Release of the Book

Today is the day! The day that the paper version of “Where the Sky Meets the Sand” is released. I follow a few other authors and from what they post, “release day” is a big deal. So far it doesn’t feel any different, okay it is only six am. I guess I feel like I should do something today, like stand on a street corner and announce this news to passers-by. I will probably clean house instead.  

Here is another installment from the lost files of the novel. In this scene, the boy has accepted a ride on the roof of the jeep taking the American woman and her husband to the safari camp. It will be one of many new experiences for the boy.

At one stop, the driver leaned out the window and looked up at the boy. He handed him a clear bottle. Inside was a liquid so clear that the boy could see right through it. He tilted the bottle and wondered what it was. It was like it was almost invisible, yet he knew the fluid was in there.

“It is water. Drink it,” the driver commanded. “The woman is worried you are thirsty.”

The boy never thought about being thirsty. It was just the way it was, his mouth and throat dry most of the day. A drink from the muddy river when the goats were done and the hot chai tea with breakfast and dinner were the only liquids he consumed throughout the typical day. Some days he would get to drink fresh goat’s milk, and on very special days, the men would gather to bleed the large vein in the neck of one of the cows. All of the men would get a drink of the fresh blood to make them strong, and if there was enough, the boys would get a sip. Today was turning out to be even more special than one of those days.

After a few attempts, he figured out how to screw the small cap off the top of the bottle. He still looked at the liquid with suspicion. Water? He thought, how could it be so clear? The water he drank from the river was darker in color than the sand, sometimes darker than the milky chai his mother made.

He brought the bottle to his lips and tentatively took a sip. Just at that time, the truck hit a bump and the water spilled all down his front. He jumped with fear, thinking that the pure liquid would somehow burn him. Instead it felt cool and left a trail through the dust on his bare chest. He used the blanket which was tied around his neck to dry his skin.

He tried again. This time the water wet his dry mouth and flowed down his throat. He tried to recognize the taste. At first he thought it tasted like air, but then as he smacked his lips, he thought it reminded him of the sweet sugar his mother once in a very great while let him sneak from their meager supply. Then he thought it tasted like goat’s milk only not so thick and sticky. Finally he decided it tasted like nothing he had ever had before.

He carefully screwed the cap back on the bottle and studied the water inside. He cursed himself for having wasted so much. The bottle was just over half full. He felt he had to save it; he would only allow himself tiny sips from now on and only when the truck was stopped. He tucked it into the sack still tied to his side.

This picture is from my first trip to Kenya in 2006. The bus we rode in was much larger than the Jeep the boy is riding on in the scene above, but it gives you an idea of the dust the boy was combating. 

This picture, from the same trip, shows the Maasai from the tribe at Mosiro drinking clean water for the first time. They must have felt the same way as the boy.