A Coffee Break

A continent where the mind purifies, the spirit repairs itself and we find God. Oh vast silence, oh nights spent in the open air, how you invigorate the body and strengthen the soul.
–Ferdinando Martini

The sun emerges like fiery peach against the purple plum horizon. It soon hangs in the empty desert sky, refracting along windborne sand. The ride is silent, except for the hiss of sand. It drifts across the road in steady streams, like beams of light, intent on collecting and covering the tarmac scar.

As oncoming trucks approach, I cower like an entrenched solider. The groan of the diesel engine gets louder and I wait for a spattering of sand. It passes and I point my face towards the ground. A second later, shrapnel-like sand numbs the front of my body and echoes off my helmet. Soon, sugar cube dwellings and a checkered water tower signal an upcoming village. I decide to stop for a coffee in a sad courtyard.

Three gentlemen crouch across from me as the water boils. Shroud in a tasseled, brown blanket, one squats and sips spiced chai, holding the base and rim of the glass with his thumb and forefinger. A stained white turban envelopes his head below the blanket. His ashy feet and scaly legs match his brown plastic sandals.

Squinting into the sun, he opens his mouth, exposing yellowing teeth, likely due to the amount of sugar in the local coffee and tea. He pulls a blue Nivia can from his pocket. Looking at his skin, I am doubtful that the tin still contains moisturizer. He opens the tin, takes a pinch tobacco and puts it under his lip—an adding factor for his yellowing teeth.

He pulls out a lid to a Twinkie box and flips it to show the cardboard underside. It has crude drawings of busses and trucks. The artist seems to be 18 or so but the drawings look like they are at a 2nd or 3rd grade level. There are two wheels with a rough frame that exaggerates the cab and clearance for wheels.

The other two gentlemen have three parallel lines on either cheek. They look like down turned whiskers. I ask about them and they gesture with their fingers that they are related to each other. They are all leaning against a cement wall looking like it has been blasted by sand numerous sandstorms. Flecks of paint are the only clue that this rundown courtyard has not always looked like this.
I finish my coffee and am on my way.