Hashid lived in the desert, in a house made of dried
mud. It was square, had a flat roof, and small slits in the walls for
windows. It was several stories high. Hashid’s room was on the top floor.
He loved having his room be at the top of the house. He could look out of
his window and see the whole city. When he heard the morning call to
prayer crying out from the minaret, he’d run to the window and look. He
could see the man standing in the balcony of the minaret. Soon after, all
the men in the village would walk towards the mosque for Morning Prayer.
Sometimes Hashid went with his father, but not usually to the early
morning prayer. Most of the time he was still sleeping.
He could look down on the bazaar and loved going there
with his mother. It was always busy. From his room the people looked like
ants crawling through a maze. There were so many colorful things in the
bazaar, such as fabric, leather goods, carpets, and scarves.
Hashid could see the school where his older brother and
sister went every day to learn to read, write, and count. He couldn’t wait
until he was old enough to go there and learn about the world.
Hashid loved it when it rained. In the desert it didn’t
rain very often, but when it did, he would stick his arms out the window
and catch the raindrops in his hands. If it was still daytime, he’d run
down the stairs and go outside and splash in the mud. His mother didn’t
like it when he did that. The mud was red and it stained his white robe.
He loved the way the mud squished between his toes.
