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When the drumming began, men and women rose to dance – slow, rippling movements under flickering torchlight. Anna closed her eyes, feeling tears slip down her cheeks.
> She thought: Their God is not my God. Yet here in this circle, I feel closer to Him than I ever did in a cathedral.
Amastan leaned down, whispering against her hair. “You are crying.”
“I am alive,” she whispered back. “That is reason enough.”
Anna sat beside Amastan, feeling the cool sand beneath her thighs. Incense smoke curled upwards, carrying scents of myrrh and desert herbs. A young girl sprinkled perfumed water over her feet, murmuring in Arabic: “May the spirits guard your path.”
At nightfall, the camp gathered in the sand-cleared circle under date palms. A Tuareg elder began chanting verses from the Quran, his voice low and trembling. Behind him, Hausa women shook calabash rattles, weaving melodies into his prayers.
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Inspired by @Diane-de-la-Cheneraye