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This is a total work of fiction.

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CAMELS
a story of love and pain
]The novel submits a drama of life of a family stricken by tragedy as they find atonement and a place of reconciliation and contentment.

Prologue

It is a land of stiff foothills with deep green unfolding below into an isolated village within a broader unpopulated fertile land where the earth beneath runs black with the hard material that burn fiercely. A settlement with abandoned mines, traditional and modern dwellings, farmlands and thriving township wholly integrated, where the old gods are still revered as much as the God of the new faith, peopled with the educated, pious traders, hunters, more farmers and a dwindling lineage of warriors, and of course, the idles and the drunks. Young and old, men and women living in their times, nothing too big was big, nothing small was too small, all was significantly enough, all was appreciated. It is a land of simple but ambitious folks.
Every day was the same as every other day with a sun and a moon. This monotonous community is like an old maiden without hopes of a husband and hardly does something unexpected ring across, and when it does, it is sure to echo throughout the length and breadth of the community. For most, such unexpected ring was an unintended embrace, something to wet their lips, but after which, quietly it does fade into memories of days ago.
Now is the time when the night is quick and the day is easily young. From yards and plots of sleeping neighbors, jarred tunes from roosters will shrill the quiet before the moon escape dawn, signifying the end of a stunted night rest. The season after the rain has come, fog would still retain in the woodland and sweeping to all borders is sterile air carrying the purest whiff of nature, revealing what a wonderful time it is to be alive. Much is to be expected in the coming weeks. Yam harvest isn’t far.

Warm gust distractingly blew past her, catching her clothes. She dragged the warm air and sighed, ahead in the dark, shadows of sand dunes travelled far and wide. Her heart dampened, unlike her tropic home, it is mostly barren and hot in this region.
Out here in the sandy terrain, the night was lonely and quiet, but not to her. Her reverie persists.

Yam harvest isn’t far. The excitement will gear from faces to faces, home to home; you can even feel it on the walls. It is a typical feeling across the land. Fathers and sons will work the farmlands ranging to the base of the hills and before twilight, wives and daughters come bearing food and drinks. Nonetheless rigorous, it is awfully rewarding. Every season was better than the previous. The gods, new and old favored those who put in the work.
On the days set aside for rest, papa would gather his close friends in his large compound. They would bless the gods, drink to the wellness of their wives and children, and even mock themselves. Like every other season, papa will grateful for his family, a mother he adorns with great tenderness, a loyal son, and a beautiful daughter. But, not this season, an absentee daughter had left him with a broken heart.

‘An Absentee daughter,’ she tried a weak smile. The thought of her home had fastened the thudding in her heart. Anxiety rose from her stomach and stuck at the back of her guts. Her hand trembled and moist threatened her brown eyes.
Gently, she eased her way down another sand dune and a fast approaching wind unsettled the sands too quick, almost blinding her. The wind grew bolder and the once peaceful sand wasn’t so peaceful. It didn’t bother her; her mind hadn’t known peace for a while either. She shifted her backpack and ambled on.
Darkness intensifies, a gloomy cloud slowly shrouding the full moon, casting a darker shadow on her path. She looked south where the cloud originated and a silent streak of light zapped the black sky. A storm travels thus from afar. She quickened her pace. The rendezvous wasn’t far off…

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Continuation of prologue

But it came swiftly, and it raged. The violet wind lingered, whooshing threats and damning the sands to sway at its discretion. Mighty like a captain on a sea of sand it rose high and flattened, gathering sand and dust.
Moving against the storm’s unkind whips, the girl fought her way through, cursing at nothing in particular until the sands completely blinded her and she feared she was lost. Darkness and storm overwhelmed her and she began to cry.
The storm, seeming to discern a crying girl dawdling under its supremacy became more aggravated. It bellowed at her, judged and called her names.
‘I know most than all. I see all than most. And I have heard all about you’, the storm seethed, calling her, ‘footstep’.
She cowered in submission. ‘It was my fault, and now my burden’, she whimpered. Her tears mixed with sand dust, smearing her face.
After the storm had its fill, in the welcoming calm, it spoke to her and she tried to listen. It talked of the places it has seen and been. It talked of the beauty of the desert. The girl couldn’t tell if she was asleep or awake. It was so surreal. She cried again and when her wails were finally lifted to the storm, the storm was already gone.
The storm had told her, the desert is enticing, the desert is treacherous. But she knew this already.

01

IN THE SUMMER of the last hours of daylight, on the day she completed her fifth month in her new job, he came in and found her alone. All day he had worked tirelessly, slogging with other laborers. He loved the desert heat, the sweat, the hard work and the commitment out there in the vale. The challenge ripped him, tanned him and left him tired, but not too tired to come see her…

To be continued…

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Nice