Abdullahi cast a sideward glance at the woman in the burqa riding on the camel beside his. The sharp eyes stared back at him and he glanced quickly away.

‘If Allah wills it, we shall be in the city before the sun sets,’ his voice was unusually high-pitched. He had not had a woman in months and there was already a stirring in his loins.

‘May Allah have mercy on me,’ he muttered under his breath, trying to dispel the impure thoughts going through his head.

He looked sideways again, and her eyes were still on him. Out of habit, he tried to swallow but the dry desert air had parched his throat. His companion swayed gently on the hump on the camel, the only interesting object amid the expanse of dead sand. Once again, he imagined how she must look under the shapeless gown.

‘Abdullahi,’ she spoke for the first time in many days. Her voice was soft, almost musical. She pointed ahead. ‘Look.’

He cursed loudly, his hand reaching for his sword as he espied the three Bedouin charging down the dune towards them. He leaned towards his companion and delivered a smart slap to the rump of her camel. It turned around and began to double to safety. He uttered an ancient war cry, and lifting his sword above his head, urged his camel on.

‘I shall return,’ he cried.

‘May Allah go with you,’ she called after him.

The attackers separated, their dirty headdresses fluttering behind them as they tried to encircle him. By some dint of luck, one of the oncoming camels slipped and fell, giving him an opening. Abdullahi’s sword sank into the shoulder of one of the men and he let out a shrill, animal yowl.

He heard the sharp whistle of a sword slicing through air and he turned a little too late. The sword slashed his slide, leaving a gaping wound some distance below his ribs. Before the man could strike again, Abdullahi switched the sword to his left hand and severed the man’s sword hand from the wrist in one stroke.

The last man was wary, fear showing in his shift eyes. They sat looking at each other for what seemed like ages.

‘I only wish to help my friends,’ he yelled, indicating his two fellows who were in agony.

‘Then help them,’ Abdullahi replied, adding a threat. ‘Or by Allah, I shall have your head.’

He started back down the dune, holding his hand to his side to staunch the flow of blood. By the time he got to his companion, he was faint with thirst.

Behind the veil, his charge’s eyes were wide with wonder.

‘It is true what the Tuaregs say of you ‘ you are a man to be feared, Abdullahi,’ she bowed slightly ‘ more to his bravery than to his status. She was far wealthier than he could ever be.

‘By Allah! You are wounded,’ she exclaimed. He looked down at his wound, realizing now why he felt dizzy ‘ he had lost too much blood. The sticky blood seeped through his fingers and the side of his camel was crimson. His head swam and the images In front of him swam in and out of focus. He tilted forward, then all was black.

When he came to, it was almost dark and he was lying on some blankets. He started to rise but gentle hands held his head back

‘You must rest Abdullahi,’ her voice came from behind him. ‘We have come a long way and you are weak.’ He tried to remember the last time he’d had his head in someone’s lap. It was a distant memory, and it only brought sadness.

He sat up. She did not restrain him this time.

‘You speak true words, Hajiyah,’ he said. ‘We shall rest till morning, but now I must say my prayers.’

Water is precious in the desert ‘oases are few and far between, and many a foolish, unprepared traveler had died because of insufficient water. This was why Abdullahi performed a dry ablution by touching his hands lightly to the desert sand and going through the ancient cleansing ritual.

His prayer was rushed, as he could not bow completely due to the pain in his side. He returned to the Hajiyah as soon as he was done. He noticed then that she had set up camp long before he awoke ‘ the tent was expertly set, perhaps better than he could have done, and the camels were unloaded and resting.

He clapped loudly in front of the tent.

‘Come in, Abdullahi,’ her voice came from within. He parted the tent flap and stepped in.

She was sitting on a rug without a veil, her hair loosened, the gold in her earrings glittering in the light of the fire.

‘May Allah reward you greatly for your help, Hajiyah,’ he said after offering her some dried dates.

‘After he has rewarded you,’ she replied.

‘Come and sit with me Abdullahi,’ she said. ‘And tell me of your exploits.’

‘I am but a humble desert guide,’ he bowed his head. ‘My experiences can hardly be called exploits.’

‘As you wish,’ she waved her uncovered hands. In the desert, women frequently went uncovered so her exposure had no other effect on him than to confirm she had smooth flawless skin. ‘Tell me ‘ they say you have won a fight against fifteen men before.’

He sat down heavily, grimacing both at the pain in his side and at the exaggeration someone had made of some fight he had won in the past.

