The Females of Wadi Ya Noh.

Dismissively waving away the police officer who was 'riding shotgun', Claudia took it upon herself to roughly manhandle me into the back of the waiting, sun-bleached, dented and battered - scrapyard-defying - four-wheel drive police Land Rover. "Get in, David!" Claudia snapped - all but snarled, at me - and I silently obeyed ... Claudia was in control, now. Full control. She was the one shaping events. For me, now, it was all about damage limitation: don't do, or say anything that might provoke Claudia's ire. That had to be my rule of thumb, from now on.

Claudia got into the police Land Rover, right beside me, and the door closed with a loud clang as she slammed it shut after her. Before I knew what she was about, Claudia was snapping tightly closed around my wrists, the set of handcuffs that were attached to the wire screen that separated the rear compartment of the police vehicle from the police officers' in front. Upon hearing the distinctive 'click', Claudia grunted in satisfaction, and sat back on the seat.

I was dismayed. Not only had Claudia snapped closed the handcuffs painfully tight, but the chain was too short to allow me to lean back on the seat. I was therefore forced to sit on the very edge of the seat; leaning forward, and with my arms fully outstretched. I would actually have been better off standing up - except there wasn't enough headroom for that. I looked at Claudia imploringly - as if to say: is there really any need for this? Claudia's dark, almond-shaped eyes stared implacably back at me. Challenging me to complain. Daring me, to utter so much as a single word of protest ... and, I believed, hoping that I would.

The police driver started the Land Rover, engaged first gear and, when he put his foot down on the accelerator, the clapped-out engine of the dilapidated vehicle growled, snarled throatily - angry-sounding - like a bad-tempered, old and overburdened, maltreated beast, upon its being suddenly prompted forward yet again by humans with sharp sticks.

The police Land Rover bounced, jounced and jolted over the uneven, treacherous terrain, and I was immediately obliged to feed my fingers through the small gaps in the wire screen, and hold on for dear life. My God! It was like sticking my fingers through the angled, sharp-edged holes of an over-sized cheese grate.

"Shut up!" commanded the comfortably seated, securely seat belted Claudia, unsympathetically, when I winced and groaned at the pain caused by the violent motion of the vehicle. Winced and groaned, from the gross discomfort engendered by the highly erratic, unpredictable movement of the careering - seemingly, recklessly driven - police Land Rover. Winced and groaned, as I sat uncomfortably on the very edge of the seat, in maintaining my for-dear-life grab-hold of the sharp-edged wire screen with increasingly agonised fingers. "I said ... be quiet!" ordered Claudia again, irritably.

I fervently hoped that it would be a short drive - a very short drive, as we headed for Claudia's home village, of Wadi Ya Noh.

I had never imagined, that such a bleak, cheerless, desolate landscape as we travelled through could exist on planet Earth.

As we made the bumpy, dusty, sun-pummelled journey to Claudia's home village of Wadi Ya Noh, I stared through the police Land Rover's front windscreen, looking for the first, tell-tale signs of our destination - and hoping I would see them soon.

Needless to say: the aged police Land Rover did not have air-conditioning, and I was sweating profusely. I was totally unaccustomed, to such incredible, debilitating heat, and I was wilting in it. Wilting - I thought I was melting! In the close and cramped confines of the police vehicle, I felt as if I was being slowly cooked alive in a tin-can. Claudia and the 2 policemen, though, seemed as cool as cucumbers. Unperturbed - seemingly impervious - to the highly oppressive, furnace-like conditions.

The decidedly joyless journey - of about 10 or 12 miles, I guessed, took about 30 minutes, or so. But, to me, it seemed a lot further; seemed to take a lot longer. My God! Talk about a 'white-knuckle' ride!

I don't know quite what I had been expecting ... but I was ill-prepared - to say the least, for what was actually the shocking, wretched reality, of the village of Wadi Ya Noh.

A well-known phrase vaguely came to mind: a Chinese proverb, I think. Something about it being better to travel, than to arrive. Perhaps the author of the proverb, I mused, had preceded me to Wadi Ya Noh.

Certainly, that would have explained his sentiments. 'Culture shock', doesn't even come close. I felt as if I had just stepped out of Doctor Who's Tardis, having time-travelled right back to the early Middle Ages.

Consisting of just a couple of dozen miserable, extremely primitive, mud-brick dwellings, Wadi Ya Noh was not even a ... ‘one camel town'.

