steppingacrosstheplanet

Remains in my vision
The red dirt road ribboned along a wild sapphire ocean to the village of Tiwi. Alone, tyres crunching, we passed high white cement walls punctuated with gates sporting a raised painted Arabic design. The sun pulsated high in a cloudless sky and we were hungry. The smell of barbecued meat swirled around us, peppered with the briny scent of sea air. The wind dropped and the faint sounds of the ocean disappeared. A gate creaked open, and a man appeared wearing the kandura and a woven circular cap. He was carrying a huge round silver tray laden with a fully cooked animal atop steaming rice. The meat was charred and glistening with oil. An identically dressed man stepped out behind him, but wearing a white full apron smeared red. The butcher of Tiwi. Suddenly the village was full of people. Gates opened noisily and little boys ran out in their kanduras and caps, pushing each other, while tiny girls stepped out in bright long dresses, their hair not yet covered, chattering and holding hands. They stared at our car then waved and smiled. We pushed forward tentatively as the pedestrian traffic grew. Behind the gates we saw white houses and glimpses of washed clothes strung up, men in white carrying huge round trays topped with meat and rice while other men scrubbed cars and set up tables and chairs. We drove by rusty drums as high as our car bonnet. Things were poking out of them, like poles, construction remnants. Wherever I looked, there were bins with long straight things poking out. I looked closely, the poles had white hair. There were other shapes in the bins with two glossy black things on them that glinted as we drove by. Another shape was hurled into the bin. Thud. It quivered and was faintly recognisable. I had seen it at a different angle, in the town before. It had brayed. I thought it cute then and had taken a photograph. The shape in the bin was a goats head. The poles were discarded goats legs with hooves on the end.
Eid in Oman.