Saba talked quickly: Did you hear? Nomads and their herd just arrived at our camp. There is a man here with animals and I wanted to let you know. Just think of the opportunity, of selling milk, eggs, butter for ga’at and meat.

Saba paused and beamed as she continued: We could finally have shoro with beef.

Eyob sprang to his feet and sped ahead of her. Saba had never seen him walk this fast. She ran to keep up. When they arrived back in the square, Eyob told her to wait for him outside her hut. She stood next to her mother, watching him as he tiptoed around the animals and stepped over the dung with flies buzzing on top of it. The businessman embraced the stranger as if he were a long-lost relation.

Moments later, Saba saw Eyob, her mother and the nomad man, who had a long stick and a dishevelled vest over his jellabiya, walking towards her. Eyob asked Saba’s mother if he could use her hut for a quick meeting. His own hut was too far for a man who had been travelling for days on foot.

Our honour, Saba’s mother said, asking Saba to go inside and clean the hut.

No need, the businessman said. But tea would be most appreciated.

The nomad stretched his hand towards Saba’s mother and said, Let me introduce myself. My name is Hajj Ali.

The way he spoke Arabic reminded Saba of Tahir, their lorry driver.

The entire camp has turned out to welcome you, Saba’s mother said to Hajj Ali. We don’t get visitors here.

We were led here by our animals, said Hajj Ali. And yes, sometimes they take us to the forgotten people.

Inside the hut, as the businessman and Hajj Ali sat on stools, Saba lit the open furnace to boil tea.

I would like to discuss with you an important matter, the businessman said. I know from my brief stay in the city that the people of this country never leave a request unheard.

Hajj Ali smiled. True, he said. I’m happy to oblige.

As Saba closed the door, she noticed heads jostling for a view through the window. She didn’t pull down the straw curtain. She knew of the necessity of leaving a window open upon a girl’s dealings with men.

I am sorry you had to open your home to a stranger without notice, the nomad said to Saba.

We are the strangers in your country, Saba said, reverting to the Arabic she learnt from her trader grandmother.

Masha Allah, said Hajj Ali, nodding. To some, wisdom arrives without roaming from one place to another.

The nomad sat on a stool next to the businessman. He placed his sword against his leg and his stick on the floor. Is she your daughter? he asked Eyob.

Saba looked at Eyob. Her eyes lingered on his face, as if hoping he would say, No, but Saba is like my daughter. But the businessman didn’t respond. Moments passed before his answer came: No, she works for me.