Thomas

In the quiet hours of the morning, when the sun and moon are on both horizons, stiffened riders strut like wide-legged cowboys, taking down their tents and packing their gear.  We ride along a corridor of date palms and past squat, leafy groves of bananas. 

 

At the end of our ride, I met Thomas, a 23 year old man looking more like 13 year old boy.  He explains that his entire family looks like this.  I didn’t believe him at first, but as we spoke, both his command of English and understanding of business lead me to think otherwise.  Everything was business with him, including his gaze, concentrating on my every word; I could see he was intent on understanding every utterance.  As I spoke, he would take the last three words of my sentence and repeat them, like a mantra.  Muttering these changing words and then yes, yes, yes, he nodded his head and cast his staring eyes towards the Nile.  We sat along a whitewash wall, smoking shisha and watching busses and empty horse carriages trot along.

 

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