Tannesh
On our way to the Great Pyramid, we were on a travelling cart.
I was a tourist. I saw this on a magazine, and phoned to book a flight in Giza. The magazine wasn’t all that interesting, but the article reminded me of The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. Speaking of that novel, I couldn’t bring myself to finish it. God knows why.
In the caravan, there’s five of us: the rider, the local woman in her mid-twenties, the two European tourists and me. The two seemed to be friendly with each other. They looked like they came from the same place and were together to begin with. I, on the other hand, kept to myself. I wasn’t here to chit-chat with anyone. All I wanted was to see the Great Pyramid and maybe, put myself in one of the coffins.
The woman was wearing protective clothes against the sun. Her entire body was covered except her eyes. From the color of her face, she had a brownish complexion, more in the lighter side. With those eyes, I can tell that she had a pretty face.
We reached the destination. Wow, I muttered to myself as the Great Pyramid stands before us. I accidentally glanced at the woman, and she looked back. I smiled, and her eyes smiled, too.
After exploring the pyramids and all the traveling spots, we set out a bonfire to spend the rest of the night.
“Are you from around here?” I asked the woman.
“Yes,” she answered while she was removing her headdress. Her short hair slowly dangled down on her neck. She carefully removed strands of hair on her right ear, and locked it with a hairpin. A camel was engraved on it.
“If only I’ve seen that camel hairpin earlier, I wouldn’t have asked that question,” I jokingly said.
She smiled, but didn’t say anything about it.
“I was born and raised here,” she said, “but it never felt like the life I've always wanted. I couldn’t find my purpose here. So I went out, and travel alone. I’ve been to different places: Cairo, Hurghada, Aswan, El Gouna, all around Egypt, and mostly near to the bodies of water.”
I was silent for some time. “Don’t you get used to the heat here?”
“Most people do, but I don’t. Although my body can sustain the heat with cold baths, iced drinks and even just water itself, my soul couldn’t. It’s like the rays of sun go through my skin, ignoring the epidermis, and instead, burning, incinerating my insides. I needed to get away from here.”
“Then why did you come back?”
“I’ll be traveling to other countries, and I wanted to give a proper farewell to the people who took care of me, and to the people who I shared moments with. I’d also like to know if things changed, if I still feel the same way.”
“Do you?”
I was waiting for the answer but the other two tourists came at us, inviting to join them for a dance around the bonfire. We got up, and danced the night away until the fire lost its burning desire.
I shared my tent with the woman. She told me that she didn’t plan on spending the night on a desert so bringing a tent wasn’t in her mind at all. Luckily, two persons can fit comfortably in mine. Without much conversation, and with all the tiredness, we drifted off to sleep as soon as we lay down our bodies.
Suddenly, at midnight, I woke up to the sound of a crying woman. I opened my eyes, and saw her curled in herself. The moonlight was enough to see that her clothes and her bedding were all wet from her tears. She was sobbing, wailing like a wolf mourning for her lost child. I didn’t know what to do. My instinct told me to comfort her in some way, to take away the pain; I wrapped my arms around her as softly as I can.
“Shh, shh... Everything’s going to be alright, ” I whispered as I calmly caressed her back, and her head.
The sobbing slowly died down, until it stopped. I helped her lay into the bed. She was holding onto me, tightly. I stayed with her, waiting for her to fall asleep. I watched her eyes, dried from tears, slowly close itself. Her hands started to lose its grip. Her breathing came back to normal. She fell asleep peacefully. I was, too.
Morning came. We both woke up and started to pack things at the same time with the others. Things were being done in silence, an awkward sensation took upon us. A few apologetic words were exchanged whenever we accidentally bumped into each other. The second caravan arrived.
The others got in to their respective caravans, bid farewells to one another. We hugged each other for the last time. She leaned in, and whispered to my ear, Tannesh. I didn’t have an idea what that word means, or how much value it holds. All I said was thank you, and off we went to live our separate, individual lives.
