This is the end
I relieve the experiences that are already the part of the past. They are arriving in almost sensory way.
The child from the train was emerging as an itch from underneath the arms, immersed between the blankets that covered the wagon's floor. With a date in his mouth; or with the breast of his mother? His universe was so close to any other otherness. Apparently reserved and distant men were giving him all kind of affections. And everything without this creature is being placed in the space of a childhood burdened with exceptionality.
Looks, smiles, approval of the women who, seeing my hands painted with henna, made me a place among them. The men, confused with my trousers and the hawli until they noticed this feminine distinctive sign, were stretching my hand to greet.
The personal relations are shaped by means of tea. This afternoon with Abdoulaye that left so faint sensation and not compelling of the circumstances and revealing at the same time the depth of the meanings to share.
The hour to say goodbye arrives. How soon we can return?