Tonight,
As the soft darkness cradles your body,
I invite you to take a deep easy breath in and let it flow gently out.
With each breath,
Imagine yourself stepping out of the world you know and into a land ancient and wide,
Where time stretches wide like the open desert sky.
Picture yourself now,
Arriving at dawn,
As the first blush of light spills over the horizon.
The air is crisp and cool,
Scented with dry grass and distant rain.
Around you,
The land rolls out in soft waves of ochre and gold,
Broken only by gnarled acacia trees standing like sentinels against the endless blue sky.
Ahead,
A small turquoise village awaits,
Round huts with domed roofs huddled together like family,
Their walls made of twisted sticks and smooth packed earth,
Each home warm and breathing with life.
Ekaru,
Your guide,
Is waiting.
He wears a bright red shukra draped over one shoulder and heavy beaded necklaces that catch the morning sun,
Glittering like tiny stars.
His eyes,
Deep,
Wise and kind,
Meet yours with a knowing smile.
He hands you your own shukra,
Woven in bold earthy colors,
And wraps it around your shoulders.
The fabric is coarse,
But comforting.
A garment worn by thousands before you,
A thread tying you to this place.
Today,
You will not watch from a distance.
Today,
You will live among them,
Breathe their air,
Walk their path,
Learn their rhythm.
The village stirs to life as the sky brightens.
Thin tendrils of smoke rise from small cooking fires.
The sound of goats bleating fills the morning air,
Soft and musical.
Women move gracefully,
Balancing heavy clay pots on their heads.
Children,
Barefoot and laughing,
Chase each other through the dusty lanes.
You follow Ekaru to the goat pens.
Together with a group of elders and boys,
You guide the herds out onto the open plain.
The goats shimmer under the rising sun,
Their coats white,
Tan and brown.
Your bare feet press into the warm earth.
Your body finds the slow,
Steady rhythm of the herders,
Step by step.
Patient and sure,
The sun climbs higher and the heat thickens like honey in the air.
Sweat beads on your forehead,
Trickles down your back.
Yet,
There is no discomfort,
Only presence.
The heat is part of the land,
And you are part of the land.
At midday,
The village gathers under a great acacia tree,
Its white canopy throwing dappled shadows on the dusty ground.
You rest there,
Drinking cool water from a shed goat,
The clay smooth and cool against your lips.
Lunch is a communal feast,
A bubbling pot of rich goat stew,
Steamed maize and dense hand-made bread.
The scents are earthy and savory,
Filling the air with a promise of nourishment and care.
You eat with your hands,
Tearing off pieces of bread,
Scooping stew,
Laughing when the juices run down your fingers.
Here,
Food is life,
And life is meant to be touched,
Tasted and shared.
After the meal,
The world grows quiet,
The desert hums with heat.
In the shade,
Women weave baskets for papyrus reeds,
Their fingers nimble and sure.
They show you how to twist the fibers,
How to pull them right and tight.
How patience turns simple strands into vessels strong enough to carry water.
Their laughter bubbles like clear water when you fumble,
Their encouragement as warm as the sun itself.
As the shadows grow longer and the sun dips low,
The village comes alive once more.
The air cools,
Sweet and rich with the scent of evening fires.
Boys practice throwing slender wooden spears.
Girls sing songs older than memory,
Their voices rising high and clear into the violet sky.
Tonight is a night of celebration.
The drums begin,
Deep slow beats that echo from the heart of the earth.
The people dance barefoot in the dust,
Their bodies moving with the grace of the wind.
Their colored beads catching the firelight,
Flashing like a thousand tiny moons.
You are pulled into the dance.
Your feet stumble at first,
Then find the pulse,
The thrum,
The life.
And above,
A cathedral of stars unfolds.
A thousand,
Thousand lights strewn across the heavens,
So bright you feel you could climb into the sky itself.
As the fire crackles and laughter drifts into the cold night,
A Karu sits beside you.
His voice is soft,
Carrying the weight of many generations.
In our life,
He says,
The richest man is not the one with the most goods,
But the one with the most friends,
The most hands held,
The most stories shared.
You breathe that wisdom deep into your chest.
You feel it settle there,
A soft,
Steady light,
A knowing,
A remembering.
Here,
You do not need to gather more.
You do not need to race.
You do not need to prove.
You only need to belong,
To give,
To weave your life gently into the lives of others.
As your body grows heavy with sleep,
You lie back on a woven mat under the open sky,
The desert's breath warm and slow around you.
You close your eyes,
Still feeling the pulse of the drums in your bones.
Still tasting the laughter,
The dust,
In this vast and living world.
You are part of the circle.
