Chapter 27
Howa was bemused then infuriated by the whole situation. She hated doing any kind of chore and now she found herself doing all of them. She had been fortunate to have been born second which meant that she wouldn't be the first to be enslaved by domesticity. But that was over for now.
She tried to do the chores as fast as possible so she could escape. When she did, she crept far from the walls and doors of the backstreets, which could open suddenly with someone she knew at the threshold. Howa had her face veil on for disguise, avoiding eye contact because she would be recognised, even with the veil, through her eyes alone, which made it practically useless but she liked the mature appearance it gave her.
She finally found herself on the front steps of her friend's house. Her friend's parents were out. Both of them were sitting with headwraps and no hijabs or face veils because the people walking at the front were always young men whereas the backstreets were a space mainly for women. In Howa's eyes the snitches were all women and she felt oppressed by any female over the age of sixteen. Her friend's name was Laila.
The first thing Howa said to her little friend at their little pump, was a piece of news that had astonished her more than her sister's sudden departure.
'Afrah's pregnant.'
'With whose baby?' instantly was the rejoinder, wonder and excitement trilling in both of their voices.
'She didn't say at first. But then the beatings became relentless, all of them taking turns. Finally she said 'it was Bari', the guy who runs the TV place. You know him? They'll be married by next week.'
'Longest guest list ever.'
'Only the ones that love her.'
'What about those she loves? Anyway, how long has she been pregnant?'
'I don't know but I'm sure she conceived some time during Ramadan.'
Howa giggled as she said that.
'Hey, that's Xemi walking there, son of Awad. I think they're calling you, Laila. Go!'
Laila, a sprite of raw energy, ran, jumped over the unnatural river, swelling all the time, and landed on the other side with stylish grace. She was ordinary looking with the clear, deep whites of her eyes the only thing about her above average. Howa observed this scene from afar.
Xemi, another boy and Laila were in a triangle. She looked at Xemi who was once again wearing his big black coat now with the hood down. She thought he had become unattractive. His originally light skin had crept closer to the darkness of everyone else's and she hated it. She had liked having a relative with such light skin, so unusual in this village. It made her feel special and proud.
Xowa knew why they had called her friend over. If they all come back to the house, she would watch, she told herself. Riveted to the triangle, squinting to blink less, she saw Xemi's companion say something, Laila's eyes became a hyper pendulum, directed at the sky, bouncing on the balls of her feet, and then Xemi laughed. Laila barked something and ran back, lightly crossing the unnatural river again, returning to her surprised friend.
'Let's go inside; they are children !' Laila said laughingly, a tinge of disappointment laced the laughter. Howa as she turned saw Xemi had recognised her from a distance and there was a frown of disapproval on his brow, the look of someone who would tell. She hurried inside but she was sure he wouldn't say anything because he hated her mother.
'What did they say?'
'I don't know why he laughed like that. What was so funny?'
Howa wanted to laugh too, with her small teeth and big mouth, but held it in.
Two hours later she was walking back home and she spotted Yasmine the songstress. That meant that Mayloun was back ! She was rejoicing now that she didn't have to do the housework anymore. She walked up to Yasmine, who Howa thought was the reason for her premature enslavement and let loose her fury. That was a mistake, a flurry of youth. Yasmine was older and stronger and knocked the face veil off Howa. They were separated and matters got worse for her.
Her father was in the area, followed the commotion and dragged his daughter away. Howa knew that she was in imminent danger. She was biding her time and as soon as she reached the threshold she made a break for it.
'Grab her !' he screeched, showing a set of teeth only a decaying corpse should have. Xemi was next to the door.
Earlier that day when Mayloun was brought back, Xemi saw her throw a metal cylinder at her mother, Safia, which he snatched out of the air; and now he saw Howa run for it and he heeded his uncle's call and grabbed her dress. Why?
Surprised, she tried to struggle free and it was difficult for him to hold her, but it was long enough for her father to lay hands on her.
'You persist? You persist in doing this ? Never again will you go outside, never !' he screamed with a viscerality that sent shudders through you. She fell on the ground and he mounted her (popular tactic in this family) and extended a throttling grasp towards her. But she had grabbed both of his hands as they came towards her to protect herself.
'Allah, Abdullah, get him off me, brother, nephew!' she pleaded with him. Abdullah said he couldn't do anything as that was her father. Fear had spread all over his features like he was next.
'Let me go! Release me !' he screamed at his daughter, and then to Xemi who had come to his senses and tried to separate them. Xemi thought this alpha male with the wayward daughters and the brittle son would descend into tears.
As soon as Howa found an opening, she slithered away and ran to her room which seemingly had a forcefield as no one ever got followed in there. Xemi then breathed easier himself as he despised when things got too emotional. He quickly let go of this wretched old man and asked himself why on earth he was involving himself in these domestic quarrels.
*
Safia was taller than her husband. His previous wives were taller than him. His brother was a dwarf. He therefore was a short man. Safia's husband had a son from his previous marriage, whose height was between his dwarf uncle and himself. The bloodline had a short genome that affected everyone straight from conception.
