The United State At War With Russia!

My name is Aamadu, I am a caravan trader in Timbuktu, the grand capital of Mali. On the day of the storm, I woke up with the sun barely peeking from behind the sand dunes. Behind me are the trails of our camels, barely peeking out of the sand. I rolled up my blanket with rope and tied it to my camel. I tighten the long loose robes made for the harsh desert and wrap a black cloth across my mouth. Stretching, my hands run along my black beard. I notice my body feels sore and stiff from the first seven days of our journey from Timbuktu to the mines. Thinking of the salt mines makes me feel less sorry for myself. The job of a salt miner is much harder than mine. The work is highly physical and many of the men grow sores on their hands and feet from the abrasive salt. It is also hard to find someone to care for any of your injuries. I am much more fortunate to come from a family that could teach me the trade of a caravan trader.
“Aamadu!”
My thoughts were sharply halted by the voice of the caravan guide, Jawara.
“Aamadu, go to the well and fetch water for tea” Jawara shouted as he gathered wood for the fire. The guide’s job was to lead the caravan safely across the desert on his camel.

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