Chapter 22
This romance had begun on a dare. Bari had heard that Afrah was talking to different guys on the phone, so he called her one day ostensibly to ask for Abdullah who he knew wasn't there. The play ended with her changing her voice from husky to raised indignation to say 'I dare you to!' Within five minutes he was at her house, pressing himself against her. She didn't push him off. Soon she had him begging not to tell anyone that he was the father of her child. Now they were married. He had been sulking ever since, and this ill humour amused Afrah. What did he really expect? The three days of beatings, and the marks that singed like scarlet letters...
'Where are we going, husband?'
He used to wince when she called him that, knowing that she was mocking him.
'We are going to our new house, first wife. Your temporary residence rather.'
'First wife?'
She smothered a laugh.
'Will you tell your second and third wives that you love them, like you told me you loved me, husband?'
He winced despite himself. It is always unpleasant to be reminded of your former weaknesses.
'You won't hear that from me again.'
'I'm so happy to be the only one who will ever have been given that privilege.'
'You know what? Just for you I will tell them that I love them.'
She smothered another one of her laughs - the only laugh she ever laughed was one that was smothered.
'Forty years old, telling an eighteen year old that you love them?'
'Who says I'll be forty? I'll give you ten years of my life and then you're out.'
'I want twenty minimum.'
'Fifteen is the compromise.'
They were in a very playful mood, one that fires the blood.
'One thing I'll bet is that these wives will all look like me, the way I look now. Irresistible.'
She opened and flicked her hijab in triumph and boast.
'If you tempt me, I'll resist you to the point of a single child.'
They were approaching their marital house in waiting which was on the same street as his mother's house, and next to Safia's. The rocks had been cleared and the building had begun but instead of pointing it out, Bari ignored it. Afrah also had no regard for her surroundings. They were entranced and clearly heading somewhere else.
'Why didn't you resist me to the point of no child?'
'You know why. I can't resist a dare. Every time there is a challenge, I have to prove myself right and the other person wrong.'
'How many times did I dare you? And how many times did you come to me? It doesn't add up, husband. The fact is that I'm irresistible.'
'It's that first dare that got me.'
'But what was it that kept you?'
'I had nothing better to do. I was bored,' Bari said as he pushed the door to his mother's house open.
She walked through the door and then followed him to his bedroom.
'I hope your brothers visit us so I can see if they can resist a dare. What if I dare them to come around? Little brothers emulate their big brothers, don't they?'
She took her hijab off.
'Soon you'll stop talking to me like that,' he mumbled in warning as he moved closer.
She stopped talking and so did he.
Chapter 23
Mayloun was alone in the house and had just finished smearing the whitening cream on her face and hands. She felt pretty. She turned her attention to her hair. By a twist of fate her hair had come out curlier and coarser than both her mother's and her sister's, when the rest of her features were softer and finer. One day she took her headwrap off to fix it properly and her mother remarked on her hair's curliness, the latest in a sequence of jibes. Mayloun took a pair of scissors, went to her room and hacked it off in several places. She then went up to her mother who had been sitting in the corridor, threw the chopped hair on the floor in front of Safia and asked her: 'is this better?' It was this day that Safia realised how sensitive and impulsive her daughter had become, and that she should tread carefully with the girl she had given birth to. 'A nervous girl,' she used to tell people, curiously using the English word for nervous. She feared what would happen if Mayloun was in a more volatile environment such as marriage and this was one of the reasons why she forestalled marriage for as long as she could, to see if she would grow out of it. She never did.
Mayloun had finished combing her afro hair and pressed the headwrap close to prevent her hair from sticking out and making her head look bigger. Wearing her loose, short sleeved house dress she came out of her room, whose magical warmth pulled at her to stay, and found Aaden in front of a closed backdoor. He looked at her with a smile, while she froze and then lowered her arms.
'Sister. I have come to say hello.'
He approached to come closer and now stood in the middle of the corridor not too far from Mayloun. The first feeling Mayloun had was one of envy. As she had just been doing her hair, the first glance fell on Aaden's hair which was softer and flowed down as opposed to her's which curled upwards. 'Even his hair colour is lighter,' she said to herself. She walked up to him with her dry lips slightly parted and put her hand in his hair. Aaden was used to people touching him, so only smiled and didn't flinch.
'I want to marry your father,' she said softly.
'Who is stopping you?' he replied unperturbed.
She suddenly pulled her hand back and fixed a quizzical look upon him.
'What are you doing here ? Mother isn't here if it's this election.'
'I said I came to say hello.'
'You're too young to make house calls, boy,' she said, moving to a belligerent, reprimanding tone. 'You should be in school or playing outside.'
'They gave me permission to miss school because of this election. And as for play, I like to play inside and not out.'
