Eleven Camels
Umar bin Yusuf, being old and full of years, died quietly in his sleep. The old Bedouin left his camels to be divided amongst his three sons. One half to his eldest, Amir, one quarter to his second, Asad, and one sixth to his youngest, the wild Ali.
The problem, of course, is that the camels numbered eleven. Fine and noble beasts to be sure, but exactly eleven. And eleven live camels cannot be divided by two, three, or four.
And so it was that dissension came to the house of Umar, dissension so fierce that there was talk of war as Ali gathered his friends and servants to sort out by the sword what could not be resolved by talk.
But then arrived a stranger, short, dark, and mysterious, a solitary figure with a camel and three servants. After hearing the story of Umar’s estate, he offered his help. “I believe,” said he, “I can solve the problem amicably. Bring the camels to me.”
The eleven camels were brought to the center of the oasis and tethered in a circle. The stranger added his own beast to the eleven, so now there were twelve. Of the twelve, the stranger’s beast was the most ragged and least desirable.
“Amir,” said the stranger, softly, “take your half.” And Amir chose six camels, being half, leading them off to the edge.
Asad similarly took his one-quarter, namely three, and led them off. Last, Ali took one sixth, that is, two. And left there, standing by itself, was the stranger’s scraggly beast, which the stranger mounted and rode off into the desert.
Now of course this is just a mathematical trick, a numerical fluke. But the lesson is nevertheless the same, that most of our impenetrable problems can be solved by creativity, and often by a fresh set of eyes. Things aren’t always what they first seem.