The caravan stretched so far that those at the front couldn't see the end of it. In the middle, the boy looked up at the sky above. The sun sent its fiery rays down into the sand, creating an unbearable heat, making it nearly impossible to walk on. Over the course of his travels, he had observed the desert closely, and today, like many times before, he saw the whirlwinds swirling across the vast expanse, picking up sand and tossing it from one place to another. He had also noticed the caves, used by bandits as hiding spots. The boy often wondered how bandits could survive for months in such desolate places.
In recent days, the boy had been watching the camels, amazed by their strength. "They must have strong legs," he thought. "They've been walking under this scorching sun for months, yet they never seem tired." The camels walked in a steady, disciplined line, each maintaining a small distance from the one ahead. When they stopped to rest or to feed, they always returned to their exact places in the line once they were ready to move again. The boy thought, "Their frequent traveling must have made them memorize their positions, and they only rest where they're used to." But sometimes, he noticed a camel wandering off the path, walking alone for a while, leaving traces in the sand. The other camels didn't seem to care; they simply moved forward, filling the empty space without acknowledging the one that had strayed. After some time, the wandering camel would return to its place, and everything would continue as if nothing had happened, as if they understood this was just part of their journey.
"We'll reach the temple by evening!" The caravan leader shouted as he walked against the flow of the caravan, making sure everyone heard his words. He knew that his announcement would energize the travelers, quickening their pace. Although the kingdom was still days away, reaching the temple at the end of the day would give them a well-deserved rest, and that made all the difference for the rest of the journey.
The caravan was made up of people from all walks of life—blacks and whites, Arabs and non-Arabs, teachers and artisans, merchants and vendors, and some who were traveling to the kingdom in search of the wealth they had heard of. The boy remembered asking the caravan leader about his reasons for embarking on this journey: "What would make a young man like you leave Egypt for the distant kingdom?" The leader, assuming the boy was Arab, replied, "I came to Egypt for business, and now I'm heading home." The boy knew the leader had asked others before him about their intentions, wary of the bandits who sometimes joined the caravans, pretending to be travelers starting new lives or merchants selling goods. Then, one night, when everyone was asleep, the bandits would steal the camels carrying precious cargo—gold, silver, and other valuables—and head back to Egypt to sell their loot. The boy didn't have much to steal, just the small bag he carried on every journey, filled with books, a small diary for his thoughts, and a few dinars for food and water along the way. But there was also a small box, the reason for his long journey.
He remembered the day he had to leave for Egypt. He sat on the shore, watching the ships sail away into the unknown, seeing his dream fade before his eyes. His hands were tied, unable to act against his father's wishes. He didn't want to disobey him, even though his father had promised that he would lead the journey. But, on the day of departure, his father changed his mind and told him to travel through the desert instead. The boy often wondered about the box. Although it wasn't large enough to hold anything of great importance, his father's focus on it piqued his curiosity. When he arrived in Egypt, he visited a church his father had told him about, where he met a monk who handed him the box without asking for anything in return. "Your father already paid for it," the monk said with a sly smile when the boy asked about the price, pointing to the small lock on the side of the box. "He also got the key."
Suddenly, the caravan leader shouted again, interrupting the boy's thoughts, "We have reached the temple!" The boy looked ahead, already seeing the towering walls of the temple, built from large bricks that would withstand the desert winds. Every time the boy passed one of these desert temples, he felt the urge to stop and sit outside, admiring the circular walls and massive gates, wide enough to allow camels to pass through. Temples were a significant part of his childhood memories, built by the Jews long ago when they roamed from place to place. Over time, they had abandoned them, leaving the structures behind for Bedouins to use as shelters and for caravans to rest in.