After a moment's appraisal she said:
'I'm alone anyway, so you might as well stay. You want some tea?'
She went into the kitchen without waiting for a reply and fired the stone pot that had a mixture of black and grey charcoal and put the kettle on the pot. Reflexively she sat on the little stool that was in front of the stone pot. Aaden walked in, looked at the pot, and her sitting down, and sat on the floor with his back to the wall facing her. Mayloun sniggered.
'Like a real woman.'
'How old are you, Mayloun?' he asked suddenly.
'Old enough to be your mother… eighteen.'
'My father always said that the minimum age for a girl to get married is twenty. You are two years off, cousin. You'll just have to wait two more years.'
'Twenty ? I'm twenty right now.'
'You just said you were eighteen.'
'No, I'm twenty.'
'Not only are you bored, but you're very particular. You want to get married and only to one man?'
'Yes, I'm in love. Can I marry out of love? Can I marry your father?'
'Who ever heard of someone asking the son if they can marry his father,' he exclaimed laughingly. 'I give you permission.'
'I'm sure there's a lot of things you haven't heard about.'
She took a metal cup that had no handle, rinsed it in a bucket of white water, sloshing and dipping the cup in and out a couple of times. She took some tea strands, put them in the cup, and poured water into it.
'No doubt you want milk.'
There was a tin can with milk powder close by and she took a spoonful, mixed it with the hot water and tea and then handed the cup to him. He took the cup from her, holding it from the bottom and put his other hand to the mouth of the cup just so he could brush his fingers against her hand.
'Thank you sister.'
'Call me mother.'
'Thank you mother.'
'If your father has a minimum age for marriage, what's his maximum age before divorce?'
Aaden snorted.
'My mother is not close to it.'
'Liar,' she hissed, watching Aaden blow in the tea. 'I wonder which will have more weight, and which gap will get sutured early or dismissed. Closeness to marriage, or closeness to divorce.'
Aaden slurped at his tea and looked at this girl who wished to be his mother. It was unusual for him to be in such close quarters with a girl as young as this, as lately he could be found more with middle aged women and this newness heightened the effect her beauty made upon him.
'Closeness to marriage.'
Mayloun smiled.
'Have you told your parents that you want to marry, or is this a fantasy?'
'Put the glass down, you'll burn yourself. Let it cool on the floor,' she ordered. 'Your hands must be hot; let me see.'
He gave him her hand.
'Warm,' she said, getting up, as she heard the door open. She knew it would be her mother as her father never came back home till later in the day. She made her movements sharp and sudden to make it seem like she was doing something illicit. Her mother, wrapped up in a pink traditional dress with matching hijab took it as such but when she saw Aaden coming out of the kitchen her voice nearly got caught in the throat. She had been about to ask Mayloun what she was up to, but instead replied to Aaden's greeting.
'Mother. I was just telling Aaden that I will marry his father,' Mayloun said grinning. 'He gave me his permission.'
Aaden burst into laughter, his voice raised, and it sounded like music. Both women turned to him as the sound was striking. Safia regained composure.
'Mayloun, you want to marry everyone,' she said, her voice trembling with fury. Mayloun was clearly provoking her.
'No mother. Only his father.'
'Uss, naya,' Safia said sharply.
'Hey now, Mayloun, xisho, you heard me?' Aaden said, with a tinge of mockery, clearly stifling his laughter because his position and his words didn't match. He was reprimanding a woman older than him in her own house. He felt it was ridiculous and so couldn't maintain seriousness which diminished the value of his rebuke.
Mayloun dissolved into gleeful laughter.
'He's right, motherfucking fragment of the devil, xisho, naya!'
Safia was a wiz at invective, and let out a liquid stream of epithets, and though Mayloun was used to her mother's rants, it struck her speechless for a second.
'Allah,' Aaden uttered, also caught out unawares at Safia's miraculous talent.
Having heard Aaden's voice she asked him aggressively:
'Has this girl given you tea, Aaden ?'
'Yes, auntie, she has, praise god.'
Hearing the word 'auntie' almost immediately calmed her down. The word was a sedative to her and Aaden noticed it, resolving to remember it for the future.
'I came looking for you, auntie.'
'Is this about the election? You know what, let's go to your house. I had plans on seeing your mother.'
'Yes, auntie.'
Aaden glanced at Mayloun and marvelled at the dynamics of this family. Here Mayloun was taunting her mother, and her mother did nothing but curse at her and in fact, it seemed that she was doing as the girl wanted and was going to his house for the purpose of this marriage. He hadn't seen a girl as powerful as this. Walking out of the house through the front door, because his house was on that side, he mused to himself as to what could have tilted this balance of power. In his mind it must have been something monumental. He was determined to find out what it was. It might be something amusing.
