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Text: A Flood

I was standing on the edge of the pasture near Oued Djedi, watching the gray clouds gather over El Djelfa. The air was thick with the smell of rain, and the wind blew through the trees. Farmers nearby were hurriedly moving their sheep to higher ground. They were shouting and waving their hands. Every once and again, their yells mixed with the sound of thunder. Suddenly, the rain began, light at first, then heavy and relentless. The once-dry river bed began to fill up rapidly. Within minutes, the water was overflowing its banks. I was scared.

The sheep were stuck in the middle of the river bed, huddled together. Their loud bleats were drowned out by the sound of rushing water. An old shepherd, holding a long stick, stepped into the water. He shouted and tried to guide the sheep to higher ground. Other shepherds joined him, using ropes to pull some of the animals to safety. I wanted to help, but my legs felt rooted to the ground, overwhelmed by what I was seeing.

The water carried many things with it—branches, trash, and even a bright yellow bucket I had seen earlier. People from the village came to help. Everyone was wet and muddy, but they kept going.

Just as quickly as it began, the rain stopped, and the water’s advance slowed. The shepherds, soaked and exhausted, managed to save most of their sheep, though a few were still stranded on small patches of higher ground. I was very impressed by their quick actions, their resilience, and their bravery. I was embarrassed that I didn’t help and a little shocked at how frozen I had been. As the sun broke through the clouds, casting a golden light over the muddy scene, I felt a strange mixture of awe and sadness. The river that was nothing more than dry rocks that kids play on had reminded us all of its power.