His son, Mohamed, had a wide chest and a voice that was naturally high pitched like a small man's but Xemi felt that he sometimes put some bass into it to hide it, speaking with his chin towards his chest to achieve greater depth in his voice. He was young in his twenties and he liked to carry a cane with him. His pride and haughtiness could be seen on first contact. He was there the day Mayloun was brought back home.
Xemi was in Howa's and Mayloun's room. It was small, dark and messy with clothes, blankets and pillows strewn everywhere. Beneath one of the beds one could see a tub of skin whitener with a light-skinned Indian woman on it. Sometimes when no one was in the house he would lie on one of the beds, which were more nests than beds. One was of a greater height than the other.
He jumped on the highest one. The springs bounced him back up a couple inches. Then he sank into the warmth of this room. He was trying to think of what kind of warmth it was because it was unlike any other he had experienced. It was so consuming, enveloping him from all sides, that he had to force himself up when he heard a voice. He was in front of the room when Mayloun sashayed by him. He then found himself next to Safia and her son in law when Mayloun turned and screamed:
'Awful woman, gaoler ! Filthy animal ! Fuck your mother ! If you touch me, I dare you!'
The obscenities towards her mother weren't enough as she had reached frenzy; grabbing a metal cylinder that was used to stoke fire and throwing it at her mother. Xemi caught it mid air instinctively. It was heavy and the edge of the cylinder almost cut through his hand and would have disfigured her mother if he hadn't caught it. If that were to happen, no one could imagine what would have happened to Mayloun let alone her mother. He was shocked at his cousin's wildness. Everyone had a stunned look on their faces. As it was, the fact that she had thrown something at her mother sprung her young uncle into action.
'Is that your mother you're doing that too?' He was ready for a brawl and rushed for her. She ran in the toilet while Safia was in the back yelling 'beat her!' looking at Xemi's hand to see if he had a mark.
He remembered the first night when he went to shake her hand but she wrapped her hijab over it. This was the first time their naked flesh touched and Xemi was sure she was cherishing the moment, touching him as long as possible.
'Does she want to be my lover or my mother?' Xemi sometimes wondered.
Mohamed was kicking the door of the toilet in an attempt to break the lock. With the force he put in he was sure to do it. Xemi walked up to him and held him back and told him to relax.
As he looked up at the way Xemi towered over him he calmed down.
'Xemi?'
He was surprised to see himself stopped like this when the situation called for punishment.
'Forget this, let her mother handle this. Why involve ourselves?' Xemi knew what interested this vain man. 'Let's get some tea, you and me, and forget this nonsense.'
He was taken aback and then agreed like a prince had bestowed a favour upon him.
Mohamed had no deep feelings about the particulars of the situation. He reacted to the situation the way he thought he was supposed to react. The affront lay mainly in the fact she did that in front of him and he felt himself disrespected. If he had heard this story involving someone other than himself he would have laughed about it.
His pride had been damaged by Mayloun, Xemi massaged his ego. This short man was obsessed with class which he thought showed the true measure of a man. And to him the highest class of people were people from abroad. It was his dream to go and so, when Xemi asked him to have a drink with him, the pleasure of being seen with a worldly person in public was something he could not resist.
Walking on the main road next to the bulging, unnatural river, they passed a different tea place that had a TV. He was surprised he hadn't noticed this place before. They decided to go there. They ordered tea and a guy brought it, then sat on his haunches next to the bench they were sitting on, wanting to make conversation. Mohamed shifted uncomfortably as the waiter introduced himself as Hakeem. Mohamed, who originally had a blush of pleasure when they sat down, became more uncomfortable as Hakeem said he was from a village down in what could be understood as the 'country'. Before he could go any further Mohamed stopped him.
'Hold on, friend. We don't know each other, do we?'
'No. But we are in the process.'
'Haha, he's crazy. Go your way.'
The waiter got up embarrassed and went inside. While this was going on Xemi was talking to a little kid who was sitting behind him. He had been told before not to talk to kids as all kids were solely interested in mischief. He had brushed that off before with no mischief ever having occurred but now regretted it. It was obvious that this kid was mocking him. He still spoke in his opinion like a hopeless brute but he was disabused of this by his little bully.
'Hey now, why do you talk like a child?' he was asked by a child.
Xemi made a move to exercise his cultural right to slap any child of the village but found it was unnatural to him. He had never hit a child before. His hand first wavered then floated aimlessly mid-air before finally retracting in humiliation. The child sensed he would do nothing and didn't flinch or stop grinning.
'BOY leave that man alone, why don't you?' Mohamed boomed at the child.
The child looked up and snarled with impudence of the highest order:
'Pipe down little man, what can you do?'
Mohamed pounced from his seat so quickly the bench nearly tumbled over. Mohamed had been expecting back talk but the child was also ready and had raced away before the hands reached him. Mohamed ran after him, fury contorting his beardless face. His masculinity had been touched sorely as the child would not have spoken like that to a man of average height. Xemi watched the cloud of dust Mohamed left behind. He even dropped his cane to run after that boy. He really wanted to catch him. Xemi grabbed the cane and gave his attention to the TV.
