Fading Desert Footprints (Complete)

'It's just a spring clean for the May Queen.' Stairway to Heaven, Led Zepplin

I sit up at the side of the bed, exhausted, but also restless, like a marathon runner that has one mile left. I put on my shoes, and head down to the hotel lobby with no purpose in mind. I am temporarily deaf; I can't hear anything.

In the lobby, the hotel manager says something to me, and I try to say 'As-salaam Aleikum', but I don't know what actually comes across my lips.

I have decided to drive around El-Fasher until I find a café, or restaurant that looks interesting.

Outside, I wave at a tuk-tuk, and he stops.

I show him some money and he looks at me, confused.

"Drive around city," I say in broken simple English waving my hand and fingers in a wide circle while at the same time pointing down the road. He nods, and we depart.

We pass sand colored homes and various people numbly carrying on their daily routine. I notice a naked child just outside the wall around a house. I spot an Acacia tree covered in plastic shopping bags that have blown into the thorns and become stuck. It looks intentional, like a Christmas tree. It draws my attention to the pollution on the sides of the road, empty bottles, cardboard, wrappers, and plastic sacs.

We pass the outskirts of the souq. I tap the driver on the shoulder. He stops and I get out. I almost forget to pay him; he shouts but I don't hear him and he holds out his hand angrily. I hand him money; I don't know how much, but he speeds away quickly, as if he stole from me.

I walk down a section of meats; about a dozen vendors with legs of various livestock dangling from string, and flies buzzing happily around them. I see a goats head, and it makes me gag.

I spy raw chicken lying in the sun, brewing salmonella. A middle-aged woman is bartering for it, arms waving energetically, but the scene looks like a mime.

A salesperson notices my reaction, and waves. He talks; I can't hear him but nod anyway. He motions to the back, where a goat contentedly eats grass. It stops, and then looks at me with an expression that says 'I wonder what he is thinking about?'

The butcher motions a cleaver to the goat's leg. I shake my head. He then aims at the shoulder, and then the rear. I like my steak and potatoes, but I cannot select my cutlet from the animal as it watches me. I probably should be a vegetarian. I leave the stall.

I had stepped on some mud between stalls, and I resolve to throw out these shoes at the end of the trip rather than pack them.

The next set of cubicles hold vegetables; there are five in a row selling potatoes, carrots, lettuce, and other vegetables that I could find at my local grocery store.

I turn down another aisle, and I am in the clothing quarter. I stop, close my eyes, and the noise of the market finally catches up to me as if I was always several steps ahead of the din. The sounds gradually increase, as if the volume of the world was being turned up. The market noise is now deafening. I continue my aimless walk.

An old hunched woman that looks like a witch speaks to me as I walked by her stall.

"You should go to Youssef's for coffee. He has very good coffee." She points down the aisle diagonally. I ignore her and continue.

In the next section are stalls selling an assortment of very nice looking shoes. A man runs out from inside his shop. I don't want to buy shoes, so I avoid looking at him.

"My friend," he says, assuming too much, "you must go to Youssef's, he has very very good coffee."

I assume that there is a java section, and I am beginning to believe them, that Youssef might be a talented barista, but, I avoid afternoon caffeine.