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Petra Jordan


Her eyes. Her eyes. There’s something very haunting yet magical about them.
She was just a child. A Bedouin girl, a mother’s daughter, a child of the red desert.
She could be a Jordanian princess.
She approached me with tentative coyness.
“Pretty miss, would you please buy my postcard?”

At a tender age, she’s already a pro at selling.
She seems only 12 but there’s so much maturity in her face.
I see marks of hardship, and yet she seems, happy?

I don’t really need a postcard, young lady.
But here’s 5 dollars if you give me a wonderful smile.
Can I take your picture? I said.

“But miss, I can’t take your money without giving you my goods.”
Beautiful one, your smile is worth more than whatever you’re selling.
That made my day in Petra even more unforgettable.

Here are some more posts about the Middle East.