These decidedly wretched little homes, I saw, were arranged so as to form a perimeter around the Village Square. So that the highly unfortunate inhabitants: the impoverished, poor-as-dirt denizens of these pitiful little hovels, at least enjoyed a fine view of Humility Square, and ... of Humility Hole, at its centre.

From the 'comfort' of their own homes, I would soon learn, the females of Wadi Ya Noh could relieve the mind-numbing monotony of their (otherwise) cheerless, nothing-to-look-forward-to days, in a most congenial and highly satisfying manner. By viewing, at their leisure, the daily sufferings: the ongoing oppression, the terrible torment, the continuing cruelty - in short: the chastisement - of the current miserable incumbent of Humility Hole.

Through the grandstand view of their 'living room' window, the females of Wadi Ya Noh could conveniently watch, as the convicted criminal currently incarcerated in Humility Hole, was 'obliged' to demonstrate the sincerity of his respect and humility, at the feet of their village sisters'.

They could watch, as the miserable man was obliged to pay, said respects, to the females of the village who; throughout the whole day, frequently ventured out from the relative cool of their humble abodes, to 'visit' their wretched prisoner ... in their personal - and, richly entitled - participation, in his punishment and rehabilitation - his chastisement.

They could watch, as the other females of Wadi Ya Noh made their own short journey's - their own pilgrimages - across the dusty, sun-blasted, hard-baked, compressed-mud ground of Humility Square, to Humility Hole ... to present the soles of their feet, to their helpless captive's conveniently positioned face.

The police driver - in trying to avoid running over the 3 or 4 emaciated, raggedy-furred village dogs that were either too curious or too sun-maddened to get out of the way - slowly and carefully guided the Land Rover between 2 of the closely-spaced poor homes (whether out of concern for his vehicle, or the homes ... I wouldn't like to have said), and then drew to a stop near the centre of Humility Square.

Though it was quite unnecessary - the clapped-out, noisy old Land Rover amply announcing its presence for itself - the police driver twice sounded the horn. He then switched off the engine and, apart from some half-hearted yapping from the mangy mongrels, the quiet once again descended over the village.

Claudia then released me; unclasping the painfully tight handcuffs that were securely chaining me to the wire separating screen of the police Land Rover.

I was rubbing my sore wrists; relieved to see that no real damage seemed to have been done to them - or to my fingers - when, by means of securing my wandering attention, Claudia sharply jabbed her elbow into my ribs. "Take a good look around, David," she instructed. Looking out through the Land Rover's side window, I was truly appalled, by what I saw.

"Welcome to Wadi Ya Noh, David. My home village ..." Claudia glared at me, and her voice was gleeful, as she went on, "... and now, for ‘A Thousand Suns' - your home, too!"

We then got out of the police Land Rover, and stood on the dusty, hard-baked, compressed-mud ground of Humility Square. It was like stepping out of the frying pan, and into the fire. Without the protective cover of the vehicle, I now felt the full force of the oppressive, unrelenting rays of the Arabian sun beating mercilessly down. It was hellish.

But then, I saw something even more hellish - something that I had not noticed before, while sitting in the police Land Rover. Something, that Claudia had deliberately not pointed out to me; wanting to see my reaction, no doubt, when I saw for myself. For, I now saw, to my absolute horror, that a man's head was actually protruding from the ground.

He was, of course, the current wretched incumbent; the latest unfortunate occupier, of that inhumane institution - Humility Hole.

The turbaned prisoner, I noticed, was at least facing away from the worst of the glaring, roasting Arabian sun. And, that was nothing to be sniffed at - in this place.

In those highly restrictive confines, the prisoner could not (at least, it seemed to me) extricate himself from Humility Hole unaided. Roughly the shape and dimensions of a vertically placed coffin, I could not see how the prisoner could even turn around - let alone, climb out - of Humility Hole.

Between them, the two policemen reached down and, after removing the man's filthy dirty head wear; that they unwound from his head like some kind of long, badly soiled industrial-length tea-towel, they roughly pulled on the wretched man's arms, dragging him out of his claustrophobic prison.

The man was of Arabian appearance, and in his mid-thirties ... perhaps - it was hard to tell. He was haggard looking - to say the least. His black hair now stood out in random, unruly, dirty knotted clumps. His beard was straggly and unkempt ... although, from what I had seen so far, since landing at Wadi Ya Wan airport, that didn't seem particularly remarkable.

