In mid-morning stillness, a distant horn sounds across the sands. I find it odd and unsettling; the Sahara is mostly silent except for winds and whispers of sand. From behind a golden dune, a lone figure emerges: a tall man in worn leather and dyed cloth, mounted on a rust-brown camel. The man dismounts with grace, a shepherd of suns in his gaze. He calls himself Jabari and speaks with a voice like thunder over grasslands.
Jabari says he has wandered the desert following stories of a man who moves mountains with his mind. The legends weave through Africa like desert winds--tales of miracles as old as the Sahara itself. His eyes are piercing, as if he already sees how the sky trembles. Intrigued, I decide to trust him, cautiously.
Over a meager breakfast of dates and goat's cheese, he tells me he is a griot from Congo, a storyteller tasked with carrying truths that many have forgotten. He has heard rumors about a coming darkness in the stars, something his people call the Void's mouth. His stories match the small fears stirring in my heart.
As we speak, he drums a pattern on a calabash, a steady beat that harmonizes with my racing thoughts. Jabari's company reminds me of something gentle and fierce at once--like an ancient breeze that has circled the earth. He doesn't pry at my secret; instead, he shares his own: dreams of ancestors sending an eclipse to wake the world.
I recognize in him a partner of similar weight. He is not a skeptic or hero-hunter; he simply knows the sky is crying out. Something in his manner, wise and unafraid, eases the loneliness inside me.
When the sun climbs high and shadows crawl back to the north, Jabari must ride onward. He leaves me with words echoing in my head: "Stars remember us as much as we remember them. Keep your gaze open, friend. Aid may come from places we have yet to imagine."
He departs like a whisper on the wind, but my thoughts linger on his amber eyes and quiet strength.
In the wake of his visit, the dunes seem less empty. I am not walking this path alone.