Chapter 37
In the morning, not long after her husband left, Afrah got out of bed, an action which was becoming more difficult by the day. As soon as Afrah had put her body weight on her right leg, two steps from her bed, she knew that her time had come. She let the majority of the broken water flow out; walked back to her bed and called Hiba in a voice that was unmistakable. All those in the house knew what was about to unfold: a roll of the dice. One in six women in this region die in childbirth but strangely no one was concerned about these odds, least of all Afrah. Every man, woman and child had been reconciled to heaven's judgement from an early age and thoughts of death were settled. Afrah's own view of life and death was not a love of life or a fear of death; whether she would hold her baby by nightfall, or even if her child would live to see a sunrise. No, her thoughts were not of life or death, nor were her prayers that of God spare us. It was of God is great; and because he is great, his judgement is for the best, whether she or her child lived or not. She had felt this all her life and though she could easily die giving birth, it didn't change, and she felt an immense and constant spiritual peace because of it. The only conflict was undergone by the body not the spirit, the turbulent conflict which resulted in the separation of mother and child. The only thing she feared was the onset of pain whose depth she had been told was greater than anything that she had experienced before. Hard to believe, because the beatings had been painful, but slowly and surely she was starting to believe it.
'Stand up!' Hiba ordered as she came into the room with a pile of rags.
'Stand up, naya! We need to put this on the bed before it's too late.'
She lifted a groaning woman in labour off the bed, and put a duvet over the bed, along with the rags she had brought. She gently helped Afrah back in bed.
'Waraya! You're not to leave the house. You heard me!'
Bari's elder brother came into view all dressed, cursing himself for not leaving sooner.
'I was about to go to see this election -'
'No! Just in case we need you, you stay here.'
'Yes, mother,' he said with devotion as he glanced at her Afrah who stared back. She suppressed a laugh.
'So he can talk normally after all,' she said to herself.
'What are you laughing at, naya?' Hiba let out a boisterous laugh herself. 'Laughing while in pain ? That's a good sign. Doesn't that bode well, waraya!' she said to her son. 'Sit down in the corridor, out of sight. No man should see what comes next.'
Her son obeyed and made himself scarce. Hiba then tucked Afrah's dress in, so that there were no loose folds on the side facing her, just to have something to do. She then sat on the floor, her back against the wall with her knees facing the ceiling. Afrah was sweating profusely now and clenched her teeth from fear of screaming out.
'I had my first child at your age,' Hiba said, with a smile of reminiscence. 'I know the agony.'
Afrah let out a sound that was a mix of moan and hiss.
'Hey now, don't interrupt me when I'm speaking!' Hiba said laughingly.
'Waraya! Bring my prayer beads! They're on my bed I think. I forgot to bring it, how could I forget? Can you imagine?' she then said to Afrah whose eyes had started to be bleary. 'The most important thing!'
Moments later he handed the beads to his mother and without a glance at Afrah whose eyes had followed him in and out, he left the room.
Once she had rolled the beads a few times and uttered prayers she began again.
'In preparation for this, my first grandson, I witnessed and helped with a lot of births, my dear. Just so I could be of help. Do you know how many births?'
'No,' she said, grateful to be given a chance to mask a moan with her words. For some reason she wanted to make as little noise as possible. She herself didn't know why.
'Thirty. Thirty births all over. Mostly in this village. As soon as someone was about to give birth, I rushed out to see babies being born. Do you know there are types of births?'
She took up her beads again and muttered more prayers.
'The most successful ones are the ones where both the mother and the child survive. And there are the ones where only one of the two survive. What do you think? Which one is more successful? When the child or when the mother survives?'
Hiba's joviality had vanished to be replaced by a more serious, mysterious tone.
'A child needs its mother and its grandmother, dear. Just like a mother needs its child. I've seen many mothers die in childbirth, just like I've seen many children die, but I kept going back and watching more births. One thing that all these deaths had in common, was that the mother tried to be as quiet as possible when she gave birth. So you know what you have to -'
Afrah didn't let her finish. She screamed so terribly that even Hiba became fearful and jumped up though she wanted to induce it, but her fears soon calmed and turned to hopeful triumph.
