This Means Hope

"Move!"

My brown eyes dart up in search of the owner of that voice, just in time to get shoved into the dirt.

My palms come in contact with the ground firstly, as my body follows. I groan, scrunching up my face and pull my chin up. I can feel the scrapes on my hands and feet bustle. The smell of the things on sale today and many conversations surround me. My long black hair covers my face.

Through the moving people of the market, I just catch sight of the rude person. Of course it's a tourist, with his plump sunburnt body and big sunglasses. He fixes his cap on his head as he speed walks away, not a thought towards the young girl he just pushed. I roll my eyes and heave myself up onto my feet, brushing off my plum coloured dress before I get trampled. "The typical tourist," I say to myself. "I bet our little money that he's visiting those stupid mud houses."

I squint, trying to make out what’s hanging around his neck. It looks like a little black box. I can't help my eyebrows knitting themselves into a puzzled expression. I duck my head this way and that, trying to get a better view, but he disappears into the crowd.

"Hey Jasmeen." comes a familiar voice from behind me. I whip around. From the look of his high cheekbones (though he won't admit it), dark skin like the rest of us and wild black hair, I can tell its Murad. Of course I would recognize him - he is my best friend! His face stretches into his trademark wide grin. "You didn't know what that thing was, did you?"

I smile. Of course he has to be a know-it-all.

"It's called a camera. It takes things called photos and stuff." He quickly explains, "Anyway, you are in so much trouble - your mum wanted you back half an hour ago!" Then he grabs me by the hand and drags me through the mass of customers.

I stumble after him, eventually shaking his grip off. We push past female tourists in tank tops and yelling dark-skinned salesmen. I brush up against a donkey and his owner, and a small lost boy. I have an urge to help him, but Murad ushers me on as I get swept into the mass. People breathe on my neck and I feel slightly claustrophobic. I swear the people are closing in on me, I pick up the pace. A bead of sweat gathers on my forehead and my heart drums.

I must get out, I must get out.

I gasp for breath as we pop into the open. I can feel the heat of Murad’s concern but I don’t look at him. My eyes dart around cautiously, as if I could collapse. My throat constricts into a hard gulp and I straighten up, nodding to my friend that I’m alright to go ahead.

We continue to walk, in silence, to our place. I release the tension on my muscles and my heart rate lowers to normal. Murad gives me an odd look as I giggle to myself. I’m an idiot, I think.     Being not really talkative, and Murad doesn't say anything, we don’t speak.

I wrap my arms around my thin body as we pad along in bare feet. My tummy rumbles for the thousandth time and I run my fingers over my bony ribs. They poke out all over the place.

“I'm so hungry.” I murmur. So incredibly hungry.

Murad pulls a smile in an attempt to look sympathetic. “Who isn’t?”

But I need food, I silently whine.

Food consumes our lives; we work for food, we hunt for food, our lives depend on food and we never make a decision without first thinking of food.

My tummy rumbles again as if to tease me. I push the thought to the back of my mind and fix my gaze to straight ahead. Thankfully, in no time we're standing outside our homes.