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One nomad farmer struggles to make ends meet, support his family

By Johannes Decat - May 06,2015 - Last updated at May 06,2015

DEAD SEA — On the green hills overlooking the Dead Sea, close to the hot spring originating from Maeen, Abu Malek and his friends rest under the shadow of a tree, sipping sweet tea and smoking rolled cigarettes after a laborious day on the field. 

“Papa, they’re stealing again,” a voice echoes over the green fields. Three youngsters are seen running away on the earthen path, leaving behind several broken melons on the way.

“This is the third time today,” Abu Malek dryly remarks, “Especially on the weekends, we have to be vigilant for grabby tourists from the cities. It will be dark soon. Then, our fields will be safe.”

Abu Malek is one of the more than 100 tenant farmers in the Dead Sea region. 

With his wife and five children, he lives in a tent bordering a 30-dunum plot of land he rents from a landowner for JD3,000 for 10 months. 

After a year of farming, the land will be exhausted and the family will have to move to another region.

Abu Malek originates from a bedouin family in the Palestinian Negev Desert, whose members were expelled during the Nakbeh in 1948, when Israel was created on Palestinian lands. 

His family members were forced to leave behind the “more than 100 dunums” of agricultural land they owned.

Now, Abu Malek is a "landless" farmer. 

Before working the soil in the Dead Sea region, he had been renting fields in Zarqa and Karak, alternatively herding livestock at times. 

“Last year, we had a disastrous season. We were forced to take a loan from the bank which sunk us into serious debts,” the farmer says, adding that he hopes that “this year’s harvest will be sufficient to pay back the debt and to sustain the whole family”. 

Abu Malek, whose sandals are torn at the heels and the sides, says he is left with JD200 per month on average to sustain the family of seven. 

“I prefer buying new shoes for my children than to change mine. I have had mine for nearly two years and a half now.” 

In the morning, the family eats bread and drinks water. During the day, an occasional melon or tomato is cut open and eaten. 

Several cups of tea help sustain the family through the day until the evening, when the usual dish is fatteh, mainly made with what the fields have to offer. This year it is onion and tomato, mixed with bread.

The family finds itself forced to have the two eldest sons, Musa, 8, and Malek, 12, work on the field. 

They are up from 6am to farm the land. They cultivate melons, which are collected by a befriended merchant who sells them at a market in Amman. Just before the truck full of melons leaves, Abu Malek hears that the price for melons has gone up slightly, to JD1 per kilogramme. 

Abu Malek’s youngest, son, aged six years, lives with an uncle, who works as a state functionary in Sweimeh, 25 kilometres away from the farm, the location of the closest school.

Abu Malek cannot read or write. His son Musa is unable to read the figures from 1 to 10. 

“If there were better transportation to and from Sweimeh, I would certainly consider sending my other four kids to school as well,” he says. 

When asked what he would like to become when he grows up, Musa answers: “A farmer, like my dad.” 

His father has been renting fields since he was 20. He is 37 now, and his back has grown crooked. He moves around with a walking stick and a piece of cloth around his waist, serving as support belt.

Suddenly, traditional bedouin dahiyeh music is heard nearby. A group of young men step out of a shiny jeep and start dancing. 

Malek and Musa run light-footedly towards the group and join in. 

Abu Malek painfully stands up, with the aid of his walking stick. 

Once his eyes meet the scene of his dancing children, a smile appears on his weathered face.

“It is good my kids are dancing, they must learn how to be happy.”

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