'That's right, dear. Don't be modest. Scream!'
She went around to Afrah's legs and peeked in between.
'Don't force it, dear. Obey your body and do what it says. Let nature take its course.'
Afrah screamed in response. Delighted, Hiba wished that Afrah would not stop screaming until her screams was replaced by the child's screams. She took up a position sitting in front of Afrah's legs to spy any movement. But what she wished for didn't happen. Afrah's screams abated but the child's screams didn't replace it. Hiba got up when she noticed the child's head coming out. She told Afrah to push and scream but Afrah did neither. She looked at the girl and saw she had lost consciousness. But the baby wasn't out yet. In all the thirty births that she had seen, she had come across everything, everything but this. Instinct told her to get the baby out. Could her hands fit around the baby's head ? Or should she cut the baby out of the woman's stomach? She was on the verge of telling her son to bring her a knife when she reached her hands into Afrah's vagina, delicately and softly, to clench the baby's head, putting her force into the walls of the vagina rather than the head of the baby. She slowly pulled the baby out, hope and joy in her soul because it was working. But as she pulled out the baby she noticed the cord around its neck, its limp head dangling from its body glistening with plasma and blood. She caressed the boy's strong jawline. She then looked down on the rags and saw more blood as well as the placenta the child last called home. Hiba then looked at Afrah. Instead of the mother's scream, or the baby's scream, all one heard was silence. Hiba was the first to break it. She was the only one in the room who could and rasped out: 'Waraya!' her teeth on show, and her jawline as wicked as it had ever been.
Chapter 38
While Afrah was rolling the dice of childbirth, another event was unfolding elsewhere. Blaad, wearing a highly distinctive blue satin thawb, was holding court in front of a group of people who had gathered around his house for the results of the election. This was the first time he was to announce something in front of such a large group of people and he wanted to make an impact.
The sun was high and the dry heat remarkable, but it was brushed off by the villagers for this was an everyday occurrence. The front of Blaad's house had the greatest of open spaces in this village which Blaad called his 'plaza' and so could accommodate the most people. The swirling dust could not make them blink as if their eyes had a screen to protect them from nature's most annoying and useless irritants. They had come down straight after Zuhr prayers, around one in the afternoon, so everyone was dressed in their best. That is, a dress shirt of usually light colour, a kufi, and a cane. All three frontrunners were dressed the same and stood facing Blaad with the rest of the group at their backs and sides. This scene of Blaad in front of the people right after they had finished worshipping one God, had the appearance of a prophet attempting to recruit followers for a new God, one more powerful and more just, and seemingly making strides with his oracles and revelations.
'Gentlemen! It is time ! Ten years is a long time to give a boy an opportunity, a chance. Not chance but a chance, for these lads didn't roll dice to see what happens like some do. They have had to persuade. Let us see who was the most persuasive; let us see now who has persuaded us that they will be the most successful. You know why this election exists gentlemen! Anyone can send out a child into the world to profit from modern comforts and advances, and perhaps contribute with minor achievement. I myself can send a thousand boys a year somewhere if I wish, but I submitted myself to this process, this tradition. It is not important how many we send, but who we send, the original mantra when this election was established. For whoever goes will not leave to enjoy life but to affect life, bringing honour and glory to our family and people. We needed someone who can represent us justly, and by represent I mean succeed. And there are only so many ways to do so, the look, the mind, the social. Which is it? I had my prediction which, well...the clan at this time has decided that, at this time, that the person they believe will be most successful is...' Blaad fished out a purple berry and waved it in the air, and held it in front of a perplexed Aaden, who reflexively held out his hand for the berry. Several murmurs were heard, saying this result was already a foregone conclusion, asking why they even bothered to come. These things were only good when there is an upset. Abdullah merely snorted in derision. Yasser stared at the berry in shock and disbelief. After examining the berry for moment, Aaden said loudly, his breaking voice making him sound like he was singing:
'I don't want it.'
'The berry?' Blaad asked.
'No, the victory.' He then turned to Yasser and said: 'I give it to you.'