Chapter 24
This was midday and as soon as you came out of the house, the sun encompassed you so the soles of your feet felt like they were burning in your sandals. But people were used to it and got about their daily labours. The house of Afrah was in construction, and Safia and Aaden glanced at the workers as they walked past them.
'They are getting a new maid today,' Aaden said. 'The new wife will be with her husband in their grandmother's house for the birth and the first months of the child's life. I think tomorrow is the day.'
'Is that right ? Yes, you're at that house a lot, aren't you?'
Aaden laughed, and his laugh was accepted as the answer.
'No girl is more troublesome as an unmarried girl,' Aaden said meaningfully. 'From what I heard.'
He smiled and looked up slightly to connect eyes. She was taller than him.
'Yes, what can we do; it's as God wills it. All children are troubles,' she added vexedly.
When they approached the door of his house, sparkling white, with the door jet black, Safia asked how his mother was.
'Radiant,' he replied, opening the door.
'Yah, Fadumo !' Safia bellowed.
'Yah!' came from somewhere. Safia and Aaden went in the direction of the response - which was the kitchen.
This house was bigger than Safia's house because this family was better off than Safia's family. When they entered the kitchen they found yellow and white tiles on the walls, and brown tiles on the floor. This kitchen however had the same stone pot every other house had in this village and a woman was seated on the stool, making preparations for the meal she was about to cook.
The woman was a highly unattractive woman and unusual in the Somali context. She had skinny legs, rather than the thick legs the majority of Somali women have, which seemingly would not keep pace with the weight gain of the rest of her body, giving her a misshapen appearance. Her face had the same slimness which her legs had, and this trident of 'slim, big, slim' made her look distinctive to put it mildly. Her father had some influence and managed to secure a marriage for her with one of the most attractive men in the area because he was vexed that his daughter came out like this when both parents were average at least. He wanted to help wipe the stain of ugliness from his legacy and so found an attractive male to mix his blood with his daughter's to create something approaching the average the family hovered around. The man did better and created beauty; for both his grandchildren from his daughter turned out beyond his wildest dreams.
As far as the marriage itself was concerned, it was a struggle for the two people who actually married. There was initial resentment and hostility from Moussa's side at his fate, and he rarely spent time at home when he didn't have to. But this was chipped away over time because of the good nature and the 'radiant' personality of Fadumo. Over time her personality made her more attractive and two kids were born. The family at this point was approaching contentment and something of a tenderness was established between the two lovers. Fadumo on her end, was in love from the first wedding night. One was in love with personality, the other with appearance. This was a successful marriage because they both found something to love about the other.
Approaching the threshold of the kitchen, Aaden stood aside to let Safia enter and then entered after her, crouched in one of the corners, and watched Safia swing her hijab around and lower herself heavily and slowly on the brown tiles.
'Mother, are you a jealous woman?'
Since her marriage, Fadumo had adapted a particular tone with all male figures she came into contact with. She was aware of her own unattractiveness, just as she was aware of her husband's attractiveness. This awareness merged into a queer type of freedom. She felt that no man would want her, so she could speak however she wanted because the threat of transgression could never materialise.
Notwithstanding this aspect of her life, she had a highly attractive husband and this bolstered her confidence to give her the courage to look people in the eyes when she spoke freely. In other words, she was a flirt, and this flirtatiousness extended even to how she spoke with her son.
'Why, son? Have you found a girlfriend?'
He grinned and looked at Safia who laughed a little awkwardly.
'No, mother, Mayloun wants to marry father.'
Safia had her breath taken for a second and then said:
'What is this boy saying ? Children these days are shameless.'
Fadumo turned her beady eyes to Safia.
'Is it Mayloun's turn?'
'Who knows,' Safia replied enigmatically.
'Her old man will make that decision.'
'She's at that age, even past it, to get married. But Moussa?'
She laughed a booming laugh.
'I'm very jealous, but all women who marry young men face this future. None of us choose who we marry, and none of us choose when we divorce.' She had coloured slightly, knowing very well that she did choose her husband, a privilege given to few, and so tried to lower herself to the common lot, adding: 'at least my husband didn't choose me,' insinuating the same struggle of married life as everyone else.
'Stop it mother, you're radiant.'
'Maybe I am,' she said, and she did appear radiant, because of the glow of fire she had just made. 'You know what they say, Safia. Men don't choose their first wife, but they do choose their second.'
'Only God knows what will happen.'
'We need space in this house, if there is to be another woman in this house. God grant Aaden wins this election, and that will make things easier.'
Safia noted the reference. The reason she came was that it was important for a new wife to have good relations with the previous wife or wives. She wanted to set a foundation for her daughter and recognised this election was beneficial to solidify this foundation.