They were playing a Bollywood movie dubbed in Somali. Mohamed came back breathing heavily, defeated. Xemi was enjoying the Bollywood film. The entire dialogue was in Somali, it was the songs which were in their original language. He wasn't familiar with the like. The music enthralled him. This, in fact, was a more respectable place than the other one. From what he heard, they showed porn movies there from time to time and they would get so hot they used to masturbate right then and there. It made Xemi wince the first time he heard about it. He thought circle jerks weren't a Somali thing but was proved wrong.
Soon he was back home and things had calmed down. Mayloun was back to cleaning and cooking or cooking and cleaning. She was allowed to choose the order. He went to the toilet and as he went he saw her in the kitchen. She was sitting on a little stool playing with the folds of her dress, lost in thought. One could sense a haze of detachment, or disgust even, whirring about her yet still Xemi looked down, when he was in front of her, looked her in her eye, when she looked up, and whispered 'why do you want to leave me?' and kissed her cheek. Her full cheek wobbled a little as he withdrew his lips. She had looked up with hope but then looked back down with a smile, knowing Xemi was not serious.
'What did you get up to there?'
'Nothing. I was caught too soon.'
'Too soon for what?'
She didn't reply. He had stayed too long in the kitchen and walked out quick just in case someone would walk in. He also did not trust himself too long with her. He was weak and he knew it. But why should he deprive himself? Lately he was wrestling with thoughts he never imagined he would entertain. He asked himself why he should want to leave.
His life there was easier than any he had experienced. Though he was forced to be there, the petty freedoms along with the holy freedom, the freedom from responsibility, were intoxicating. He knew that he would find it nowhere else. One reason as to why he must leave and leave soon rose tall above all else. That was that every day he was sinking lower and lower in this soil of atrophy from which one day he might not be able to extricate himself.
He kept seeing things from his ledge that entertained or intrigued him which kept away the desire that would fire his will to escape. One day as he sat there he heard a gunshot. He was more excited than scared when he heard it. The next thing he saw was a procession, headed by a gesticulating woman, of what looked like the entire village going to see what was happening, walking in the direction of the gunshot. Desire commingled with apprehension - he wanted to go too, but the sun was out. That was one thing he still shunned and even feared. Sunshine burning through his light skin. He didn't want to be dark skinned though his skin had noticeably darkened despite his efforts. Later Mahmoud told him that there was a fight.
After taunting one another, Mohamed and the big brolic deaf guy who Xemi met before got into a quarrel. The deaf guy lifted Mohamed up like he was a child and slammed him on the ground. Mohamed having his masculinity tested to its upper limit now, grabbed a machine gun, one was always lying around in tea shops, and let off a shot. The deaf guy had his bones shaken by the reverberation and went to his knees. He waited for the second shot but it wasn't forthcoming. Mercy came in its stead. Xemi would have put money on Mohamed in this situation killing someone. But he didn't. He wanted to see this giant of a man lower than himself for treating a man smaller than himself as less of a man than himself. And when he saw it satisfied, he put the gun back and walked away, crying from spilt rage. Xemi wondered if there was going to be punishment for Mohamed for taking one of the Askari's guns and letting off a shot. But nothing happened.
Dinner time and Abdullah was there as usual. Him and Howa were teasing each other when he left the house. Howa was excited and continued outside while he was walking towards the main road. A truck full of guys saw Howa playfully throwing obscenities and stones at Abdullah which were never meant to reach him.
'Me?' Abdullah questioned, his manner changed as the mute gallery passed by in the slow moving truck.
The normal nephew-aunt barrier was not enough to stop his wounded masculine pride from avenging itself. Her own playfulness evaporated in kind and with claws out ready to draw blood. Abdullah approached her. She swung and scratched air. He quickly overpowered her.
He sat on top of her holding her arm with one hand and light tapping her face with the other. Xemi was looking on like a vampire not wanting to go out into the sun. Perhaps he would have intervened if they were in the shade. A thought also entered that someone always seemed to be on top of Howa.
Some passerbyers separated the two and Abdullah delivered a kick to the backside with exhortations not to challenge him again. Singular ! Xemi wondered what he would do in a similar situation. He had fights with his sister, but never with his aunt. Was that because his aunt was older or because she was his parent's sister? What if his aunt was his sister's age? He'd probably put age before relation too if tested.
There were tougher times to come for Abdullah. In addition to his two aunts colluding to prevent him from eating at his grandfather's house - how desperate the situation at his own house was Xemi did not know but the fact he was sniffing around in the kitchen for food of any kind when no one was around did not speak well of his situation - his grandfather broke the news that his barely pubescent sister was pregnant, and out of wedlock it was conceived. When told, he stormed out of the house, no-one knew where to. Mahmoud used to make regular trips to their house and he said, in gleeful recollection, that a war was being waged over there.
She would not say who the father was and was subject to bone breaking beatings to make her speak. 'Say! Who! Who was it! Say !' It took a while before she finally revealed who the father was. Xemi was stunned by all this. Not that much actually because all the times they had spoken to each other on the phone gave him the feeling she was down for whatever. He was a little surprised that they would beat a pregnant girl though. Were they wanting to induce accidental miscarriage? But how accidental would this be? As he was told this by Mahmoud he was calculating.
'So she was screwing that guy during Ramadan? What kind of curse will fall on this child, your, hmm, grand nephew,' he asked Mahmoud, smiling in bemusement and mischief.
