treasury,' went on our relentless guide pointing to the left, 'at the foot of the mountain is en-Nejr-the theatre.’
This second similarly adorned structure had on its three sides rose-colored mountain walls divided into groups by deep fissures and lined with knobs cut from the rock in the form of towers.
‘This is amazing!’ Uncle Henry exclaimed. He had kept silent throughout the tour. ‘Di what do think of this place?’
‘I think it’s heavenly.’
We tactfully lagged behind the rest of our tour group before ducking into the rock through its dark entrance. I began to quickly search for the stone inscriptions Eel had instructed we place our prints as soon as my eyes adjusted to the damp eerie darkness. We were to seek out inscriptions forذوشرى,-Dushara-Lord of the Mountain and Al-‘Uzzá, the goddess of fertility. The ancient Nabataean peoples, Eel had said, represented their gods on crafted blocks or betyls often with human facial features.
‘Over here.’ Doctor Lynn whispered beckoning to Uncle Henry and me. She had located one of the betyls with similar inscriptions. Her light torch was aimed straight at the rough scribbles on the dusty rectangular block. Some letters appeared worn off. The rock's carvings apparently appeared like two eyes, a nose and lips. It also had a rectangular face and a peculiar circular incision at the top.
‘Hold my bag.’ Uncle Henry said handing me the light grey back pack that carried Doctor Lynn’s laptop. He proceeded to insert his left thumb into the slabs’ top incision reciting the words Eel had instructed us to say.
‘Naba hadri areres bataei’
Suddenly, he vanished from view.
'Where, where did he go?' Petrified, Doctor Lynn cried holding tightly onto to me. My heart thudded heavily within me and my knees felt weak. This was very strange and frightening at the same time.
‘Henry?’ she called out hysterical, her voice echoing inside the dark cave.
‘I think he has disappeared.’ I answered terrified.
‘I can see that!’ She yelled back at me angrily.
‘Okay then, let’s do the same, lets press our thumbs inside this thing,’ I reasoned, ‘we could possibly follow Uncle Henry wherever he has vanished to.’
'Danny, you’re not leaving me here.’ she cried.
'Alright then,' I said, 'hold on to me while I stick my thumb into this rock, okay?'
‘Okay.’ She answered looking terrified. Me too, I was nervous, not knowing what awaited us on the other side or if there was even another side. My mind although reeling, kept focused on Uncle Henry.
My Uncle was not only brilliant, but was fearless too. He had stuck his thumb into this hole without a second thought. I sometimes wished I viewed the world through his eyes; Henry was a free spirit, daring and trusting.
‘Alright then,’ I said again, one arm firmly holding onto Doctor Lynn’s arm, back pack over my shoulder,
‘One, two,’ I counted before sticking my left thumb into the hole. I closed my eyes and whispered,