Someone has to collect it. Someone has to walk behind the camels gathering their dung all day long. Someone grabs, bare-handedly, each pile of fresh bs that falls to the ground, puts it into tightly woven burlap sacks, and carries it home, fully aware that his family depends on this bs for survival.
At home, someone makes patty cakes with it, arranges these into piles outside the yurt, and lets the piles of bs dry in the sun. When they are ready for use, they are brought into the yurt, placed into the fire stove, and lit with a match. Within seconds, the near-freezing yurt is transformed into a near-sauna. No wires or outlets needed. No prohibitive electricity bills at the end of a brutal winter. No negative impact on the environment. Nothing. It is, as far as I can see, the most effective and the purest source of heat. Then again, someone has to manipulate it, which we did without a hint of repulsion. But as luck would have it, as soon as our gracious hosts retired, so did the fire in our stove. And that's when we discovered the extent of our inadequacy. Apparently, throwing a lit match into the urn of bs is not enough to get it going. Suffice to say that we ran out of matches and ended up using a camping stove and starter blocks.