Tseq’ule Caravan, an Oasis to the South of Tsaha’ota
Past him there is the long downward slope of the scrublands, scratched here and there with scraggly dry trees, bent sideways beneath the sun, the ground cracked beneath them. In the distance the ribbon of the Turga glitters, half-indistinguishable from the haze of heat which rises up into the sky. Tsaha’ota is a blur curled into the sweep of the river, a blotch of brown against brown; Nkemi can see it only because she knows where to look against the sweep of Hulali’s waters.
The caravan keeps going, and Nkemi looks forward once more, to the long train of camels and wagons before her.
Anetol talks like a thunderstorm; it builds in him, builds in the deepening of his caprise and the shifting of his field, and then opens up and pours down on her. He wants to talk of camels, of goats, of the journey, of Tsaha’ota. Nkemi listens to the words and the spaces between them; she remembers sitting behind Nkanzi a long time ago, asking questions to fill the desert silence, and drinking greedily in the answers which flowed like water. She remembers, too, the strange pinching newness of Vienda, and how much there was she does not know.
She talks; she talks, although her throat goes dry and hoarse.
“It is not done,” Nkemi explains, “to bring one’s own water. To have a supply your own is to say you do not trust Tseq’ule, and that you cannot be trusted like them. Water is precious - Hulali is merciful,” Nkemi pauses, and grins, “- but it is also heavy. The canteen by your legs is for this morning; it is best to drink now, so that when the heat comes you will be prepared.”
“When the heat comes?” Anetol asks; Nkemi hears the tightness in his throat, and the drawing together of his eyebrows.
Nkemi does not answer; she knows there are no words which will be of comfort.
He wants to know about the camels; she answers, as she can. “It is said they may go a week without drinking, and still work. They need to eat – they like the cactus which grow deeper in the sands, for all that they are covered in thorns.” She rests a small hand on the tan neck of the camel, and strokes, lightly. “But it is well for them to take more water,” Nkemi says, cheerful, “and to save such measures.”
They wind through the low hills, up and down; after the slope up past Tsaha’ota, they weave between, and slope down once more. There is little even of scrub grass now; the ground is all cracked and hot beneath them. As they walk, onwards, the wind drifts sand through the camels’ hooves; here and there can be found a small pile of it, huddled in the lee of a rock or burying the base of a cactus; the wind scatters and sends it off.
There is little to be found in the way of life; lizards perch here and there on rocks, tongues flicking out to taste the dry air. Once a shadow brushes over them, and Nkemi looks up to see a hawk circling, high overhead.
The call, when it comes, echoes down the line: “Osi!”
Nkemi takes it up: “Osi!” She cries, and leans over the edge of the saddle to gather up the precious moisture of her mouth, and spit on the ground. Before them, Ipiwo and Ofero do the same; Ipiwo has wilted slowly in the heat, and is not quite straight upright, anymore.
“It means gift,” Nkemi says, shining a beaming smile back at Anetol. She says no more; he will see for himself.
There is a gleaming in the distance; there are trees which arch up from the desert, stretching into the sky, ringed with cacti. In the midst of it there is soft green grass, and a cool water which burbles and ripples in the middle. The camels come to it; they ring it, and one of the men comes along, kneeling each of them.
Nkemi climbs off through the stiffness of her legs; she does not ask, but gives both her hands to Anetol, and holds him steady.
Next to them, Ipiwo is sick, retching on the ground, her face drawn; Ofero crouches next to her, holding her up with one hand as the other rubs smooth circles on her back.
Nkemi looks, her face still; she turns back to Anetol, and squeezes his hands lightly. “It is well to walk a little in the shade,” she tells him. “Let them see to the camels first, and there will be sun-dried meat for us to eat.”