Although the man was completely naked, he made no effort to cover 'himself' up - his modesty, being the least of his concerns, at the moment.

He looked as if he had not bathed for weeks - months, even. His body was filthy. Soap and water; strangers both.

But - and worst of all - on his body I could see many scars: a haphazard, crisscrossing of his flesh. Both: old, healed wounds; and new, sore-looking, vivid red lines. I was utterly appalled. I saw literally dozens of these scars: across his back, his sides, his shoulders, his buttocks, and even on the back of his legs. I wondered ... what the hell had caused his dreadful scars?

The man was wild-eyed. Gaunt-looking. Haunted. Hunted. His eyes darted this way, that way: seemingly sensing a threat here; danger there ... As if there was always a threat. Always danger.

For how long had he been kept imprisoned in that dreadful, maddeningly restrictive hole? I wondered. Had he actually gone mad? He certainly looked it - or not far off. My God! That was were I was headed ... Would I go mad?

The 2 policemen then roughly bundled their filthy, unresisting - well, he didn't want to stay in Wadi Ya Noh! - prisoner into the back seat of their Land Rover. But; at least sparing him, I noticed, the distressing ordeal of being handcuffed to the wire separating screen. Sparing him, the 'white-knuckle' ride that Claudia had so cruelly forced me to endure. Perhaps the 2 policemen had taken pity on him. Would they take pity on me? I wondered. When they came for me, after I had served my 'A Thousand Suns' sentence, in Humility Hole.

The 2 policemen then waved a polite goodbye to Claudia - she might be from Wadi Ya Noh; but Claudia commanded their respect - and got into their Land Rover.

And then the place erupted with noise, as the aged Land Rover's clapped-out diesel engine was started; revved-up, and the 2 policemen drove away.

Despondently, I watched their departure. I watched, as a huge cloud of sand tinged with oily black smoke billowed up in their wake, almost obscuring them from view. And then, just moments later, they were gone. As if they had never been here. As if they had been just a mirage, after all.

Now, I saw a number of shapeless, all-black garbed, almost identical-looking figures begin to slowly emerge from the open doorways of their wretched mud-brick dwelling places and, as one, they shuffled towards Claudia and I. With instinctive trepidation, I watched their advance as they shambled towards Claudia and I; inquisitive as to this new arrival - the latest incumbent, of Humility Hole.

To see these shapeless, anonymous-looking figures approach, was highly unsettling - unnerving. But, far worse: as they slowly advanced, they began to emit what was, to my ear, a profoundly strange - alien - vocal chorus. A weird, extremely primitive-sounding, ululating wailing.

The singularly unsettling - disturbing - sound, had a somehow nerve-jangling, chilling timbre, to it. A distinct note of menace, that had the hairs on the back of my neck jumping to attention.

The decidedly eerie sound; to my ear, seemed infused, somehow, with discernible messages. A melange of meaning, that was understood - perceived; intuited, at an instinctive, basic level.

I sensed, from the increasing volume of sound, expressions of various feelings and emotions: curiosity; pleasure; satisfaction; eagerness - impatience, to name just a few. And, most obviously - and most worryingly - I divined an undercurrent of seething, just-under-the-surface, ready-to-erupt violence. These shambling, shapeless, anonymous-looking figures were uniformly attired; as ancient custom dictated, in their severely austere, all-black garb. Which I thought must be a style of burka, as it covered the whole body except for the eyes, hands, and feet.

These shuffling, shapeless, clone-like, shrilly ululating figures were, of course ... the females of Wadi Ya Noh.

The overwhelming impression, was that nothing had changed, in Wadi Ya Noh, for many hundreds of years ... And, of course, it hadn't.

It was all too easy to imagine that the poor, primitive denizens of Wadi Ya Noh had never even heard of electricity. Never heard of TV. Or of washing machines. Easy to believe, that they had never heard of radio; of CD players; of micro waves; of cookers; of fridge-freezers. That they simply had no knowledge - not even an inkling, of the existence of any of the common, every-day things that most people take for granted in the twenty-first century.

Claudia later explained to me, that the village of Wadi Ya Noh was a place populated entirely - exclusively - by female inhabitants. Populated only, by outcast, 'Fallen' women - and their 'tainted' daughters. And, there was an underlying reason for that, she told me ...

