Sand is flying, tea cups tinkling as Muhammad, Abdallah and I scramble for the loose ball. The ball had bounced off the hoop - an upside down barstool mounted to the side of the house in the Jordanian desert - and rolled over to the satellite dish by the backyard wall. I run for the ball, tripping over a concrete and metal plate. Annoyed, I stop and heave the slab aside. Strench rises from the fine-grained sand, wafting to the Bedouin family watching the basketball game from beneath the grape arbor. Peels of laughter - directed at me - fill the backyard.
"No, no, don't move the cover! Put it back!" the Bedouin father shouts between heaves of laughter. "The rock covers our septic tank."
