Chapter 10
When Mayloun first ran away, it was to send a message. The second time it was to never come back. The third time it was simply to let her mother know that though she may not be able to run for far or for long, she would nevertheless get her own back. She would, knowing her time was limited, try what she could to render worthless all her mother's attempts at protecting her daughters purity. She could not stand her house anymore, where she was deprived of autonomy, and in its stead given only toil.
Her mother would refuse to countenance a marriage for some unknown reason, while her daughter would refuse to accept her life as expected maid, of days of graft and boredom, soaking her hands in warm white water to soften them and then pick the calluses off as best as she could, biting them off at times. If she had to do these tasks for her own home, for her own family, her own husband and children, she would gladly do them, but she was doing this for someone else, forced to do so even, and considered herself a slave or a prisoner.
What her mother had refused her, she had taken herself, marriage or not. In fact she did try to find out if she could arrange a marriage herself but found it impossible. In order to spite her mother she arranged liaisons whenever she was out of town, with strong hopes of getting pregnant or forcing through a marriage, a home, a family, to escape that slave existence.
But it seemed she could not fall pregnant, no matter how hard she tried, until the night with Xemi. She was sure that it happened, that now she had succeeded in attaining pregnancy. But what of marriage and a family? Xemi would not accept the child as his, so what then? What she didn't expect was her mother's reaction and her plan on fooling a man into marriage while already pregnant with someone else's child.
This was not Mayloun's original intention, the deceptive part, but things were falling into place regardless, in a highly favourable and coveted manner at that. She would have the fortune of choosing her husband, which in this village, could only be done as Afrah did, by falling pregnant by the man. So which man would it be?
Mayloun was sitting in the back of the house. Safia and her had both just taken some white water from their barrels for different purposes. Mayloun had scooped some white water in a metal pot to put into the sun. She wanted to soak her calluses and remove what she could. Safia had taken some white water in order to clean with, something that would never have happened before if Mayloun was around. Times had changed and Mayloun had on her face a permanent grin.
'I need a man who is not too old that his blood is cold and can't do the business. I need a man who is not too young that isn't settled with a house and income.'
'Is that right?' Safia said, almost threateningly, but nothing would come from it. She took her head wrap off and threw it on the kitchen floor, a floor which was impossible to wipe properly, due to its uneven surface, and so any stains would be left to dry as it was. It was a section that only welcomed the female sex anyway, so it didn't matter. She would do the corridor only.
'So that leaves me with a man who has children already and is looking for a second wife.'
Safia put the dirty rag into the black plastic bucket and swirled it inside, breathing heavier every microsecond.
'He'll have children, but manageable children, older or around my age. Maybe good looking boys even.'
'Fragment of the devil.'
Mayloun giggled.
'Maybe son of Ahmed. He's not that old and good looking. But he's got only daughters.'
Safia let out an involuntary titter.
'What about son of Hamza? No, his children are too young and his wife is still beautiful.'
Mayloun took the pot out of the sun's rays and entered her right hand into the warm water, just big enough for her swelling hands.
'I think I'll go for son of Abdi-Karim, a beautiful man. What do you think mother? One son and one daughter. The daughter is the youngest at thirteen, a manageable age. Young enough to take care of the home for a long while. And the boy's so...he looks a little like Xemi. In any event we can use him as a reference point. Strange how his father is so dark but he himself so light.'
She was talking about Aaden and his father.
Safia was listening while she was huffing and puffing, sweeping the wet rag from side to side, her knees popping from time to time. Though she would never say, she was impressed by her daughter's reasoning. Having gone back to her starting point where Mayloun sat, she said while breathing heavily:
'Too bad the boy will win the election. So you will have to play with the girl, you devious little slut.'
Mayloun took her hand out of the water and fingered the loosened callus. She then put her teeth on it, saw that it wasn't coming off easily and then fingered it with interest.
'Why would he want to win an election like that, when he can have a mother in law like me?'
She put her teeth on the callus again and ripped it off.
Chapter 11
Howa looked at the board in class, confused but trying hard to memorise. She had noticed something in her mother's tone that had worried her. She had to learn something today, come what may. '
A + B = 7' the board said. She squinted her eyes, bewildered, but it was enough. She wrote the equation down.
'I learned something today. A + B = 7. How about that ?' she marvelled slightly, not listening to the teacher, but simply writing down what was on the board at that particular time.
Having 'learned something new', she looked around her. This was an all girl class where she was seated in the third row of a four row seating structure, in the middle column, a delicate little matrix of all female students. Some were paying attention to the teacher and wrote more than A + B = 7. Howa turned away, grinning at the pressures some of these girls were under. But not her, not yet.
There was one girl at the front of the class who had caused a stir that day. She had come into class with an unusual garment on, that is, unusual for class. She was wearing the black attire of the niqab. This was the first time someone had come into class while completely covered and the class was excited at this pioneering act. By the next day, she wouldn't be the only one. And by next week half the class would be there with black veils turned towards the teacher. Howa was determined to be one of them. The girl, Naima, looked so elegant, mature, even sensual, for the eyes have the greatest attractive force, and it killed Howa that she wasn't the first to think of such a statement.
Howa more recently was going through a period not of puberty, but feminisation. She had always been a tomboy, play fighting, gross and coarse, but of late had moved on to more girly things like learning new jigs. Now, for reasons that she didn't know herself, femininity started creeping up with her burgeoning womanhood. She thought of attractiveness and allure. Since her face wasn't attractive, she thought her figure was, and all eyes are beautiful. The veil would be a perfect solution. But she had a problem.
She thought that if she presented herself and displayed her womanhood, the more danger there would be of domestication, which now was Mayloun's lot. If she was considered to be less of a child and more of a woman, she would be forced to take care of the house, but not of the home, for a house becomes a home only when one becomes the matron of it, a view she shared with her sister. She sensed that her mother had designs on such a course, to domesticate her, and felt that soon Mayloun would be married and she would have to take over her responsibilities. If she could just squeeze out a few more years, she said to herself !
She looked down at her sheet of paper, completely blank, without her regular doodles, more presentable like this; blank, besides the equation: A + B = 7. She screwed her face, and then relaxed it. 'Of course it does,' she smiled to herself. 'Of course !'
Class was out, the school day finished. It was one in the afternoon. Howa gathered her things and found herself outside, swallowed by the chattering throng, the slanting sun straight in her eyes. She winced after hours in the dark class room but soon opened her eyes wider as her friend beckoned to her. She was a year older, but smaller in size; Amina, with her chipmunk cheeks. A flicker of a woman's sense of physical appraisal flashed through her. Amina's cheeks were super cute; but this disappeared as intrigue and anticipation took its place. Amina was fishing in her pockets and showed Howa the jewels of a Somali woman's adornment. Howa sucked her breath in delight.
'Dhiilo!' Howa said, slapping Amina's shoulder.
Amina was holding a packet of chewing gum. Both of them delicately took one, slowly now! don't spill a single one of these little blocks of white sensuality. Soon they started chewing, smacking rather, turned around, risen in grandeur, seething with self satisfaction. Who knew that chewing gum could refine people.
'Howa !'
The new woman looked up and saw
Abdullah not far from her. He didn't want to get too close as there was a mass of smacking girls in between them. The chewing gum had spread fast!
Howa said bye to her friend and walked to her nephew.
'Auntie, let's go.'
For a second she stood in front of him, smiling, smacking her chewing gum. Abdullah stared at her. Disdain for womankind had been raging within him ever since his sister became pregnant out of wedlock. Now looking at his aunt, obviously trying to express coquetry, he almost shook with anger. Howa burst into giggles.
'Did you know A + B = 7?'
