punished me? Better dead than a slave.
“Excuse me, but I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not a slave. I think you may have
made a mistake.”
The men glanced at each other, and then roared with laughter. I knew that no matter what I
did, or how I behaved, it still wouldn’t change their minds. They were determined to keep me.
It was then that I noticed a large shadow in the sand behind me. Glancing up, my eyes were
greeted with a magnificent beast, standing tall and strong against the setting sun. Its back had
two massive humps, and its fur was a beautiful golden-brown, sharply contrasting with the black
of its beady eye. I instantly knew that it was a camel, not that I’d seen such a beast before. It was
an awe-inspiring sight.
I was jolted back into reality by the men discussing me, one obviously giving orders to the
other one. They finished their discussion, and the larger one walked away, limping slightly on one
leg. The other man, who later introduced himself as Ganzorig, took the piece of rope hanging from
the side of the camel and looped it around my wrists. He led me towards the back of the line of
camels, where several other young boys were standing, each one attached to the boy in front of
him by a piece of rope. Ganzorig tied me on at the end of this line of cruelty, filling my body with
despair as he slowly walked away, leaving only a line of fading footprints in the sand.
I eventually got used to the relentless thirst, the yearning hunger, and the awful fatigue that
this brought upon me. Each day, we had to walk from dawn to sunset, only stopping once a day
for a miniscule water break and some oat flour porridge. The caravan (a word Ganzorig had taught
me) traveled on like this day-by-day, week-by-week, month-by-month, each moment slipping
away. I eventually learnt the names of the boys in front of me, each one of their tales even more
desperate than mine.
It was when I lost all hope that a miracle happened. It was only a small one, but it still gave
me enough strength to carry on, to keep my chin up and continue with my backbreaking journey.
It was the arrival of my younger sister.
It was a freezing cold night, so cold that you could feel the biting frost chilling you down to
the bone, when it happened. We were about to settle down for the night, and out on the horizon
you could see a tiny figure, stumbling slightly over the dunes, heading towards the caravan. I
paid no attention at first, but when it got closer I could see it was a young girl clothed in a yellow
tunic. Around her neck was a lime green scarf, similar to the one that my sister was wearing on
the morning I last saw her. It was then I realized that it was my sister. Beautiful, loving, silly
Naransetseg. She had come back from the dead.
About half an hour later, she reached me, hidden by the engulfing darkness. Small arms
enveloped me, and I suddenly realized how much I’d missed her. We stayed curled up like that for
the whole night, my body sheltering hers against the biting wind and coldness.
I awoke to a blanket of snow covering my body. I suddenly remembered last night’s events.
Had it been real? Or was I a dream? Suddenly, a tiny hand pushed itself up from under the snow.
It was true! Naransetseg was alive and with me!
It was then that I realized the consequences of Naransetseg’s arrival. What would the leader of
the caravan do to her? He certainly wouldn’t let me look after her. We had to escape while it was still
snowing, so as to cover our footprints. But how would we escape the bonds tying me to the caravan?
We had nothing to cut it with, and it would be a while before I was thin enough to slip out
of them.
