It was a quiet night in the dessert coastal town. The air was humid from the afternoon heat, but a fresh breeze whispered in and out of the stucco buildings offering a small relief from the warmth. Te evening was lethargic. Men and women ambled home at a slow pace, children raced ahead eager to have food in their stomachs after a long day of playing. Laughter filled the air, and a baby being put down for a nap cried out in protest. Slowly, the lights in the homes went out and the street darkened.
A man in a ghutrah walked in and out o the shadows, the only one on the street. He wove in and out of the alleys before reaching the outskirts of town and began making his way towards the nearby hill. A soft glow blazed against the sky from the direction he was headed and as he approached the noise of drinking and belligerent laughter reached his ears. Most importantly was the quick barely decipherable sounds of an auctioneer and the wailing of small children and desperate cries of women. The man crested the hill and smiled.
Men were conjured around a wide circle, each with their own drink in hand. In the center of the circle a man dressed in rich cloth walked its perimeter shouting out in the quick refrain only auctioneers and those who attended them regularly could understand. A young boy stood in the center o the circle, his head held high refusing to be cowed and give in to his indignity. His hands were tied before him, he wore no shirt - an effort to show off the little strength he had - his pants were torn and he wore no shoes upon his feet. A man shouted out from the audience and the boy turned to glare at him as the auctioneer upped the asking price. The man smiled as he sauntered forward. After months of searching he had finally found the location of the infamous slave auction.