A Journey of a Song-One Hundred Times

How many days has it been? I seem to recall six nightfalls and six sunrises since the truck left.

The sweat beads on my forehead and drips down my face. My eyes burn. I blink but it does no good.

Another hot one today. Hotter than the last, I think. My lungs fill with air, dry and scalding. I lick the dust and salt off my cracked lips. The wind kicks up but gives me no reprieve from the heat. I watch the wave of sand sweep across the desert floor and settle as the gust dies.

Somewhere off in the distance, I hear a scuttle as something black scurries quickly across the land and disappears just outside my peripheral vision. I was afraid of the scurries at first, but they are the least of my concern. Now they are some of the only company I have.

There were others when I began, but I’m not going to speak of them. This is my journey now and mine alone to bear.

What time is it? I do not really know anymore. I can only guess by where the sun is in the sky. It has dropped down from its highest point, so somewhere close to four o’ clock, I think.

I start to sing a song my mother used to sing to me when I was young. It is recorded and burned into my head and in my heart. I think of the days when I used to sing it to my daughter. “Again, again,” she’d say. I would sing the song over and over just as I do now. I think I’ve sang it at least a hundred times since my journey began.

My mind wanders imagining that when I see her, I will hold her and sing like I did when she was small. Hope rises in the seat of my soul.

Singing keeps me distracted from the pain. My aching legs are heavy and tiered. My shoes rub my swollen, blistered feet. I’m not sure I even feel them anymore. They are numb. I am numb.

I refuse to succumb to what my body wants. It wishes to lay down here now and go to sleep. I must keep moving though. One more step, two more steps, three.

How many steps have I taken since I first began to sing? I look back at the vastness. A landscape of all the same, sand and sky. The sun is now front and center in the blue half of the horizon.

My shoulders are burdened. The pack I carry has gotten heavier. There was not much to bring. I left most of my belongings in my old life. The life I wash my hands of except for my daughter. She is the light in my darkness.

How much further must I travel? That I cannot answer. I follow my compass guide that shows me I’m still heading South. South is my refuge.

I try to continue to sing, and gasp for air. My mouth is parched and dry. I need to save my energy. Still hearing the song in my head, I reserve what little energy and breath I have as I continue to walk. One foot in front of the other, they sink into the sand with each labored step.

As I trudge towards the south horizon, I lift my head that is weighted by the little rest it has received since I began. My eyes strain to make out something they see in the distance.

I get closer. A large, glorious body of water forms with an object of sorts on its surface. I blink. How can this possibly be? I do not know of any water that lays in the South.

Have I been traveling in the wrong direction? I wonder if the compass is broken. I tap it. The arrow fluctuates but lands back to point to the S.

I walk towards the water. My immense thirst is what drives me now for I sipped my last drop of water yesterday. A sense of relief washes over me as I continue.

Not too far from the water’s edge, the object I see comes into plain view as a ship off in the distance. I exhale out. I am relieved to finally see a sign of humanity.

Delirious, I keep walking towards the ship that grows bigger and clearer the closer get. I wave my arms. “Here!” I shout with what little breath is left in me.

“Hey!” I try to shout again. This time it comes out as a whisper through my raw, dry throat. With my eyes still fixed on the ship, I can start to make out the details of its brown wood base, mast, and sails.

A few more steps forward and suddenly, as mysteriously as it appeared, its gone. They are gone. The ship and the body of water no longer sit, resting on the soft floor of sand.

“Noooo!” escapes my bleeding lips and they purse behind the word.

My mind is not my friend today. My heart sinks with the ship that has vanished. My hope is lost among the waves and washed out with the sea.

The tears try to come but there are none in me. My will gives in to the beckoning of my throbbing legs and I drop to the ground to where the water’s edge once was.

I am tired. My body constricts and curls as muscles seize, having their way with me. I’ll just go to sleep and it will be alright. I close my eyes and see my daughter.

“Again!” she says.

In my head, my mother’s lullaby plays.

“There, over there!” a voice calls.

A vehicle approaches.

I feel a touch of a hand.

I am free.

I was inspired to write this story after reading about the thousands of asylum seekers in Africa that are expelled by Algeria and stranded in the Sahara Desert. In September 2020 alone, “Algeria had expelled over 3,400 migrants of at least 20 nationalities to Niger, including 430 children and 240 women, according to humanitarian organizations in Niger.” -Human Rights Watch