The Island

There’s a little girl here, Hora.

Her mother is the housekeeper.

Twice Hora has asked that I sit beside her,

so I can listen to her “read” from one of four or five books in various languages.

I’m certain that someday she’ll be a linguist.

After this morning’s read, I had breakfast with Abdo,

the proprietor of the Basmatic House.

I learned much from him about the Nubians, of which he is one of nearly everyone who lives permanently on the Island.

Abdo shared the painful history of the Aswan Dam and what the Egyptian government did to his people.  A story for another time.

Just before leaving, Abdo gave me the address for the Basmatic - معديه جزيره اسوان النجع القبلي بجوار حديقه فريال ومصر للطيران - should I ever get lost.

There are no cars on Elephantine Island.  No paved roads.

Just a single path,

that connects the quiet side of the Island with the other,

where tourists take a boat or ferry from Aswan

to visit long enough for a cup of tea or a Nubian meal.

For lunch I had camel, served with rice, a salad, and Nubian bread. 

Incredible.

I’ll never think of camels the same again.

After lunch, I wandered back, losing my way. From previous travels, I’ve found this to be a good thing.

It’s in between the quiet side and the more hectic that life is lived.

It’s where the work is done,

the visiting,

the going to and from,

the children play.

It’s where the animals tend to each other,

sustain themselves,

and go about their business.

After a nap and late dinner, I wandered again, taking in a soccer match,

and a game of sorts,

in which long sticks are used to knock a small, unknown fruit from the branches into the hands of those adept at their retrieval.

Upon returning, I visited with Mufasa’s mother,

a quiet woman but very wise.

Just about to turn in, a visitor arrived,

a very persistent young lady.