[home] [contents] [back issues] [subscribe]

[submissions] [mission] [message board] [contact us]

Desert Nomads
by Gianna Marino

© Lisa Kristine

Excerpts:

        Many travelers make the long journey to the edge of Western India to see the fortress town of Jaisalmer and take a short excursion into the Thar desert on the back of a camel. Lisa Kristine and I had a different idea. We planned to leave all comforts behind and journey into the heart of the desert for an 85-mile walk.

       A young boy with sad eyes and short black hair presented himself as Shaka, our guide. His sandals were old and tight on his feet and his jacket was faded and torn. Next to him sat a gurgling, growling camel with big brown eyes and rotten breath. Two canvas sacks were balanced on the camel’s protruding sides. The camel sat patiently with his legs folded beneath him as we filled one sack with pots, food and clothing and the other with hay. Shaka made a few noises to the camel, and the animal groaned and bellowed and rocked back and forth until he was standing tall above us. He had wrinkled knees and spindly legs and towered over his young owner like a giant tree.
       Shaka walked in front with the camel; Lisa and I followed. The noise of Jaisalmer faded behind us, and soon the only sounds we could hear were Shaka’s quiet, soothing whistle, our feet padding along in the sand and the squeaking of the wood and leather pack saddle.
       Our camel’s name was Dwee, and the more I studied his calm poise, the more I liked him. Dwee held his head high and seemed to possess a sense of pride, even when kneeling for his master to climb on. When the sand became deep, our shoes sank and we slowed our pace, but Dwee moved swiftly and rhythmically, his fleshy feet spreading over the uneven ground like soft tires . . .

. . .

 . . . By late afternoon, we arrived at an area covered in huge red dunes. Rolling shadows moved across the rippled sand as the sun moved toward the horizon. The night chill quickly set in. We sat for a while, warming our toes by the fire. When the cold became unbearable, we climbed under a heavy pile of blankets, which smelled like hay and camel and dried curry. The silence was deafening. It was a restless night, but I enjoyed feeling the chill and watching the stars move slowly above me. They were my only clue that time was passing . . .


. . . To read the rest of this story, please subscribe.