Sands of Redemption

34

Georgia woke to darkness and to the smell of smoke and spice. From next door came the sound of men singing and clapping their hands. Groggy, she sat up. She smiled politely at Fatimah who was sitting nearby plaiting a little girl's hair.

'You sleep well? Feel better?' Latifah asked from outside the tent.

Crouched over a large, convex hotplate with a fire smouldering beneath, she deftly flipped and tossed and slapped a large piece of shapeless dough into warm flatbread. Georgia sniffed the air and her stomach growled.

'Yes, much,' Georgia said, although she felt so limp and weak she could have gladly collapsed back onto the pillows. 'Where are the others?'

'Still making dinner. We always cook big feast for guests.' Georgia felt a twinge of guilt but knew better than to argue. With nothing else to do, she watched Latifah cook, mesmerised by her practiced motions.

'You try?' Latifah asked, smiling at her curiosity as she took another handful of dough and began flattening it with a rolling pin.

'Oh, no, I'd better not, I'd just ruin it.'

'Come, come. Come and try.'

Georgia knelt beside her. Grabbing her hands, Latifah guided her fingers into the dough. 'Gently, gently,' she said.

Even with Latifah's guidance, the result was more singed Swiss cheese than flatbread. Latifah gave her a sympathetic smile

There came a tap on her shoulder. Murmuring something, Fatimah handed Georgia a small plastic container filled with some sort of cream.

Puzzled, Georgia thanked her.

Latifah explained: 'It is myrrh oil. Rub it onto your skin. It is good for healing.'

'Oh,' Georgia grunted, feeling awkward. Did everyone know? 'Thank you.'

Head down, Latifah went back to rolling her dough.

Forty minutes later, just as Latifah flung the last of her perfectly round and perfectly even flatbread into the overloaded basket, the rest of the food arrived. Down the slope came two men carrying an enormous steaming tray between them. Behind were several women bearing smaller dishes of food, pails of water and what looked like bottles of soft drink.

Gesturing for Georgia to follow, Latifah picked up her basket and joined the rest of the catering team upon a pile of carpets, mattresses and pillows that had been assembled out in the open a short distance away from their tents. With grunts of approval the rest of the men rose and assisted with setting up dinner.

Keeping out of the way, Georgia watched as they arranged the colourful, greasy, chaotic meal in a neat, tight circle upon the central carpet. Within the milling crowd she couldn't see Khalid.

When it was finished, the women started to head back to their tent. Georgia turned to follow.

'No,' Latifah said. She pointed towards the group of men. 'You eat there.'

Georgia raised her eyebrow. 'Really?'

She nodded. 'You're guest. But come, wash first.'

All around her the children stood watching as a skinny girl poured water over Georgia's soapy, outstretched arms from a large and heavy porcelain vase.

'Woops,' Georgia said, stepping back too late as water splashed down her clothes. The children laughed. Shooing them aside, one of the women handed her an old scarf to dry herself.

'Come,' Latifah said, taking Georgia's wrist and leading her over to the seated men.

Georgia started to feel nervous. What if she made a fool of herself? What if she said or did the wrong thing? There were so many hundreds of tiny customs that she had to remember. She went through some of them in her head: don't touch the food with your left hand; keep the soles of your feet pointed away; don't put your glass of tea on the ground; keep eye contact to a minimum; try not to accidentally touch anyone ...