Sands of Redemption

33

The next morning they all slept in. It seemed their visitors had no intention of waking up before the sun did.

Well rested, her sleep unbroken for the first time in weeks, Georgia helped with what she could to get their journey started. After Sati encouraged the donkey to climb in the back with a whack to the hindquarters, Khalid and Mohammed scrambled in behind. When Georgia attempted to follow suit, Aamir waved his hands in protest.

'No, no, no, no, no,' he said, pointing towards the truck's cabin.

'Are you sure? But I don't want to ... '

Shaking his head, unable to speak the words he wanted, he again pointed towards the cabin. Georgia tried to thank him as he leapt into the back, but he didn't hear her.

The journey was long, the roads heavily rutted. Bouncing along in her seat, her ribs aching, Georgia was extra thankful for the men's chivalry.

Their journey was long and without incident, the sun burning against Georgia's eyes, the seat hard against her backside. She didn't complain, though; she'd never been so happy in her life. She could hear nothing from the back and Hassan wasn't a talker, so all she could do was sit quietly. It was peaceful.

At one point they stopped to have some lunch and give the tired donkey a rest from the bumpy ride. Back on the road, Georgia leant her head against the passenger-side window and closed her eyes. Every now and then she would wake from her doze at a particularly deep pothole that jarred her ribs. She only fully wakened when the car's radio crackled with signal.

Straightening in her seat, her heart pounding, she looked to see what lay ahead. The desert was breaking. Were they coming close to civilisation now? Gone were the high winds and boundless desolation. Instead there stood tall, sparsely-leafed trees, patches of yellow grass, and poking out of sheltered cracks in the rock were even bunches of wildflowers.

Squinting, Georgia thought she could see sheep grazing in the distance. Minutes later, she realised they were actually goats. There were twenty of them or so, all with shaggy coats, long ears and short, curled horns. Keeping an eye on them were two young girls. No older than twelve, they were dressed in long skirts and loosely wrapped scarfs, which they kept adjusting. Seeing the truck, they started shouting and waving excitedly. Hassan tooted the horn, the girls' shouts turning to shrieks as the car sprayed them with dust.

Humming to the radio, Hassan pulled up into the middle of a small settlement. Black and white tents were propped up with wooden poles. There were a large number of what looked like rusty old sheds, the kind one would expect to find abandoned on a disused farm, not in a Bedouin camp. Where were the goat-hair tents and camels, like those advertised all over the travel brochures back in Hamrachi Hotel?

Except for where the goats were grazing, the camp was mostly grit, sand and dirt, any growth beaten down by the passage of many feet and heavy vehicles. Abandoning their game, a small group of children hurried over.

Hearing the men get out of the back, Georgia did the same.

Seeing her, the children altered their direction, preferring to cluster around her instead of the men. Standing closely, squealing and muttering excitedly to each other, they looked up at her with wide eyes.

Over their heads Georgia saw several men approach while the rest of the camp congregated at a cautious distance. Ignoring her, the Bedouin men joined Mohammed and Khalid.

Whatever they discussed, it obviously went well because the next thing Georgia knew the children were leading her into the camp. She was hustled into a large tent and was forced to sit down to warm smiles and a cup of sweet tea.