Sands of Redemption

1

Heaving on her backpack, Georgia joined the madness that was Hamrachi's international airport.

'Need taxi? I take you,' a man said, stepping in her way, small and tanned and grinning.

'No, no, I take you for good price, he overcharge,' butted in another, grinning wider.

More taxi drivers charged towards her, shoving people out of their way to get to her. A young, naive tourist in their midst—goldmine. Georgia hurried towards the exit but wasn't fast enough, lurching forward with a 'fuck!' when someone yanked at her backpack.

There was a yell from across the room, followed by a stream of shouted Arabic. A security guard waved his arms at them, shouted some more, then placed his hand on something at his hip.

They scattered.

Georgia straightened her backpack, heart pounding. It had been way too long since she'd last travelled. She should have seen it coming.

Passing through the crowd, she stepped outside into the sweltering heat of an Arabian afternoon. She shaded her eyes; the sun blazed, the carpark glared white. She dropped her bag at her feet, unzipped the front pocket and took out her sunglasses. People were staring, men and women alike, eyes running up and down her figure. Ignoring them, she hefted up her backpack and walked over to the line of waiting taxis.

'Excuse me, hi,' she said, approaching the closest. The driver was leaning against his car, watching her, arms folded. Unsure if he could speak English, she handed him her brochure and tapped at the address. 'Could you take me to Hamrachi Hotel?'

The man didn't move, looking at her long and hard from beneath his chequered shemagh. Georgia frowned. She had tried to dress conservatively: long-sleeved blouse, trousers, light scarf around her neck, but no amount of clothing could hide her foreignness. Blonde hair, tall and slim, young and pretty, she was bound to attract attention in a country like Abassa.

'There a problem?' she asked.

He dropped his eyes to the brochure, gave a sharp nod and opened the rear door.

Georgia sat glued to her window. Cars, bikes and trucks roared past, leaving trails of black fumes in their wake. She wound the window down, the air-conditioner broken. Hot air blasted in her face, whipping her hair about.

On either side of the highway there was nothing but sprawling desert: vast flat plains broken by hardy shrubs and the occasional tree. Squinting, Georgia thought she could see low hills through the haze in the distance. It was such a desolate place. So—exciting. Georgia pressed her forehead against the side of the car and sighed. Travelling—how she missed it.

At twenty-five she had already travelled extensively: Europe, Britain, America, Asia, but nowhere as exotic as this. Back home, nobody could understand her desire to travel to such a "shitty" part of the world, as they thought it. As for herself, Georgia couldn't understand how they couldn't understand. Who wouldn't want to go somewhere they hadn't gone before? Who wouldn't want the challenge? The more difficult the better. Bring it on.

She had been looking forward to this all year, scrounging and saving, going hungry, sobering up. She expected a lot from this trip. Three months away from home, away from work, away from all the bullshit of her boring life. What wasn't there to be excited about? And this time it was going to be more than just a sightseeing tour. This time, she would find something different, something profound, something that would wriggle under her skin and stay there. And what better way to get to know a country and its people than teaching English?

The desert vanished behind factories and construction sites as they approached the country's capital. Georgia leant forward, watching, as what was once a dense smog slowly pulled away, revealing her first glimpse of Hamrachi City.