'No one knows. Only God,' he replied back, grinning no longer, holding his two hands up as if supplicating. Xemi sniggered in contempt. Preparation for marriage was made and one month later they were quietly married. Shortly after the wedding, Mayloun ran away from home again.
Chapter 28
Xemi was speaking to his mother on the phone. The money she had sent him was running low. The first thing he asked her was how much she had sent him. She kept changing the subject to things that mattered little like the usual small talk about health, well-being. But he pressed and got what he was looking for.
'What!' he shouted. 'Thieves ! Where is the REST ! OF ! MY ! MONEY !' he roared at Safia. 'No wonder your daughter keeps running away. Who wants to be around THIEVES!'
He couldn't talk anymore in his incandescent rage and bolted out the room.
'My whole life I didn't know they existed. What's mine has always been mine. If I had to share with my sister or my father that was one thing because I knew them. They knew me. But who are these people? What did they think I was to them, or they to me? I'm claimed as property, as a slave. On whose authority, by virtue of what? Because they know my father, and grew up with my father?' he raged to himself. 'Blood relation?'
Not even on the first day did he want to leave as fervently as he wanted to that day. That evening he went to Bari's TV place and met his future. It was a short dark skinned guy with huge eyes and dried limbs who lived abroad. Or rather he used to. His name was Yassin. In his own words he came for a visit from Britain and when he came was told that he would stay there. That was three years before.
'Madness. You have tried to get out?' Xemi asked him, anxiety spreading through his tensing body.
'There's no point. You know how these people are. There's no way out unless they let you out.' The fluent English thrilled him, soothing his anxiety.
''So you have been here for three years? What have you been doing here all this time?'
'Nothing,' he said with a laugh that said, 'was I supposed to do something?'
'Dhaqancelis' someone said, greeting Yassin. 'What's on tonight, Blue Movie?'
Yassin laughed and looked down like he was embarrassed by something.
'What's dhaqancelis?'
Xemi had never come across that word before. Yassin smiled.
'It's you. It's me. It's someone who was sent here to change or 'return' to what they were. It's him too, but he doesn't know it yet.'
Yassin pointed towards a handsome guy who was walking up to him. He wore a big American NFL jacket with the logos of the teams sewn into it.
'What's up?' he said to Xemi, in a thick Texan drawl.
After the introduction Xemi asked him how long he had been there.
'A couple months. A little visit, seeing the sights, enjoying the weather.'
'You're here on a visit? And you have been here for months?'
'Yeah. Just checking it out.'
'Just checking it out' he says, 'the sights, the weather. He's either lying or he's deluded,' a bemused Xemi said to himself. 'What sights?'
A commercial appeared on the TV with English written on the screen depicting the terms and conditions of the product advertised. Both Yassin and the Texan simultaneously started reading the terms and conditions aloud. Everyone turned towards the showmen. Xemi shook trying to hold his composure.
'Oh my lord, I'm going to cry. I have to get out of here,' Xemi said to himself in wild panic. 'Before I become like this !'
One guy had some khat and Yassin was asking him for some, smiling the biggest smile he had ever seen. He looked like the colonial caricatures of blacks.
'My god ! What am I going to do?' Xemi lamented, 'My future is upon me.'
He left the TV place, his mind in maddening turmoil. 'It's time to grovel, isn't that what they all want?'
The next day, the family was told that Hoden's mother had died. Safia had wailed for a minute then composed herself, crying silently instead. Hoden came to the house and Xemi couldn't look her in the eyes. He loathed looking into the inflamed eyes of a grieving person. But she pressed him, asking 'don't you want to comfort me?' and when he did look he couldn't detect any grief anywhere on her face. She either had come to terms with it or didn't like her mother. Xemi wanted to burst out 'you hated her too?', in delighted surprise, but stopped himself. That could have had a bad ending.
'I didn't see you at the funeral,' asked Hoden, smiling. She was always smiling at him, for what he did not know.
'I don't go to funerals,' replied Xemi, awkwardly, still not over the fact that he was talking to someone whose mother had just died, someone he himself was happy was dead.
'Why don't you go to funerals? You have never been to one? Don't lie to me!' she said, surprised.
'Not one, and I will not go.'
'Why?'
'I don't see the point of funerals. Is that supposed to bring the person back to life? We don't share the same memories of the dead person anyways.'
'What if your presence would bring my mother back to life, would you have come to her funeral?'
'She knows I hate her mother,' Xemi thought, 'And she's punishing me for it.' He didn't reply, having lost his wits, and just stared at her stupidly. Hoden laughed a little and said:
'Will you come to mine?'
Xemi then let out a little noise like she had just smacked him in the mouth. 'She's enjoying herself,' he thought to himself, laughing lightly now too.
'Probably not,' he finally said.
'Probably?'
'Absolutely not.'
'Because you don't like me?'
Xemi was desperately looking for means of escape, to get out of this subject and then the universe had mercy on him.
'Because I will die before you.'
'How? You're ten years younger than me.'
'What's that have to do with it?'
She stared at him and then realised that there was some sinful reference.
'You're crazy,' she said and made her way out, shaking her head, but having amused herself greatly for a couple of minutes.
'That was divine inspiration,' Xemi thought, grinning. 'This village still can't handle me.'
