Sensual moments in the Sahara
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| Me and the man with the flashing eyes. We had a moment. |
We rode part way into the desert in his truck, music blaring an Arabic beat, music that we had talked about earlier that day, an artist that another traveller had introduced me to. The occupants of his truck — the four of us — began swaying to the beat. He sang, he drove the dunes like a master. His eyes caught mine in his rearview mirror, repeatedly.
We stopped by the camels and he expertly tied my head wrap those dark brown eyes confidently looking at me. I could not look away. He assigned me the lead camel and helped me on.
I rode away thinking that it was too bad I wouldn’t see him again; too bad the flirting we did with our eyes wouldn’t last a bit longer. This was the first time I consciously practised flirting, quietly, silently, letting my eyes speak to show interest. It would’ve been nice to have had the moments last a bit longer, although nothing would ever come from an interlude where only eyes speak. Not in my culture anyway, although in this culture, the practised art of glances can silently convey what the words that can’t be spoken do.
I didn’t think much about that man for the rest of the day although he did fleetingly cross my mind.
But like the other interactions I’ve had here, it was a moment. Just a moment.
A moment that became more, though, later that night when I approached an open fire ringed with musicians and young men dancing. It was there the man with the flashing eyes pulled me up to dance, to celebrate the night, the stars, the joy of life.
I danced for a bit but the night sky, abundant with stars called. I excused myself from the dance and let him know I needed to have a moment with the heavens. He said he would take me, so a few of us followed. He wanted to take us further from the camp but the dune I was standing on was where I wanted to be. And so I sat down and then laid down on the cool sand and breathed deeply. The man with the flashing eyes laid down beside me. We both focused our gaze skyward, silent, memorized. Inside of me, peace came. Clarity came. The fragments of me that had wanted to join together did. Underneath that map of stars that guided explorers, gave birth to dreamers and helped both find their way, I felt like I, too, found my way.
As I inhaled what I wanted and exhaled and released what I didn’t, I felt grains of cool sand trickle over my hand then a tentative brushing of fingers against mine. The first time, I thought it might be accidental but, as the action repeated, I knew it wasn’t. And I responded with a similar action. Slow, gentle, sensuous until the sand that trickled stopped and fingers intertwined.
I held hands with the man with the flashing eyes underneath the Saharan sky.
He said he was 28 years old; a mere child in my eyes, a man in his. He thinks he knows what he desires but he does not. He is discovering life, discovering who he is. In that regard, we are not so different.
We stood and walked together down the dune, hands clasped. He asked if I was going to sleep alone my one night in the desert and then cheekily offered to join me. I smiled softly and declined. While the physical interlude between us would’ve been playful and pleasant, it would’ve left me empty and unfulfilled after my grounding under the stars.
Our hands unclasped and he bid me goodnight and sweet dreams and I walked ahead. I was tempted for a moment to turn, to change my mind to hold in my arms the man with the eyes that flashed. The moment passed as quickly as it came.
I slept alone, dreamless, my arms wrapped around myself, holding close the moments that make me both feel alive and bring me peace. Loving myself.
Read Part 2 tomorrow.
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