Tuareg

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‘Allah is Great. Blessed is Allah.’

‘It was a long time ago now. A time when I was young and my legs carried me over sand and stone for days at a time, without tiring, and I received news one day that my younger brother was ill. Although three days of travel stood between my jaima and his, the strength of my love for him was enough to overcome any apathy and I set off without trepidation, being, like I said, young, strong and fearless.

Night was closing in on the second day of my journey, when I came across a cluster of high dunes, some half a day’s walk from the tomb of the holy man Omar Abraham. I scrambled up to the top of one to see if I could spot a settlement and somewhere I might take shelter, but I saw nothing and decided to stay put for the night, shielded from the wind.

The moon must have been very high in the sky — lucky for me that Allah had wished it so on this particular night — when I was awoken by a blood-curdling scream and terrified, I curled up into a small ball of panic.

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