They all huddled around the bonfire: Najia, Ciao, Ma, Fa and several other nomads, anxious
to know what happened to Yanxun, the eldest son of the family. Najia hadn’t seen him for a
year, and she missed him terribly. In his letter he told them how life was different from living in
Beijing and in desert: he received education in a government school but found he couldn’t speak
proper Mandarin; he gaped at his first sight of the television. He even mentioned he was having
coughs because of serious smog there. The family couldn’t believe that last bit of information and
they thought he must be telling some kind of joke, because the air was fresh and clean here. The
maximum pollution they’ve ever had was some rare days of dust particles sprinkled in the air.
Najia learnt from Yanxun’s letters that it was the city’s industrial development which gave those
fuzzy smoke, but she didn’t think it could cause disease.
‘But in Beijing life has never been more cozy: we have hot water baths every day, and comfortable
bed sheets to sleep on. People in the boarding house are kind to me. The Management Committee
has settled most of my belongings...’ Najia continued reading the letter out loud. Two years ago the
nomads learnt of a ‘urban residence settlement’ programme for desert dwellers wished to experience
city life, and the trials lasted for a year. If desert tribes found the experience enjoyable, they could
choose to live in the city permanently, with the government providing subsidies to cease financial
burdens. Yanxun, exuberant and curious, signed up for the course immediately.
‘Don’t worry, Najia,’ he told a weeping Najia a year ago, ‘I will come back for the desert, and
I’ll still be me when I’m back.’
Najia thought about it and at the same time finished reading the letter. She saw Ma was in
tears, embracing Ciao tightly.
‘I wonder...for just a tiny fraction of a second, that whether he...he sometimes thinks of us at
night,’ stuttered Ciao, her eyes watery, ‘like the way we think of him now. And I see him too, in
my dreams, like he has never really left us.’
I wonder if he still remembers the gazelles’ migration, the feel of soft wind on his face, and
the taste of mutton? I wonder if he is so fascinated by the new environment that he would forget
the shape of the sand dunes one day? Najia thought. She crept into her sleeping bag, snuggled up
and pretended to be asleep.
What she didn’t reveal to Ma was that Yanxun wrote something more in the last paragraph.
‘It’s quite bizarre at first, living in a city...but all I want to ask is that do you want to join the
programme, too? Just let me know when you’ve decided.’
Najia imagined what her future would be if she left the desert. She was keen to learn, and the
voluntary teachers from UNICEF could not satisfy her cravings by simply teaching her how to
read and write Mandarin. Deep in her heart she knew that there were more things waiting outside
this world, and she wanted to pursue them badly. But she couldn’t bear the thought that one day,
she might be tempted to stay behind. She was afraid that she won’t be the same Najia, the true and
nature-loving Najia when she came back.
She was scared that once she left the desert, it won’t accept her again as one of its daughters.
She cursed under her breath for her own ambiguity. It was a typical winter morning here, with
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