At least three mosques in this very small town covered in dust. Their shiny colors stood out especially against the colorless streets and houses.

It was later in the afternoon. From a handful of shops near the market, smoke rose up slowly from the long chimneys sticking way out. I heard some chanting and followed it toward one of the mosques. But, it stopped before I could get there. Very soon, men in white caps came out, some got on their bike, some walked. One biked away slowly in front of me, his white cap covered in thick winter hat.

It is a muslim community. This province has the highest concentration of muslim population in China. Many branches of believes, and for the most parts, they peacefully believe their own chosen sect. It is also one of the poorest part of the country. The land is bone dry and there is nothing much to dig up underneath.

By the entrance to the open-air market was a make-shift slaughter stand. Two sheep carcasses hanged from the hooks, blood still dripping. The butcher took in orders from those walking by.

My knowledge of the Huis, the minority group in which most of them are muslims, was limited to the fact that they don’t eat pork. There was a famous novel called “Muslim’s Funeral” that I found quite moving when I read it in high school. The name “muslim” even sounded mysterious and pure. Nothing more. Now, there are definitely a few versions of what the muslims are really like portrayed by various media. I shall return sometime later to a nearby area where there is a high mixture of people believing in various religious, muslim, christian, buddhism all live in one village. Later though, desert and camel first.