Mayloun was returned once again, because, like the last time, an aunt recognised her, grabbed her and kept her in her house until the return journey could be arranged. On the day she came back everyone was taking bets on how long she would last on this occasion. She came with news, however, of the son of Harragodhe, who had left the village to join his father in a bigger city. He had apparently lost a lot of weight due to his new love for khat. Xemi had wondered where he had gone off to and was fired by everyone's desire to leave this village. He was waiting for his father to call.
The original stipulations were to learn the language and culture. He had done both. The third he resisted as he had influence over it. If you live long enough in a place you are beholden to absorb the language and culture of any people. The religion was different. He never believed in it and wouldn't believe in it. But public is different from private. Outward appearance is of more importance to his father than inner conviction. Xemi knew that and that's why he used to put water on his head to have the form of devotion. If someone other than his father would have tested his woodoo they would have been satisfied. Not once did they ever pray together or was his father in the room when Xemi prayed. Never did he ask if Xemi believed in God. All he cared about was whether or not others thought that he did, because what is shown in public is a reflection on the parent rather than the child. The ultimate public display of religiosity was to go to the mosque. And he made plans to go there the next day.
He went with Abdullah, Mahmoud and his father. He told Mahmoud to let it be known that he wanted to go to the mosque. Arrangements were made afterwards. He already had the sarong that his mother gave him that he occasionally wore inside. He was to wear it outside now. A simple beige dress shirt completed the image. He however didn't know how to tie the sarong properly and would be stranded in public if it came undone so he wore a belt. One piece that wasn't miraculously stolen from his trunk. When it first became known that he was going to the mosque Howa was incredulous asking if he knew the prayers.
'I knew them before you were born,' Xemi replied.
'Of course he does,' Safia added.
'But I'm not circumcised though so I don't know if it still counts.'
A stunned silence.
'Allah, hoyo,' said Xowa, slowly, turning to her mother, giggling. 'Does it still count? Haha!'
Safia shook her head, mumbling something, a curse no doubt, Xemi was sure. Smirking, he made his way out.
The day was hot as it always was at twelve o'clock in the afternoon. All four walked under a humbling sun that Xemi had only once experienced before. This was the first time he had gone outside at this hour of day in this village. He winced at the heat exposing the metal in his mouth which glistened in the sun. It seemed every man in the village was going to the mosque that day. The only difference between them were the colours of costume but everything else was the same. A sarong, a dress shirt, and the majority had a cane.
'Now I am just like you,' he told himself looking left and right.
The mosque was the usual kind. The outside white, with a blue cupola for a roof. They arrived just in time for prayer which he was thankful for as he didn't have to listen to the imam talk. The one presiding today was the one who threatened him with a beating before. Their eyes met and the teacher could not suppress the entirety of his smile. 'He sees right through me' flashed before Xemi.
Initially when everyone stood up to begin the prayer Xemi panicked, thinking that he had forgotten how to pray; but then he controlled his breathing, and observed the people to his left from the corner of his eye. The prayer became mechanical. Bend at the right time, kneel at the right time, turn your head at the right time, and don't forget the finger at the right time. When done, everyone flooded out. Xemi caught a shard of conversation.
'Is there any difference between reciting prayers in one language as opposed to another ? There isn't, is there ? The verses remain of the same substance.'
'There is. One is the prophet's language.'
'Yes, but it's the meaning that counts surely not how it's said. What if the person doesn't know the language. How can he pray?'
'He can't. He has to learn the verses in Arabic.'
'No. I don't think it matters. It can't.'
The two young men were moving away. 'I agree with you, liberal man!' Xemi said in his head. He had the suspicion that the liberal man wanted to engage him in conversation and that's why his questions reached his ears loud and clear. He must have been curious about his religiosity. Xemi understood and would be curious too if the roles were reversed. He caught looks from plenty but refrained from making eye contact. His uncle greeted people left and right and made plans to socialise. He exhorted Abdullah and Mahmoud to take Xemi home.
Back home he took his clothes off as he was soaked in putrid sweat. He heard a voice that he recognised. He looked at the back and the Elephant Man shopkeeper's wife was talking to Safia. But he was stunned as he didn't expect the voice to have a face. Her face veil was off.
She might as well have exposed her breasts, that's how indecent it felt. He had seen her more than a few times and even in her house she never took off her face veil. He used to joke with her sons telling them their mother was ugly and that's why she hid herself behind that black cloth. But she was attractive enough.
She had a queenly beauty about her, regal and strong faced. The enigma of what was propriety mystified him. He definitely knew that the girls there wore that face veil only for fashion or to go outside in disguise. But this woman was different. Xemi was sure she used religion as a crutch to be able to bear the sight of her husband, and the only reason he saw her now was because he caught her unawares.
The phone call he wanted came days later. He was laying on his bed when he heard his aunt speaking in the loud voice that she used whenever she spoke to relatives who lived abroad, because the connection wasn't as strong as a local call, and she was afraid they wouldn't be able to hear her properly. Xemi then heard his father's name.
Nervously, he fortified himself as he walked to the living room where his aunt was and sat next to her, pointing at the phone and himself, indicating that he wanted to speak to his father. After a minute, she handed it to him.
