the passion of a BAD BOY
Over a period of time I grew experienced with the events which kept on educating me. I felt a change within me which was more of psychological in nature rather than loosing couple of kg of weight.When there is a full moon and the helipad in front of our compound is flooded with the moonlight, when the gentle breeze blows out of nowhere, I feel like an alien just arrived in this place. All the nights here are cool, meditative and out of any civilized sounds except the continuous roaring of generators. I bet any visitor in this place would have a night's repose. Whenever we pass by the Bir Lahlaou township (commonly known to us as down town) and the empty yellow hospital complex, they speak to us about the future of a prospective capital. Sometimes, we gather in a Bedouin woman' s tent ( Nuna's tent) and she would offer us tea and we drink it thrice ( first for the welcome, second for the good health and third for the good bye). As the day passes by, the bond among the bad boys gets stronger and deeper. After the dinner we sit outside the radio room and speak about our past lives, our happiness, our sorrows, our families, our hopes and aspirations almost in a soliloquy. It seems none of us are hearing each other except the breeze playing around us. Someone would hope for his reassignment in the capital Laayoune, some would like to drink and love the alcohol induced sleep, someone awaits for the mails and some for the CTOs.Only the sands and stones do not hope and express themselves. One thing always amazes me and that is; the bondage among the former teamsite members who are already away from here. Sometimes, I try to find out the reason and I guess there is something in the air of this place which cemented the relationship where we forget our cultural, psychological, ethnical differences and only become poor human beings. And may be this is the greatest lesson I have learnt here and so to all the current and former Bad Boys. As the sun rises in the distant horizon of Bir Lahlaou and we grow older, we keep wondering and feeling our invisible comradeship with all the others as they left their inscriptions in the mess hall ( traditionally once an UNMO is outgoing, he is allotted with a space in the wall of the mess, where he writes couple of sentences prior to his departures). You would find so many have passed by as your read those. It is like a story book dated from 1991 till today. So many different feelings and aspirations. I also wonder someday once the mission would terminate who would take over this place, either the Polisario or the Moroccans.Once they take over would they ever think of us? Who once lived here, dreamt here, shared their feelings together and left so many unsung rythms in the ether? Someone's loving memories in the sands, as they watched one sunrise and one sunset together? This place though won't turn out to be an archaeological wonder but definitely it has imprinted its permanency in the hearts of the Bad Boys who are already spread around the globe. You will recognize the Bad Boys once you see them wearing grey caps and hug each other which lasts more than the usual. This is the passion of the Bad Boy and it would remain.
( this article was published in the North Sector Tribune in June 2001) |
