Mukhaynig is a place so removed from the outside world it looks like the ragged edge of a badly told fairytale. Because the light is dying and everything is grey, and we’re kicking up wadi dust and stumbling between goat enclosures of plywood and salvaged doors and branches and thorns, and a disembowelled Daihatsu Rocky 4WD, and wide eyed children who speak too fast: it could be Arabic but it all tumbles out in one wild, fluid motion, and then everyone, including the camels, are heading around the corner to Lasloos, the oasis of deep water so startling in the desert landscape you think you’re in a dream.
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