'Xemi, so you learned Somali?' was the first thing his father asked after a year and a half. Xemi felt a rush of excitement from hearing his father's voice again.
Speaking to his father in Somali was like paying homage to a victor but he did so anyway, and told him that he indeed had learned his mother's language.
'And you have been praying?'
'Yes. I just went to the mosque a couple of days ago,' Xemi responded, giving him the lies of theatre that his father wanted, rather than the forthrightness of honesty that landed him in this village, and returned his father's ego to its former state; but then he experienced the childish excitement of a son who hadn't spoken to his father in a long time and wanted to tell him the new things he had discovered.
'I didn't know you and my mother were of different tribes. I'm surprised you married someone with whom your father's tribe has conflict with.'
'That was a long time ago, and things are not as dangerous as they once were. What tribe are you?' his father asked, delighted his son had a deeper knowledge of Somali family structure.
An idea suddenly came to Xemi. What if he should add a little danger ?
'Long time...someone was shooting at another man the other day.'
'What ? So it's getting dangerous over there again.'
Safia was sitting next to Xemi and laughed saying loudly how minor the situation was. Xemi violently told her to pipe down.
'Is that how you talk to your aunt ? Boy is that your aunt you're talking to like that?' his father shouted and slammed the phone down. Xemi put the phone down himself and turned to Safia.
'One day, I'll make you regret this.'
The next day he was in a hateful humour and came back from his evening outing earlier than usual. Entering from the back door quietly; not wanting to meet a single soul he stumbled upon Mayloun, ruffling through his suitcase. His initial shock turned to fury. She as the daughter of her mother was everything he hated most at that moment and as Mayloun was going through his suitcase, he saw Safia putting her hands in his life to take what she wished, and lost himself. He grabbed a cane while hearing nothing of Mayloun's protestations. Hoden came in while he was lashing her sides and thighs with the cane. He put such force into it that only the paddings of fat saved her from broken bones.
'Where is her mother? At least tell me that,' she demanded to know. He ignored her. She went outside to look for Safia next door. Xemi beat Mayloun until her protests had turned to sobs, and told her to go, never to come near him again. Only seldom had he felt this type of rage that made him cry afterwards. He didn't know where it all came from. Deep inside, dangerous before, seething still, gratified now. He had never beaten a woman before just like he never hit a kid before. Now that he was there he had done one and there were no repercussions. Woe betide the next child that mocked him.
Safia came back with Hoden and castigated Mayloun rather than rebuke Xemi for laying hands on her daughter. He was expected to do it, what was there to reprimand? In a similar situation elsewhere would he have done the same? The tears of anger told him yes. The only difference is that here he was allowed, and elsewhere he wasn't.
The next day Xemi was on his ledge looking at a curious cumulus in the distance. He could see lightning flashing from an angry, dark cloud and sheets of rain falling from the bottom, unmoving, concentrating its punishment solely on those unfortunates who resided there. It looked like a God in his displeasure had flung a curse at someone, involving everyone else in the vicinity. Xemi wondered what was there.
Howa along with Mayloun were nearby and Howa who had heard of what happened the day before from Hoden, teased her sister about it rather than close ranks against him like they did with Abdullah when he had attacked Howa.
'Are you going to do it again?' Howa wanted to know, then descended into a flurry of giggles.
Mayloun told her sister to shush calling her an immature child. A brooding look went in search of him for his acknowledgement. Mayloun's demeanor struck Xemi. He expected belligerence, attempts to make his life difficult. It was the opposite and Xemi knew why when her look told him. In her eyes he saw womanhood reached and affirmed in having swayed the passions of a man she desired, who was beginning to lay claims on her.
Xemi himself didn't see it that way. In his mind she was a thief and he hated her. He thought the feeling would have been reciprocal and was surprised at the outcome. She was smiling more than ever to him and seemed exceptionally pleased to have been beaten. He warded off all of the love signals and ignored her. His lot was subject to its own correction.
After the call with his father things moved quickly. Xemi thought he would have to do more after his father heard him speaking reckless to his aunt. But no. He had turned eighteen in this place, the last place he thought he would be when he would become an adult. His nineteenth would be reached elsewhere. He was to leave in weeks.
Chapter 29
The weeks waiting for departure were the happiest times of his life. Nothing is greater than the feeling of liberation. Mayloun was masturbating more than ever, louder than ever. 'She wants to come with me,' Xemi thought to himself, smiling at the admirable attempt to ensnare him.
'You thought you had me didn't you?' he told a bemused Safia.
'What did I have to do with it? Your father did this, not me.'
'Both of you are criminals.'
Arrangements were made that he would go with an aunt of his to Djibouti and then they would fly to separate destinations. He didn't know her but he didn't care who or how it was. He just wanted to get out. Everyone was surprised to hear that he was granted a reprieve. He had been there for more than a year and a half and it had seemed that he would remain there forever. As he said his goodbyes, people drew up their wishlist. 'Get me this tshirt, get me this perfume, get me this, get me that.'
'Of course this is what I am to you. None of you will exist to me as soon as I leave this village,' he said to himself. But to them, Xemi said no problem. All wishes would be granted.
