I walk down the dusty path along the central road through town. The sun relentlessly beats down on the parched ground. The path is a mosaic of footprints, telling stories from all walks of life. From Nike prints to the small bare feet of a young child; donkey hoofs, dogs’ paws and chicken feet all make their way along this pathway. My footprints blend in, temporarily becoming one with this distant world. Only the winds of time erase the footsteps of the past and offer a new canvass to imprint even the smallest journeys of our life.
Unhurriedly I walk out of the town and observe the proud concrete buildings turn into humble mud huts. Small gardens in front of these elemental dwellings are demarcated from the surrounding grounds by an array of empty beer bottles neatly stuck in the ground with determined precision. A bit of green disrupts the monotony of the arid landscape. A group of men play cards under a makeshift umbrella in retreat of the searing afternoon sun. They gesture for me to join. I am in no mood for jovial activities.
Today I received an email from my son's mother. I cannot help but continuously think of her words as they race through my mind with deafening blows. I have abandoned my son. My correspondence will be censored. She and his step dad will not encourage a relationship with me. He will not be allowed to travel with me - my dreams to share one of my greatest passions with my son are calculatedly extinguished. So great were my desires to share some of my traveling experiences with him; to open his eyes to worlds that many will never have the opportunity to experience. To share with him the varied and vibrant cultures and those moments in time that ultimately define our existence.
During a time of new experiences, adventure and excitement I feel deeply melancholic. I will carry this sadness with me knowing that my son cannot be here to share these impressionable moments with me. Perhaps the winds of time will gently blow.