‘That is not true,’ he replied. ‘The only time I fought against fifteen men, just one of them beat me up soundly.’

‘And made a mark on your chest with a dagger ‘ on your left breast,’ she said.

Abdullahi stiffened with alarm. She was watching him, a devilish smile on her face.

‘You have a very good imagination, Hajiyah,’ he croaked.

‘I know what I speak of, Abdul-Aziz,’ she picked another date, and balancing it on the nail plate of her thumb, flicked it at him. It hit his lower lip and fell to the ground.

‘Aisha,’ he whispered, remembering. ‘It cannot be.’

‘Look at me Aziz,’ she held out her hands. ‘What does your heart tell you?’

His heart was beating too wildly to tell him anything.

‘Why did you run away?’ she asked, lowering her arms.

‘I did not want to anger your father, the Sheikh,’ he gritted his teeth. ‘He sent those men to kill me and only by the will of Allah was I able to escape.’

‘I could have run away with you, Aziz,’ she looked down.

‘Aishatu,’ eh shook his head again. ‘Our case was hopeless. You are of high birth – you could not have married the son of a butcher.’

‘I loved you,’ she said, then in a voice so tiny he had to strain his ears. ‘I love you.’

He wanted to hold her and yet he did not want to hold her. There was something strange about her he couldn’t pinpoint.

Slowly, seductively, she crawled across the rug towards him. He watched her graceful movements, not daring to breathe or speak.

When her lips touched his, it was like kissing fire. He pulled her to himself, unmindful of the pain in his side as he undressed her slowly, sighing with admiration as each inch of skin came into view.

At last she lay naked before him, a naughty gleam in her eyes as she watched him drink in all of her with his.

They stared at each other, the only sounds coming from his clothes as she tore them off. She looked appreciatively over his well-toned muscles, blushing as her gaze went lower.

Their hot flesh met and they cried out together as they gave in to their passion. It was over in two minutes, and she held his head to her breats, stroking his hair.

‘It’s been a long time,’ he finally broke the silence.

‘Me too,’ she said, and he could feel her face get warm as she flushed underneath him.

The next morning, Abdullahi woke with a start. He rose to his feet and covered the sleeping Aisha with a blanket, grimacing from the pain in his side. Neither of them had slept much and the movements had taken a tool on his wound.

 He was troubled. Instinct told him he was in some sort of danger. He performed his ablutions and went outside to pray, facing the east.

While praying he thought he heard a sound behind him, but he waited until he was done. When he turned around his mouth hung open.

The tent and the camels had vanished. He stood scratching his beard, then realized it was much longer.

Cursing Aisha and her ilk, he began to trudge towards the village, wondering why he was not as fast as he once was. He arrived at noon the next day and made his way to the bazaar, wondering what Ali would think of hsi dusty, tattered clothes. The stalls were much newer adn he had difficulty finding his way to the one he was looking for. Just as he was about giving up, he found it.

‘Asalam alaikum,’ he announced loudly, in front of the stall.

The man in the red skullcap waved the flies away from the meat in frotn of him and looked up.

‘Wa alaikum salam waRahmat ulLahi waBarakatuhu,’ he replied. The face was much wizened and Abdullahi had trouble recognizing his brother.

‘Ali,’ he said tiredly. ‘You have changed.’

‘AbdulAziz!’ Ali exclaimed, recognizing him. He dashed out of the store and threw his arms around his neck. ‘Wallahi you have become old!’

‘Do you have water? My feet are dirty,’ Abdullahi asked.

‘Harun! Harun!’ Ali cried, looking around. A young boy, not quite eight years old, came running towards them. Ali felled him with a cuff behind his ear and he tumbled in the dust.

‘You run away to play with your friends and I’ll wring your neck,’ Ali threatened. ‘Go and get water for my brother to wash his feet or I’ll…’

Ali usually carried out his threats even before he made them. The boy scampered out of his reach. Abdullahi followed him with his eyes until he was out of sight.

‘He’s back!’ Ali shouted. ‘Praise be to Allah, my brother’s back! After thirty years…’

Thirty years? Abdullahi wondered. How could a journey of a fortnight become thirty years?

People were beginning to gather, and slowly, it dawned on him what had happened.

Bottles of milk were pressed into his hand and the crowd grew as he told his story.

Once again, Abdullahi was famous – not as the warrior who could fight with both hands, but as the man who had slept with a jinn and lived to tell the tale.