A young man entered the house from the back and went straight into the master bedroom. Xemi had not seen him before but the jawline marked him out to be another member of the jawline family. Their mother had strong genes! Safia was in the bedroom and he sat down on the bed next to her, languidly, unabashedly. He had returned from somewhere and wanted to greet extended family. Xemi had in fact heard of him.
In a tussle involving a machine gun a blast resounded and a man fell to his death. Mr jawline was the second man in that tussle. He maintained that it was an accident, the result of roughhouse gone too far, that he himself was the biggest victim after the deceased. The dead man's tribe wanted justice, uninterested in secondary victims. The two tribes came to an agreement. The victim's tribe received ten thousand dollars in return for the killer to be left alone, with no punishment nor harassment. However, a stipulation was made that if he was involved in another killing, his punishment would be whatever the tribe saw fit. Noone was under any illusions of what the punishment would be.
One part of Xemi thought that a man's life was bought with blood money. The other part thought that any punishment would be useless. Why should one man's life be ruined because another was dead? Still he felt a shudder in his bones seeing him in person.
He heard Safia and the young man talk and one thing piqued his interest. He walked in the bedroom, his nerves on edge.
'Did you say there was a bomb attack? But my father lives in that city. Maybe he got caught up in it.'
His sole thought was how this news would affect him. The young man fixed leonine eyes upon Xemi, wondering who he was, then discovered it, and scrutinized him, all without a word being spoken since Xemi's question. 'Is this rudeness or dullness?' Xemi wondered.
'Yes. They just spoke about it now on the radio,' the young man finally answered.
Xemi listened with a pounding heart.
'How many people died?' he asked the man. The man replied that he didn't know.
'Don't worry. Your father is fine. We would have heard if something happened,' Safia announced.
'What would you know about it?' Xemi said scathingly, and left. He was worried no matter what anyone said.
A nervous daze came upon him in this new limbo, which only his father's call days later shook off. The relief Xemi felt was as if his own life was saved. For so long he didn't care if his father called or not, now that he cared it took too long for it to happen. 'You should have called earlier' was the first thing he said to his father.
On the day before his departure he heard his aunt and his uncle arguing in their bedroom. A lover's tiff.
'Leave it alone, Safia. Let his father handle it,' his uncle barked at his wife.
'What do you mean? He's my son too, if he's my brother's son.'
'His father made the decision -'
'And if he goes back to what he was before?'
'Then let him !'
Xemi bristled with rage.
'If I don't leave tomorrow, someone is dying. I swear it!' he promised.
On the eve of his departure he was lying in bed. He heard the shuffle of a dress.
'Son of Awad.'
He looked up and saw Mayloun. He remembered his aunt and her machinations.
'What if Safia sent her daughter as a final trap, a last throw of the dice ?'
He stared at his cousin moving closer. He told her to take her clothes off and saw her smile becoming greater.
'No, she hasn't been sent. She came here by herself. Hehe, payback time,' he rejoiced to himself.
He wished there was more light so he could see her skin. He kissed her dry lips and then wetted them with his own. Her body was so soft.
'Are you going to bleed?'
'No.'
'Oh...Good.'
The desire Xemi had for her was inexpressible. In practice it manifested in a shortened experience but the release was stronger than anything he had experienced before. He told her not to tell anyone about what they had done, no matter who it was, and she promised.
'Will you remember me?'
'Yes.'
'Will you send for me?'
'Yes.'
She was radiant, expressing shy joy more than he had ever seen. She left his bed and went to her own. He dreamt that night and as happens, dreamt of the most vivid memory in his psyche.
Mayloun was bleeding and her blood was on him. He got up and saw blood all over the bed. 'Now what?' he thought. She walked out and went to her parents room. She told them what they had done, with blood running down her legs, in revenge for the time Xemi had beaten her with the cane.
Her father came into Xemi's room with the gaslamp, his feet leaving blood stains on Xemi's floor. Xemi was sitting on his bed thinking of some way to rescue the situation. He saw his uncle coming towards him, putting the gaslamp to the bloody sheets, then to his naked body. The flame of the gaslamp itself was the colour of dark blood. Xemi stared at it. Why hadn't it ticked yet? His uncle raised the gaslamp to his face, darkened by the strange light.
'Tick, gaslamp, tick,' his soul pleaded. His uncle raised it to his eyes. 'Or I'm lost, for my heart has stopped beating.'
Xemi looked at his uncle's eyes, bathing in the flame of blood, watching his eyes open wider and wider, slowly, as if something was preventing him from opening them, but he was overpowering it regardless. What would happen when he overcame it ? Just before he fully opened his eyes, just before Xemi could gasp, the gas lamp ticked, his heart beat and he awoke.
He tore the blanket off him and saw nothing, no stains, no blood either on himself or the bed.
'It's that gaslamp and its hellish, irregular tick that caused that dream,' a trembling Xemi cursed. His heart was beating like the mouse's they had caught and was thrown on the rocks by his uncle. 'Why couldn't that gaslamp have had a regular tick?'
It was dusk. Only his uncle and aunt were awake. They were oblivious to what happened the night before but he still had the shakes that would betray him. The car pulled up. A driver drove it whom he had not seen before. He recognised the other passenger however. It was the entrepreneur's brother with the wicked jawline. They greeted each other courteously. His uncle was to accompany him to the city where he would meet with the aunt who would chaperone him to Djibouti.