Boys, explained Claudia, were 'confiscated' by their local Tribal Lord. Some of them would be used for slave labour. Their working lives, starting early: as soon as they were able to pick up a shovel; push a cart ... if they were strong enough, they were old enough.

While other, 'specially selected' boys, would become the pets and playthings of perverts, in the Tribal Lord's own palaces and grounds. There, they would remain in such service, until such a time as their star's were fading. Until they began to lose their popularity; their appeal; their allure; their ... usefulness. Then, they would be replaced by younger boys, and carted away to join the slave-labour gangs working in the quarries; the mines, the sweat-shops ...

As 'Fallen' women, it was the decree of their local Tribal Lord, that any labour-saving, life-enriching devices that modern-day progress could provide and bless their lives with, should be denied them. For, this was their own chastisement. There was not so much as the feeble glow of a 40 Watt bulb, in Wadi Ya Noh.

Such, was life, for the females of Wadi Ya Noh.

No wonder, then, that the females of Wadi Ya Noh had chips on their shoulders the size of Gibraltar. No wonder, then, that they had scores to settle; bones to pick; axes to grind ...

Now, there were 19, all-black garbed, shapeless, anonymous-looking, shrilly ululating figures gathered before Claudia and I.

Dressed, as they all were, in their shapeless, almost all-covering black burkas, the females of Wadi Ya Noh seemed, at first impression, to be wholly devoid, of even the slightest semblance of individuality. Of identity. Of actually being ... someone. They seemed anonymous. Clone-like. Carbon-copied. They seemed almost identical - like peas from the same pod - making it almost impossible to distinguish one from another; to tell them apart. To identify them.

But, I would quickly learn that this was in fact very far from the case. For, concealed under the highly deceptive shrouds of their totally impersonal, depersonalising, decidedly drab and dreary dress ... lurked unique individuals. Quite literally: hidden personalities. Real people. Women and young ladies. Some of whom, despite their unfortunate ... disadvantages, still somehow managed to display strong, bright, vibrant characters.

I would soon learn their names. I would soon learn, too, of their mother-and-daughter/s relationships; who were the lone mothers. And, I would soon become acquainted, with the many and varied traits of their individual personalities ... but that was later.

The females of Wadi Ya Noh eyed me closely. Intently, curiously - hostilely. Ululating, all the while. Their malevolent gaze was extremely intimidating.

Suddenly, as one - as if at some given signal that only they could hear, their blood-chilling ululating ceased. The silence was complete. There was not a sound, from anyone, or anything. It was an unsettling, eerie, ominous silence, that even the village dogs did not dare to break, it seemed. All there was, was the females' eyes. The silent scrutiny of their dark, almond-shaped eyes. Looking at me, staring at me - assessing me.

The seconds stretched out, unsettling me even further, as I waited for something to happen ... I knew that something was about to happen - and, not something nice, either.

Then - and with the same apparent, utter lack of individuality, of one cell separating itself from a clump of other, similar cells - one of the females detached herself from the huddled, shapeless mass of the all-black garbed, clone-like figures. Then she stepped forward, and she warmly embraced Claudia.

And Claudia returned her hug with equal warmth; murmuring to her what were obviously the fondest of endearments.

Claudia then turned to me and said, "David, this is my blessed mother, Meena. She was one of the ‘lucky' ones. At least, the faithless wretch - the Englishman, who spurned her and abandoned her as soon as he learned of her pregnancy - left her with enough money to give me a decent education, at the airport town of Wadi Ya Wan.

"In her misplaced gratitude, my mother named me Claudia, after that foul wretch's own mother. Something my mother has painfully regretted, ever since - as I have.

"For, while he may have salved his own conscience, with his ... 'compensation' to Meena - a pitiful sum of money, in any case, given the truly stupendous wages he was earning as an oil worker - we can never forgive him, for condemning us to Wadi Ya Noh!

"I have vowed to find him: Vincent - the mangy dog! - my treacherous, worthless father. Find him, and make him pay: Pay, for deserting Meena. For abandoning me. I have vowed to find him, and to make him pay, in the way of our own, time-honoured tradition. And that is the day that I live for. The day when I shall, at last, confront Vincent. Come face-to-face, with him. And finally ... bring him to account. On that glorious day, my loathsome, deceitful father, shall come to know of the wrath of Claudia.

"Perhaps you have some understanding now, David, of why you - an Englishman - will be considered such a valuable prize, by the females of Wadi Ya Noh.