Submitted by busann15 on Wed, 2007-05-16 07:06.
This isn't for the anthology I just thought I'd post it to let you all know how life goes here:
The clouds had been hovering on the horizon all day, and slowly but surely the wind gained ferocity.
By midday it was decided that something should be done, and the clothes in the yard were covered with plastic.
By evening the clouds had grown close and ominous. Everything needed to be brought inside.
Though today "everything" didn't mean the camel saddles, some mattresses, pillows, and blankets. All but one room in the house was empty as the floor had just been retiled. Everything meant everything.
It becomes dark quickly in the desert, as soon as the sun sets the light dissapears. We all know that if we do this at pace we will be out all night, so everyone from the oldest Ateeg to Sultan, only two, does their part hauling in blankets, furniture, food, notebooks, and clothes.
I look up. I hear it. Drip drop, drip drop. A moment of silence and chaos erupts. a whirlwind of fabric and wood pass quickly from the yard to the house like a vaccum is pulling it all in. There is hollering, directing, crying, complaining, laughing, and I am smiling.
Safa, only three, is a continual roadblock for me as she tries to take 3 of the 4 things I will be carrying, and then stumbles over them 10 times before taking a step, protesting whenever I try to take anything from behind her. "Na, NA! Ana Ana Ana!" No, not my name. She repeats "no, no, no, Iam (I do) Iam Iam!"
SameH, 9 months, crawls around as expert feet move around him. Everyone here is used to the presence of a rugrat, but I have to be careful.
It is unbelievable. We've done it. And to top it off the sky is clear. Barely two drops have fallen and that's all that we'll see tonight. Sigh, but not in exasperation, simply happy the job is finished, even if it was unnecessary.
We sit down on the ground of the courtyard which is riddled with trash, paper, children's clothing, and dust from the concrete filling.
I run to the faucet to wash glasses as Hamda brings out the Guava juice, yogurt, and hobis (pita bread).
The children cover their faces in food and the adults talk of the work yet to be done. The floors inside are filthy, the furniture disassembled, and Ateeg's new home still does not have a kitchen. "Bokra, bokra, bokra" (tommorow, tommorow, tommorow).
The eldest daught Nada and her husband take their leave after being welcome help, and everyone begins to retire to their sleeping places of choice: outside, inside, under cover, under the stars.
Mohammed and I, we watch a movie. Erin Brokovich is on and I am happy to listen to American accents and rapid English, comforted that Mohammed can understand confusing details from the Arabic subtitles. I am free to stop thinking, attempting to translate (of which I can do very little), watching to be of help or out of the way.
Another day in Wadi Rum village.
