Mine Eyes Tell The Tale | Freewrite: 6/18/22 | Prompt: A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words

"Whatever you do, don't stare at her face." I tugged at Horatio's arm until he was forced to turn around. He didn't want to. Never in his twenty-one years had he seen such a ghastly sight of a female.

"She's got to be over 100 years old!" Horatio's manners kept him from speaking too loudly. However, his bewilderment at finally getting the opportunity to meet the famous Woman of the Desert" he'd heard about was apparent. His eyes grew large. I knew he didn't expect this woman to look weathered and still possess a somewhat liveliness in her movements. Her facial appearance definitely didn't match her physical capabilities.

Her partially exposed face from under her burka resembled a puzzle broken into a thousand pieces not put back together properly. Her forehead gathered the wavy lines and presented them in a uniform cycle of life's hardships.

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I took a second before responding, merely saying, "Hello Ma'ma. Are you the famous Woman of the Desert we've heard about all these years?"

The old woman merely nodded. Horatio and I took this as a sign that perhaps she couldn't speak. But she surprised us as she slowly opened wide, then shut her mouth in the same manner. Instead, she held out both hands that matched perfectly her face in a welcoming gesture. In one, she held a photo as weathered as her appearance. In the other, a handmade article of clothing.

"Najeera is my name. I'm looking for my grandson." The words surprised me. Then, I studied her face. Those haunting eyes I'll never forget. At first, they looked hollow. On second glance, I could see a deep sorrow and pain behind those dark pupils. I noticed a tear seemed to find it difficult to roll down as it came in contact with each crevice. It seemed to meander sideways as if traveling a familiar path.

Horatio took the photo and studied it in detail.

"Hello. I'm Evangeline, and this is Horatio." Najeera nodded as if she understood.

I also could tell that she knew we were foreigners. Perhaps it was the reason she approached us, I thought. Horatio and I hadn't been in the country long enough to blend in. Our speech and Western apparel definitely stood out and helped identify us quicker.

I didn't want to offend with questions, so I kept quiet while Najeera related the story of her grandson's disappearance over six months ago. She recounted how men came in the night to their home. They took him, but left her granddaughter.

She also divulged that she'd traveled many miles with the help of others searching for him. Then she glanced to her right.

Her reaction didn't go unnoticed as I also saw the three men lurking in the distance. "Are you in danger, or have they threatened you?"

"I heard them last night." Her voice was now shaky. "They're going to leave me here if I don't hand over my money. Only one of them stopped the others from harming me. I'm afraid to go any further. Can you help me...and my grandson?"

Horatio noticed that Najeera's eyes were fixed on his and Evangeline's cameras and badges around their necks.

She knew that we could help. Whether we would help was the question that perhaps caused her hands, I noticed, to tremble as she held the photo.

Our volunteer mission's vehicle was parked nearby. Our driver kept lookout as we photographed the scene and interviewed nearby villagers for evidence of violations during the recent refugee crisis. However, the area was abandoned.

She also glanced several times at the vehicle. It was apparent that the men who'd accompanied Najeera also noticed; hence, the reason they didn't approach any closer.

Horatio took the photo from Najeera, gathered her sack, and led her to the vehicle. After ensuring her comfort and providing food and water, he took photos of the men standing in the shadows of the tree. They immediately turned their backs to avoid recognition.

Except for an occasional remark by Najeera in response to our driver attempting to gain information, our ride back to the shelter was in silence. Upon arrival, we helped her settle in.

We took the photo and set out on our next journey. We knew there was little hope of finding her grandson once our driver relayed the result of their conversation. Sadly, he was confident of what had happened to him.

We didn't want to return and tell Najeera she might not see him again. Child soldiers were rarely found.

Horatio turned to me and said quietly, "I don't think she was the Woman of the Desert."

"No. She was, though, a woman who needed help." I looked out over the horizon in the almost cool of the evening. The wind blew the sand gently as if clearing a path. Suddenly I thought of my hometown. So far, yet so near in the problems facing the world.

We drove on in silence. Horatio was wondering if he'd ever find this elusive famous woman he'd heard about; me, how many more grandmothers faced Najeera's predicament.

I looked down at the photo and thought,

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