was getting dark. The streetlights had died decades before.
I was concentrating on the darkness and road when, quite suddenly, the engine
stopped. As any owner of a Korean Jeep knows, it can be temperamental at the
best of times. I pulled over to the shoulder and pledged my love for the spirit
of the car. Nothing. So I tried every trick that had ever worked. Still nothing.
There can be few situations more fearful than breaking down in darkness on
the highway leading to Casablanca. I have rarely felt quite so vulnerable
or alone. I abandoned the vehicle and, after considerable difficulty, managed
to hitchhike home, the honey clutched in my arms.
That night when I closed my eyes, the black faded to a warm
yellowy red. We were at a camel market near Guelmine, on the
edge of the Sahara. My father wanted us to see camels. He said that
to understand the desert you had to understand camels, and to
understand camels you had to understand the people who kept
them. Camels, Sahrawis and sand were all interlinked, he said.
I didn't like camels much because they stank, and I hated the
sand because it got between my toes and into the food. My father
told me a story about a little boy who ran away into the desert
and dreamed of becoming a fish. It was a strange tale with an
even stranger ending.
We all laughed at it.
'Did you like the story, Tahir Jan?'
'Yes, Baba.'
'Do you understand it?'
'Yes, I think so.'
'Keep it with you. As the years pass, you will feel it change
inside you.'
'How will it change, Baba?'
'It will be in there, growing quietly. One day you will realize
that it has done something very wonderful.'
'What will it do, Baba?'
'It will bear fruit.'
The next morning I decided to drain our bank account dry and
buy a brand-new Land Cruiser. I had never bought a new car
before. It had always seemed an extravagance way beyond my
bank balance. But an evening marooned on the highway
changed my outlook on priorities.
At breakfast, Zohra had noticed me all dressed up and asked
where I was going.
'To buy a new car,' I said bashfully.
'Tsk! Tsk! Tsk!' she barked. 'If you go in a suit, they will
double the price. Believe me. I speak the truth.'
I went back upstairs and changed into a moth-eaten sweater
and a torn pair of jeans. Then I made my way through the
shantytown on foot, towards the road. As I waited to hail a little
red taxi, I heard someone yelling my name. I looked round. It
was Zohra. She was waving a sieve and running as fast as her
bedroom slippers could carry her.
'You must take this!' she crowed. 'Don't forget it, I told you
before!'
I put the sieve in my bag and took a taxi to the largest
Toyota dealership I could find. The guardians had caught
wind of my plan to buy a new car and insisted that it be a
Toyota. Korean Jeeps were for the dim-witted, they said
in agreement, but Toyotas were for bold, fearless men.
At the dealership, I pulled out the sieve and toyed with it
threateningly. When the salesman was ready for me, I held it up,
told him I was not a tourist and demanded a large discount.
'Monsieur,' he said straightening his tie, 'tourists do not
usually buy our vehicles. They tend to rent.'
Straining to look aloof, I enquired what models of Land
Cruiser they had available.
'You will of course be requiring all the usual extras,
Monsieur?'
He scribbled a figure on the corner of the brochure.
'No, no,' I said, 'I just want the basic model. No need for all
that expensive stuff.'
The Toyota man seemed concerned.
'No leather seats, no cruise control, turbo engine, air bags or
alloy wheels?' he choked in disbelief.
'No. None of that stuff. I just want to get from A to B without
breaking down.'
'But, Monsieur . . .'
'But what?'
'But, Monsieur, if you take only the basic model . . .'
'Yes?'
'How will anyone be impressed?'
FOUR
Kings rule men; wise men rule kings.
Abu el-Aswad
BACK AT DAR KHALIFA, THE GUARDIANS WERE HARD AT WORK painting the doors with honey. They