Friday, September 1, 2017

from himalaya to sahara

We woke just before dawn, after a night of drumming under a bright moon. The air was cool and damp, and it seemed like our little camp was home to the only people in the world, and the world was silent, except for the occasional snort of a camel or raven's chuckle. I watched Tsewang follow the edge of a dune in his socks, marvelling at the softness of the orange sand.

I wondered what was running through his head, this boy from the Himalaya, sifting the Sahara through his fingers.

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