Sons of the Sphinx

The sun burns like I am sitting on top of it. Shading my face, I look around. We’re in the middle of a city, but no city that I’ve ever been in. Some people are dressed similar to Tut, but there are also people in long white gowns. Women balancing baskets on their heads filled with goods walk by, their bodies relaxed in spite of the heavy load they are carrying. They don’t look down but tread confidently along on ground worn smooth by the passage of many feet.

I step back as a line of donkeys and water buffalo approach from the opposite direction. Dark-skinned men lead the animals loaded with wheat, reeds, vegetables and fruits in carriers in the opposite direction of the women. The smell of crushed produce hangs in the air as they file by. Weaving through the crowded street, small children, dressed in short tunics, clamber to pick up the fallen fruit before it is stepped on by beasts and man. Their laughter echoes throughout the street and mixes in with the chatter of strange sounds as the adults twist and bend to avoid them.