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MARCHING POWDER

I started getting depressed. During the first week, I was worried that something bad had happened to her. I checked the newspapers every day for accidents involving foreigners, like I had the first time she went away. After ten days I knew there had been no accident – she was having a great time and had forgotten all about me. By then, I had forgotten about our argument, but she obviously hadn’t. She might have already returned from the jungle and left the country, or maybe she had met someone else.

Each time I heard a taxista call my name, I prayed it was her and was always disappointed when it was another group of Israeli backpackers from El Lobo wanting to visit me. I was glad to have people to keep me company, but I still missed Yasheeda. Sometimes I couldn’t put my full energy into telling my visitors my stories and, although they found the prison interesting, I got the impression that they had heard incredible things about me and were a bit disappointed when they met me in person.

A few times, I felt so depressed that I asked the taxistas to apologise and say that I was too sick to receive any visitors. I started having nightmares in which I could see Yasheeda kissing someone else, although I couldn’t see his face. I tried not to be jealous, but I wanted to kill him, whoever he was. After these dreams, I even began to hate her.