As I pedal along just outside Dongola having pedaled about 170km today, making up for the the sand storm loss of a day, I peer around looking for a hidden place to camp. Every nook and cranny of the fertile Nile fed Sahara desert community seems occupied. As 170km becomes 180 km I wonder if sleeping with the truck drivers might not be a bad option, although always a last resort. I spot a deserted mud brick building missing quite a few stones to the side of the road and push Pandemic in the engulfing sand to the three sided minus a few stones seemingly deserted shelter.
I turn suddenly startled by the mild bark of a goat, a welcoming chicken is walking towards me, a good indication that there are people nearby. I park Pandemic and walk the remaining 100 meters in deep sand under the orange sky of another desert day gone by to look for people to ask if I can put my tent near them.
An old blind woman with face tattoos across her glowing elated cheeks bounces up from her resting mat, her happy henna dyed golden orange hair bouncing with wild surprise and a giant welcome. Her crevassed face tattoos sunken between wrinkles indicating her tribe, buckle deep under her smile. The old lady with white glossy cataracts and a golden orange smile takes my hand and rubs my sun burnt dirty face to recognize me by feel. She stands holding my hands and face as her daughter grins ear to ear with a welcoming wave and the offer of tea.
The old lady grins to a chuckle while holding my hands and motions for me to bring my bicycle inside the open walled cement area. The daughter, the word thin, a definite understatement, bounces off to the kitchen on the other side of the wall. I am motioned to join her. Together we place sticks lite of fire under a flat piece of metal, salvaged most likely from a roof destroyed by the winds. We begin to scoop flour and water onto the hot metal to make thin large bread pieces to accompany a small pot of beans that are resting over a tripod of rocks warming over the open fire.
We sit together on the dirt floor, grinning at each other and share a meal. As the last of the sun fades away, the lonesome light bulb on the wall glows warm camaraderie, as smiling gives way to unneeded words. After diner, I am brought some cooking oil for my face. I gratefully smear cooking oil onto my gritty dirty face. Next I am given perfumed oil to smear on my face. The three of us smile and smear our faces, feet and hands with thick oil into the flickering moments of the early evening. We drift off together over the dirt floor, I am covered with a large scarf and offered the thickest blanket. I offer the blanket to the old lady who will not take it. I drift off to sleep with an oily sun burnt dirt smeared smile thinking about my hardly used cell phone, noodles and cans of tuna that I have in my bags which I will offer to my new friends in the morning as a thank you for such a wonderful evening.