They got in the car. Safia waved them goodbye. He ignored her. He didn't even say goodbye. The dislike he had for her evaporated slightly as his departure drew closer but he could not forgive her as he figured she was one of the principal actors in his entombment there. The others in the car likely attributed his coldness to an expression of masculinity as Xemi felt no awkwardness from any of them.
Safia watched as they drove off and walked back in the house, muttering, then felt the string that held her beads together loosening and growing lax. But she felt it as an unconscious sensation, something she was scarcely aware of and it wasn't until she was in her bedroom that she realised her beads didn't feel right. Instead of perpetually rolling in her hand, using her thumb to push the beads downwards, she reached an end where there shouldn't have been one. Safia looked down and saw that she had snapped the string of her prayer beads and that several were already rolling on the floor. As she was looking at the beads now rapidly falling from the string, she emitted a curious sound that was half gasp and half sob, snatched the last bead before it tumbled down, and held it fast within her palm like she wanted to melt it with her body heat or crush it with her bones. Not for nothing would release the bead at that moment, not this one, her body wouldn't obey her even if she wanted to…
They were headed for the same city where Xemi slept in the hotel and from then on they were to go to another city to take the small plane to Djibouti. It took half the time it did than the last time.
'Someone created a new faster route through the rocks,' Xemi said to himself, approvingly.
Xemi smelled the city before he saw it; all white like the last time. Although this city was repellent to him the first time, now it looked like salvation. They dropped him off at the hotel his grandfather had where his chaperone would be. He took leave of his uncle with a smile and a handshake. He liked him more than the other other adults because he had never felt like an accomplice to his stay there, remembering the last argument he had with his wife the night before.
The woman he was to travel with was a tall woman, in her thirties, slightly overweight, and was sitting in the lobby of the hotel when he arrived. After introduction, by handshake which she took in stride, he was told that they would leave within the hour. It would take another eight hours until they got to the city where the plane would take them to Djibouti.
Xemi was pleased at the speed of events. The car to take them pulled up and it was packed. It was a four seater but six were to go in. Xemi was told as the youngest that he was to sit in between the front seat and the driver's seat. It was so uncomfortable that in normal circumstances he would protest or refuse to be put there. However, he said not a word but thanks.
The car wobbled at times because of the weight and Xemi thought it might not be able to last the whole trip. Excitement burned the hours away and they found themselves looking at an ever growing city as they drew nearer. The rocks disappeared. The lights in the night made Xemi breathless. There were buildings longer than two stories. It's been a long time since he had seen such a sight. Had he been in this city before? Maybe they had used a different route because he didn't remember this beautiful creation.
They pulled up at a restaurant to eat something. He hadn't been in a Somali restaurant before. He and his aunt went inside. The waiter came up to them and told them to take a seat at a big empty table. He studied Xemi with a lingering gaze and said that if he wanted he could eat at the other side too. Xemi told him he was fine there without looking at the other side. They ordered and ate a little awkwardly. He looked beyond the partition and saw the restaurant was busy. The waiter had a tray of bananas asking if anyone wanted one.
'Here, here, bring one here !' was the cry. A banana goes with any dish in Somali cuisine.
Looking at this sight he realised he was in the women's section. He chuckled at the realisation and looked at his aunt. Relatively young, but old, unmarried still, she was self conscious. Her demeanor told him not to look at her while she was eating. She was slurping her spaghetti, snatched meat off a bone and Xemi couldn't help but look. The gorging was gruesome as she ate as fast as she could. Their eyes locked and he looked away.
Xemi concluded that it was his aunt that made this awkward. If she didn't want to eat at the same table she should've told him to go to the men's section. He didn't even know there was a men's section! They finished their meal in silence. At the hotel Xemi found they had separate rooms. Xemi thanked the heavens for that.
When the bellboy, who was a bellman really, showed Xemi his room he exclaimed:
'You're in this room by yourself?'
He had an incredulous look on his face, his mouth wide open, green residue of khat on his inner lips. Xemi looked at his aunt who answered yes. He himself smiled and shrugged his shoulders. He looked like a child and he knew it. He was too young to enjoy the privilege of a solitary hotel room in this guy's eyes. One might get up to no good. When left alone he looked around the room. It was small with one single bed.
'How did this fool expect me to share a room like this?' Xemi said aloud, chortling afterwards.
He looked in the bathroom and to his inexpressible pleasure he discovered a shower and a toilet. He turned the tap and water came out.
'It's been some time but we're together again,' he sang playfully.
He took a shower, went to bed but he couldn't sleep. There were cars and shouts by revellers but that wasn't what was keeping him awake.
'You're in this room by yourself?' rang in his ears, obliterating all else. He was there by himself.
He thought of the last time he was in another bed, far away, caressing a soft body that he'd been waiting to caress since he first saw it. This room was cold and getting colder. He felt like life was getting colder. He swallowed, stared at the ceiling. He shivered, twitched like the last tremblings of a dying body. Unbearable coldness came over him and he pressed his eyelids tighter, pulled the blanket over him closer, trying to make it go away, but it remained as Xemi knew it would. He knew no creation of man can ever relieve this coldness. He had abandoned the only warmth that could.
