Wadi Rum: two nights in a Bedouin camp

First case of diarrhea: woke up this morning in Wadi Rum with a stomach ache. I had been kind of nauseous the night before at dinner, but I had a normal poop. I ignored the only-slightly-irritating pain in my stomach and ate breakfast, taking a few cucumbers and an egg omlet. But after breakfast and before leaving the camp for the day on our camel ride and hike, I detoured to the WC and allowed myself a morning poop, even though it contradicted my three day streak of evening poops. It wasn't much, but there it was, the cursed orange brown liquid in the bottom of the toilet. I didn't have too much time to dwell on the death of normality in my bowels though. My camel was waiting just outside the WC tent, and the most of our group had already mounted. I walked out from the WC with the last three or four people and followed the hand gestures of a Bedouin man to a collapsed camel. He frantically beckoned me onto the saddle. I swung my leg over the hump, and in almost the same instant the back end of my collapsed camel was suddenly much higher than the front. She laboriously untucked her front legs and rose to meet her rear end in the air. I took a moment to adjust to stilted life, and decided I liked it. Tall as I felt, my camel was actually one of the shortest in the pack (what is a group of camels called?). Mounted on camels, the Mennonites slowly began their departure. We were hooked together in pods of four or five camels. Each pod was led by a Bedouin man, who clicked and whistled and wacked the camels when he wanted them to turn left or right or speed up or slow down or stop eating or sniffing or biting. My camel was given a nice wack on the neck several times for attempting to eat the blanket draped over the hump of the camel in front of her. Other than that she was a very well behaved camel. The ride was nice with the exception of a few stomach cramp episodes and the lingering question about the status of my underwear. Eventually, we made it to the camp where lunch was being served. I sat down and leaned back on the Bedouin couch on which they sit to eat. It was easier to keep the thunderstorm in my stomach under control while sitting motionless. Feeling chilly after a heat flash from an intense cramp, I reached into my bag for my jacket, but it wasn't there. I closed my eyes to think where I had put it. I saw myself taking it off and laying it across my camel's back. Ah yes! so I jumped up and ran out to the spot where I had just recently dismounted my camel. Gone. I looked out into the desert in the direction we had arrived from and saw the Bedouin men taking the camels back. I walked back to the group and made it known that my jacket was missing. "Tell Mohammed" "Find Mohammed" my friends told me. So I looked and asked around for him. Finally I found him, told him what had happened, and waited as he conceded with his friends in Arabic. "Come ride in the jeep with us. We will go by jeep," he said. So I got in the back seat and he and one of the Bedouin men I recognized from the camp got in the front. We drove through the sand with no clear path, just dodging dessert plants until we got to the group of camels "Chequet! Chequet?" I heard them saying to the men on camels, and then whoosh it was flying through the car window. We turned around, turned up the radio - a female singer wailing words I didn't recognize. I'm assuming it was Arabic - and dodged desert brush back to lunch. The entire jacket hunt took about five minutes total. Unfortunately, the diarrhea lasted much longer.