On Nomadism and Memories
On the Nile river valley a bedouin is travelling alone, fighting against the hot temperatures and sharp winds. When we aren’t expecting anything, his destiny becomes inexplicably astonishing.
The sultry desert was blowing its sand, dusting my eyes at every inch I progressed forward. Far from me, I was peering at an oasis: ‘it shouldn’t be a mirage’, I remember convincing myself. The wind was upholding my vision by bringing a vibrant floral scent to my nose.
I carried on, slowly but fiercely, almost as if the aromas that were hovering around in the air had a magnetic lure on me.
My penchant for discovery and love for the unexpected were leading me into an impenetrable hiding place, activating every primal instinct of my body. When I reached the first jasmine flowers, I couldn’t inspect what was past those green and white bushes.
Following a trail of warm spices, I trembled towards what I believed was going to appear before my glistening eyes: a precious pool of water. Instead, a heaven materialised right in front of me: not only water and waterfalls, but a whole leafy and flourishing shelter, covered in agarwood and inebriating balmy scents.
The sensual musk-soaked air was so unforgettable that, if I close my eyes, I can still feel it inside of me, after having penetrated my lungs for infinite hours that day.