Grabbing a roll of toilet paper, he crossed the courtyard of
broken glass and sheep dung, shaded by kok-terek
trees. He had drunk too much instant coffee again and the rumbles below had
pushed him out of the office and across this yard. He wondered when the grant
would come through so repairs could be made to the indoor toilet. Patience
wasn’t just a virtue here – it was a means of survival. With sudden indignation
he thought, “Hell, if I can’t poop in a hole, I don’t deserve to be here.” The
feeling came not from a lack of modern comforts, but from the desire to not
need them. His feet crunched on discarded roofing tiles as he approached the
crude shack, raised slightly next to a concrete wall. Peering over the edge he
could see a camel trundling slowly, its angular legs pressing each step lazily
into the dirt.
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