I expect to see fresh, soft, sweaty skin
on the young Omani boy,
but his face is dull, powdered reddish grey.
The only shine comes from his eyes below dusty eyebrows.
His smell is strong, strange and sandy.
I decide it’s pleasant.
He mind is occupied with the next race,
he does not notice me at all.
That’s nice, being able to observe, unnoticed.
I wonder what his life is like,
did his mother tickle him when she woke him this morning?
Did he get his favourite food for breakfast?
He is silent and suddenly he looks old.
Some men help him climb the camel.
They tie his feet on the back of the animal,
so he cannot fall off.
He forces a scared smile,
the start cord is removed,
and the race is on.