Sahara Poem by William Waterway

“I walk across the sands of time
as though they were never there before
except when I stop
turn around
and realize
they will still be here
when I’m no more”

This poem visited me in 1973
our Land Rover was broken
three days of empty emptiness
nothing, nothing as far as the eye could see
nothing as far as the ear could hear
nothing of evidence of any living thing

My wife was crying wet tears as she lay on sandy ground
ground cooled by dark shadow as she lay under the vehicle
a place to escape the scorch of invisible torch
to escape the beat of heat from the silent killer
a stealthy killer wielding an invisible hot knife
a killer with the power to give and take life

I take apart the engine to get at the failed fuel pump
we are in luck, we think - for we have a spare
however, upon assembly – the engine fails to fire
bright light gives way to desert twilight
we lay still as death in the back of the vehicle

a rock shatters curtained side window
peaking out – I see four men
a string of pack camels in tow
two riders dismount with agile ease
they are dressed in long desert robes called jilabas
each has a large sheath knife and a spear
one is pointing at me and yelling strange words

I tell my wife to stay hidden - laying down
stepping out barefoot into coolness of night
I am prepared to die – but not without fight
holding the eyes of the leader within mine
I slowly walk forward - extending my right hand
he takes a few steps - extends his –
fingertips touch
we each withdraw fingers to lips and kiss the tips
he motions with his spear for me to drive away
I wonder if we are on a smuggling highway

with sign language I motion for him to follow
he cautiously stays several steps behind
hand on sheathed knife handle, spear at ready
lifting the Land Rover’s hood
I show him the disassembled engine
his eyes widen, he smiles, he laughs
he yells something to the other three
and they too begin to laugh
soon, they disappear from sight

a slight hush of wind and sliding sand awakens me
taking apart both fuel pumps - I see why each failed
taking best from both – hopefully - making one good one

we drive northwesterly over the rolling sand dunes
in our journey toward the distant Atlas Mountains
our spirits are high – we have escaped - barely
escaped from the potentially deadly Sahara

each time the poem within this poem visits me
I always recall this memory