The place was filthy, Kiah saw as the bus drove slowly between the huts. On the ground between the dwellings there were drink cans, discarded food and cigarette packets. ‘Are gold mines always so dirty?’ she asked Abdul.
‘I believe that some are licensed by the Libyan government and subject to labour laws, but others are rogue excavations with no official status and no rules. The Sahara is too big to be policed. This place must be unofficial.’
Ragged men looked incuriously at the bus. Among them were a few guards, bearded young men with rifles. Security guards would be needed at a gold mine, Kiah guessed. She noticed a tanker and a man with a hose dispensing water to people with jugs and bottles. In the desert most settlements were built around oases, but mines had to be where the gold was, Kiah reasoned, so water would have to be trucked in to keep the miners alive.
Hakim stopped the bus, stood up, and said: ‘This is where we will spend the night. They will give us food and somewhere to sleep.’
Kiah was not in a hurry to eat anything prepared in such a place.
Hakim went on: ‘Security is strict, because this is a gold mine. Stay out of the way of the guards. Whatever you do, don’t climb over a fence into one of the restricted areas. If you do, you could be shot.’
Kiah really did not like it here.
Hakim opened the bus door. Hamza and Tareq got out and stood with their guns in their hands. Hakim said: ‘We are in Libya and, as previously agreed, you will now pay me the second instalment of your fare before you get off the bus. One thousand American per person.’
Everyone rummaged in their luggage or fumbled under their clothing for their cash.
Kiah parted with her money reluctantly, but she had no choice.
Hakim counted every note, in no hurry.
When they were all off the bus, a guard approached. He was a few years older than most, somewhere in his thirties, and instead of a rifle he had a holstered pistol. He looked over the bus passengers with an expression of contempt. Kiah thought: What have we done to you?
Hakim said: ‘This is Mohammed. He will show you where to sleep.’
Hamza and Tareq got back on the bus, and Hakim drove off to park. The two jihadis often slept in the vehicle overnight, perhaps fearful that it might be stolen.
Mohammed said: ‘All of you, follow me.’
He led them on a zigzag between the makeshift dwellings. Kiah was right behind him with Esma and her family. Esma’s father, Wahed, spoke to the man. ‘How long have you been here, brother?’
Mohammed said: ‘Shut your mouth, you foolish old man.’
He led them to a three-sided shelter roofed with sheets of corrugated iron. As they entered, Kiah saw a sand rat with a crust of bread in its mouth wriggle out through a gap in the wall, tail flicking behind it like a carefree goodbye wave.
There were no lights in the shelter. There appeared to be no electric power.
‘They will bring you food,’ said Mohammed, and he went away. Kiah wondered who ‘they’ were.
She made camp, clearing an area of the ground with a brush improvised from a piece of cardboard. She took out her blanket and Naji’s, putting them down folded next to her bag to claim her space.
Abdul said: ‘I’m going to look around.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ she said, picking up Naji. ‘There might be somewhere to wash.’
It was evening, but still light. They found a more or less straight path through the camp and followed it. Kiah liked walking side by side with Abdul, Naji in her arms. They were almost like a family.
A woman looked hard at her, then a man stared, and Abdul said: ‘Put the cross under your dress. I think there are extremists here.’
She had not realized that her silver necklace with the little cross was showing. Unlike Chad, Libya was overwhelmingly Sunni Muslim, and Christians were a tiny minority, she remembered. Hastily she pushed the cross out of sight.
The improvised dwellings were scattered around one large cinder-block building. In front of it was a heavy woman in full black hijab that covered everything but her eyes. She was stirring several large pots over an open fire. The food did not have the usual spicy aroma of African cooking, and Kiah guessed she was making millet porridge. No doubt food was stored inside the building. At the back, a great pile of vegetable peelings and empty cans gave off a stink.
However, the quarter in which the migrants were lodged was the only part of the establishment that was like this. The rest of the place consisted of three large fenced compounds that were clean and tidy.
One was a motor park containing a dozen or more vehicles. Kiah counted four pickup trucks, presumably used for taking away the gold and bringing back supplies; two large tankers like the one she had seen dispensing water; and two gleaming black SUVs which she guessed were for important people, perhaps the owners of the mine. There was also a large articulated gasoline tanker truck. Its side was painted yellow and grey, and featured a black six-legged dragon and the letters ‘eni’， signifying the giant Italian oil company. Kiah presumed it was there to refuel the other vehicles. She also saw a compressed-air hose for pumping up tyres.