'I can't see him losing,' Safia responded categorically, indirectly saying that her vote was for him.
Now came the thought that invariably arises every time the subject of marriage between two people comes up and Fadumo voiced it, sweetly, while smiling into the open fire.
'I wonder what their children will look like?'
Safia made a noise of some kind and shifted uncomfortably but no one perceived it as the others were busy forming the children in their minds. The first child wouldn't look like its father.
Chapter 25
Howa was at her friend Laila's house whose front room doubled as a shop. At first glance one would think that this shop didn't have much to sell, apart from the odd candy bars and fizzy drinks, scattered around in cardboard boxes on the floor. The layout itself was as sparse as its merchandise. It consisted of a dark room with a desk behind which were two bags of charcoal that the two girls were sitting on. The charcoal would be weighed on a weighing scale and paid for accordingly. This was Laila's family business. Her parents were out so she was tending the shop by herself, this average looking girl with the clearest of whites in her eyes. Both of them were sitting on the bags of charcoal with just their head wraps on.
'Sister, I'm done for, wallahi. I'm finished,' Howa lamented.
'You're imagining things.'
'No, I'm sure of this. This time I'm sure ! Mayloun is getting married.'
'But to who?'
'I don't know.'
'Sooner or later this was going to happen.'
'I thought it was going to happen later,' Howa wailed.
Laila frowned.
'You're lucky you got this amount of time. I had no big sisters to give me that option and I had to start keeping the house at eleven. You just thought she would never leave the house.'
'How can I be in that house all day, cleaning and cooking. How !' she cried indignantly. 'I don't even know how to cook or clean.'
'Naya, fuck my prophet. You're fifteen and you don't know how to cook or clean? That's disgraceful!'
'I don't know how long I will last,' Howa sighed. 'In front of the heat of the stone pot. The heat will be unbearable.'
She put her forehead down on the table and sprawled her arms across it. Then she curled her hand into a fist and tapped the table, making a rhythm. She added her voice to the beat.
'Sister, sister, can it be true? Deceived in such a way!
You made me curse and rue
The end of days of play
And turned me... into…you!'
The last rhyme made Howa and Laila burst into giggles and they only stopped when they saw someone come in. This was a tall figure; a young man wearing brown trousers and a light blue top. He greeted the two girls.
'What are you laughing about ?' he asked, smiling a huge smile.
'Nothing, brother,' Laila answered, and watched the man look around. He appeared to be looking for something in particular and couldn't find it. He decided to ask.
'Sorry, sister. I'm looking for cigarettes. I don't see any around. Do you sell them by any chance?' His smile had disappeared and he put on a serious countenance.
Laila appraised him for a moment with her white eyes and then said:
'Single or packet?'
'Single.'
'Okay. We have some at the back. Come and follow.'
The man nodded solemnly. They left the front of the shop.
Howa had been trying to keep a neutral face but as soon as they left her smile burst free. She had seen this man before and every time she saw him, in this shop, he would always ask for single cigarettes. And every time Laila would say that they had some in the back and they would be gone for a few minutes. Howa glanced back at the closed door and turned back to the table, tapping away, trying to recreate the rhythm she had made on the fly but couldn't capture it again. 'What did she say, 'fuck my prophet?' That's a new variation,' Howa mused to herself. She looked up to see another man coming in. They greeted each other and this man also went through a similar routine of looking around and then asked if they sold cigarettes.
'What if I tell this man that we do and take him to the back?' Howa asked herself. She decided against it and told them that they didn't. The man nodded and left. Ten minutes later Laila and the man came out. He was holding a cigarette thanking her for selling him this solitary piece of industrial tobacco. Finding a place that sold single cigarettes was hard to come by in the village. He left the store. This particular scene was to happen again with the same actresses but different actors about five times in the next two hours. The questions were always the same and the answers were too. Even the one that came by and spoke to Howa alone returned to find the shop did in fact have single cigarettes to sell. Who would have thought that the trade of single cigarettes could be such a booming business but it was, and judging by what people came for and what they walked out with, one would have thought that cigarettes were the only thing they sold in this shop. And if they did sell anything else, it definitely didn't sell as much as single cigarettes did.
'If I could own a shop I would be so happy,' Howa sighed out.
'Why don't you ask your brother to send you money? He left not too long ago, right?'
'Xemi?' Howa exclaimed. 'Yes! Maybe he'll help me open up a shop. Then I can hire someone to work for me.'
Howa was delighted with the idea. She would ask her mother for Xemi's number so that she could ask him for capital. Why would he say no? When you're abroad you're flush with cash, Howa knew this for a fact. She hadn't yet decided if she would sell single cigarettes in her shop or not.
