Mukhaynig is a secret place, just a handful of houses of Sineidi, Bareeka, Saalmi and Hadmal slapped together in the earthen desert, downstream in the wadi that makes its way from Jebel Gahwan to the sea. But the sea is far away, an alien blue to these bedouin, as is the easy charm of the people of the coast, or their exposure to the outside world. And I’m looking at the boy with the damaged teeth and his words flow out like water through the wadi, and we’re sitting under the gruesome photo of the pickup with the skinned rabbits hanging by the side, a handful of Kalashnikovs and shotguns, and two hunting falcons.
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2 Comments
Wonderful. Wonderful.
Am I repeating myself? Just because I want to join the ride that is always meant to be a solitary one for you? I take it back. You should not be distracted by co-travelers. Rubbish. You need to be by yourself to absorb and be absorbed at a maximum. Pity. Took awhile, but I realized it now
Congrats, once again, master Pinaki!