There’s a fine line between being a leader and being a tyrant, and I’m aware that I haven’t gotten off to the best foot with this team. And it’s my job to keep morale up, so I don’t say anything.
Instead, I climb into the back seat. Georgia buckles Ella into the car seat between us, and suddenly the spacious SUV feels very small. Edmond is in the passenger seat, scrolling through his phone. Khalid starts the engine.
“Everyone ready?” he asks.
A chorus of affirmatives, and we’re moving.
The city falls away quickly. One moment we’re navigating morning traffic, dodging motorbikes and pedestrians, and the next we’re on a highway cutting through an increasingly sparse landscape. Buildings give way to scrubland, then to nothing but sand and rock and the occasional scraggly tree clinging to life.
The desert.
It’s beautiful in its own way, vast and empty and ancient. The morning light turns the sand into liquid gold. I can see why my grandmother loved this place, why she talked about it with such longing.
But it’s also unforgiving. Harsh. And as we drive further from civilization, that harshness becomes more apparent. The road deteriorates from smooth asphalt to cracked pavement to barely maintained dirt track.
I pull out my laptop, determined to get some work done despite the circumstances.
“Ba!” Ella shouts, slapping the car seat tray with both hands.
I glance over. She’s grinning at me like she’s just accomplished something remarkable.
“Yes, very good,” I mutter, unsure what she’s even talking about, returning to my screen.
“She’s saying hi,” Georgia says quietly. “She does that when she wants attention.”
“Hmm.”
I pull up a document, trying to focus. But Ella keeps making noises. Babbling, singing to herself, occasionally shouting “Mama!” or “Ba!” for no apparent reason.
Georgia tries to keep her quiet with toys, books, snacks. It works for a few minutes at a time, then Ella gets bored and the noise starts again.
I grit my teeth and keep working. Or trying to work. Mostly I’m reading the same paragraph over and over while a fourteen-month-old provides an enthusiastic soundtrack.
“How much further on this road?” I ask Khalid after about an hour.
“Another hour, then we turn off onto the desert route. That’s where it gets interesting.”
“Interesting how?”
“No real road. We follow GPS coordinates and tire tracks from the supply trucks. It’s why we need the four-wheel drive, reinforced suspension. The desert doesn’t forgive mistakes.”
I stare out the window at the emptiness. No cell towers. No buildings. No people. Just sand and sky stretching to infinity.
This is one of the things I was excited about. The isolation. No interference. Just us and the site.
“Mama, Mama, Mama,” Ella chants, reaching for Georgia.
“I’m right here. Look, here’s your bunny.”
Georgia hands her a stuffed animal, and Ella immediately throws it on the floor, where it lands next to my foot. Smoothly, I retrieve it and hand it back without comment.
“Thank you,” Georgia says softly.
We drive on. Edmond dozes in the front seat. The landscape becomes more and more barren. I check the rear-view mirror and see the second SUV keeping pace behind us.
I try to work, but between the bouncing vehicle and Ella’s intermittent contributions to the ambient noise level, I’m getting nowhere. I close my laptop with more force than necessary.
Georgia glances at me but doesn’t say anything.
