The nomad’s camels are strong and frolic in these fat weeks of the spring pasture. Now it is they lay up flesh, and grease in their humps, for the languor of the desert summer and the long year. Driven home full-bellied at sunset, they come hugely bouncing in before their herdsmen: the householders, going forth from the booths, lure to them as they run lurching by, with loud Wolloo-wolloo-wolloo, and to stay them Wòh-ho, wòh-ho, wòh-ho! They chide any that strikes a tent-cord with Hutch!
He sang in their braying-wise [which one of their ancient poets, Antara, compared to the hum of flies!] as we passed over the the desert at a trot, and quavering his voice (î-î-î-î) to the wooden jolting of the saddle.
-Travels in Arabia Deserta, Charles Doughty
At a fast pace the air was filled with the drovers' cries of Hut, Onk, Heh and Biraah (Easy does it)- the four notes of the Kabbashi chorale.
-Smithsonian Magazine, March 1987
There were many strange noises made by the men when driving and riding camels, noises made to calm them and others made to excite them, like lullabies and drum beats. There was a lot of onomatopoeia on the trail, as if they should speak to them in camel talk when their own Arabic failed. Slower, Faster, Easy, Ouch. The drovers would say Ouch! when they could see it hurt the camels more than it hurt themselves, trotting across stony ground or the girth rubbing a saddle sore. If I closed my eyes and just listened I could imagine myself overhearing a conversation between babies, or extraterrestrials. Wolloo-wolloo. î-î-î-î. Hutch. Onk. Biraah. Hey, take it easy up there, I’m walking to Cairo as fast as I can.