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I’ve never seen so much sand in my life. It’s almost like we’re on a perpetual beach, but without the water at any point.
There’s lush vegetation surrounding the city and the houses have more intricate detail to them than the blandness of houses back home.
It's almost as if each detail was carved with a unique idea in mind. A unique, beautiful idea.
The sun is blazing hot. Even from the protection of the luxury Rolls-Royce, I can just feel the brute force of the light that brightness the sky.
It’s glorious.
When we get to his Palace, it’s nighttime.
The palace is more beautiful than Jordan showed me in the pictures. There’s this style to it attests to its luxury. It has that human intricacy, unlike the robotic machination that is common in the west.
In this palace, you feel every inch of the place. The lights make it even more appealing. There are golden lights in the middle and blue lights by the side.
A flood light helps illuminate the entire surrounding area and enhance the beauty of the main palace.
“I could get used to this…” I mutter to myself.
“You’d better. There’s so much I plan on showing you,” Jordan cuts through my murmuration.
I smile and rest my head on his shoulders.
A man comes out of the building and says something in Arabic. The only thing that I pick is “new bride”.
Jordan has been schooling me on his language.
“Ahmed.” Jordan greets the man, and both exchange a hug.
He turns to me and smiles. I don’t see most of it, though because his smile is enshrouded in a thick beard, kind of how Jordan would look if he never shaved.
“I’m very illiterate in Western ways; Soni has no way of greeting you but with a bow.” He does bow, and I bow back.
“Don’t worry. I am the one that’ll learn the tradition here.” I respond as cordially as I can. I’m surprised that the man has excellent command of English, with a stainless accent too.
“I am Ahmed. Jordan’s cousin. He might not want to admit it, but I can throw him down on his back in a wrestling match.” He laughs heartily.
Somehow, I don’t doubt that. “Don’t worry, Ahmed. You and I very soon in the mat. We’ll settle that dispute. It has been too long.” Jordan disagrees to which Ahmed shrugs to me.
I laugh.
Then, suddenly, something clicks.
“Where’s Skylar?” I ask, a brief wave of panic shoots through me.
“Ah, the little girl that tortures Hakeem?” Ahmed chuckles darkly. “She’s in the back. Come see.”
He beckons unto us and when we get to the back of the house, I stifle a scream.
There my daughter is, playing what looks like tea with what looks like a tiger.
“Is that safe?” I whisper.
“Of course. Bullam is still a cub. Still drinks only milk,” Ahmed says and gives a sharp call to which the tiger looks up sharply.
“At that size?” m=My eyes remain wide in disbelief.
Its head is at least five times the size of Skylar’s.
