What the Wind Carried #PlanetOrPlastic

What the Wind Carried

        Anood closed her invisible eyelids and batted her long black eyelashes as she watched the wind whip around the Bedouins' tents. She observed her calf, Samha, as she played, chasing the twisted ferns stuck in the drifting sand.

        The wind whipped around Anood's long legs. Her brown coat protected her from the stinging pain of sand against hide. Being a camel that lived the majority of her life carrying tourists around Oman's Empty Quarter, Anood knew the ins and outs of the desert. She may be a domesticated animal, but she knew the predators from the prey and was well aware of the dangers of the wind. However, a while ago, that danger was restricted to sand storms and fallen palm trees. Now, it was different. The wind blew in strange things. Things that did not belong in a desert.

As the sun sunk lower in the clear sky, the wind began to pick up. A Bedouin stepped out of his tent and began Athan Al Maghreb, the call to evening prayer, his face to the dimming sky. Anood looked around for her calf, her eyes straining to catch a glimpse of her brown fur.

       "Samha," she called out over the voice of the Bedouin, "Where are you, child? It's time for your milk." She spotted Samha behind a shifting sand dune and walked towards her, her broad, cloven hooves barely leaving grooves in the dry sand. Anood could sense that something was wrong.

"Samha?" she yelled out, running now as she feared the worst. Samha appeared to be choking on something. She coughed and gagged trying to get it out of her throat. She was in desperate need of air. Anood panicked. She called out and ran around Samha in frenzied circles. Samha was on her knees now, white foam forming at the corners of her mouth. Her large eyes wide with fear as she gasped for breath.

Hearing Anood's desperate calls, two Bedouins arrived to investigate. They found Samha lying on the warm sand, dead.

     "My child!" Anood brayed, nudging Samha's lifeless body with her muzzle.

"What do you think happened?" one Bedouin asked the other over the whistling of the wind.

"It looked like she choked," he replied, peering down her throat. Anood fell to her knees and brayed in mourning for her child. "On plastic," the Bedouin explained, pulling out a wet, half chewed plastic water bottle from the dead camel's throat.

He patted the dead camel softly, pitying the mother for her loss.

"The wind must have carried it in," the first deduced, wrapping his face against the blowing sand. "We must go, the sun is setting."

They retreated to their tents. Anood closed her eyes and placed her head on Samha's hump. Her heart clenched. Her daughter had died because someone, hundreds of miles away, had not thought of the personal consequences of their actions. Anood moaned these thoughts sorrowfully, hoping that the wind would carry them to the ears of someone who'd listen.