He had been waiting for this moment ever since Yasser had beat him up. The sole reason he had wanted to win this election was to exact revenge by giving the election to Yasser and in recompense he would take his pride. Yasser's shock turned to fury. In his mind this was tantamount to public humiliation which charity was to him. He was about to refuse when someone shouted 'yes!' in the crowd. Again he shouted 'yes!'.
'Yes, he will take it. Praise be to God!' his father shouted joyously and eagerly. Ali moved closer.
'You heard your father,' Aaden said with a smirk. 'Take it. I will give it to you.'
Just like Aaden was after Yasser's pride, his father was after his choice. He snatched the berry and put it in his son's hands. Yasser quickly said thank you and accepted the gift, his father having forced his hand in several ways. He could not refuse it after the berry was snatched in such a brutal manner. It would look bad on both of them.
'Wait a minute,' Abdullah exclaimed. 'If first place refuses it, it should go to the second place. Who is in second?'
'Yasser was second,' Blaad responded, pleased at the new turn of event, the drama and the eventual outcome.
'I see,' Abdullah mumbled and then bristled: 'I would like to know why someone was campaigning if he wasn't even interested in the election!'
'Who says you need to desire the prize in order to participate? All I wanted was to win,' Aaden said laughingly until he made a sharp backwards motion and yelped in surprise. His father had been watching silently until he could not contain himself any longer. He had grabbed his son by the shoulder and was violently dragging him away.
'Allah! What did I do, what did I do?' Moussa backhanded him. 'Fine. I accept. I accept it!'
His father didn't want to hear it. He considered the matter closed, continuing to backhand and open palm his son as they left the crowd. Most of the spectators sniggered and whispered in each other's ears while either holding hands or having put their arms around the necks of a friend or relative. They were pleased an unexpected event had occurred to liven matters up. Abdullah walked away in disgust. Bari, who was there too, watched him leave, debating whether or not to follow him until he saw his brother approaching Abdullah in the distance. He watched his brother who had a sombre look say something to Abdullah whose face turned from rage to astonishment with each passing word. Bari watched him shaking and started to shake himself. What could his brother have said to make Abdullah react in this manner? Anxiety and foreboding disturbed his soul as he walked towards them and increased as he saw Abdullah running from his brother. Before he even heard what it was he already started to mourn loss.
Chapter 39
Mahad, Bari's eldest brother, went house to house announcing the news that Afrah had died in childbirth. He started with distant relatives first until one by one he reached the core, the immediate family. At the house, he thought it prudent to speak to the grandmother alone, and as his luck would have it, she was in the same room as the maid and Mohamed. But fortune is quick to turn. As soon as Nayima, the grandmother, saw him and the look on his face, she jumped off her bed, put her hijab on and walked towards Mahad.
Every family in this village who had within them a pregnant person, especially if she was a young girl, was prepared for death in childbirth, and some were even expecting it and assumed the worst when a pregnancy was announced. To these people a pregnancy was a death sentence and so many parents wished for sons to spare them the potential heartbreak of a lost child. Nayima wasn't one of those people.
When she lost her daughter, Afrah's mother, in a violent attack, she thought that would be the end of nature's disorder and believed that she would die before anyone else in her family, as she was of the oldest generation. Yet when she saw Mahad, reality was restored and she knew that she had lost either her great grandchild or her granddaughter. She fervently hoped that it was the former but when she was in front of Mahad and saw his leonine eyes she realised she had lost both. As he confirmed the fact, she nodded her head and kept nodding her head. She started to rock back and forth for a minute as if she heard the words over and over again and responded in the same manner each time. Suddenly she stopped rocking back and forth in place and as she did so she moved towards the house where the deceased were. Mahad watched her go and sighed, just like he sighed after every house he visited. If only he had been one minute quicker to leave his house he wouldn't have been saddled with this execrable task. He turned to the children who were staring at him.
'Best stay where you are,' he said to them in a weary voice.
'What happened?' a fearful and excited Mohamed asked.
'Later,' Mahad answered, noting with curiosity that Mohamed was naked. 'Is Abdullah at the election?' Mahad asked further. 'Must be,' he added, answering his own question and left to find him.
Once he told Abdullah, and had watched him run away, he saw his brother coming up. He told him the same thing he had told a dozen different people in the same way in the last thirty minutes and watched the same desolation creep over his brother's face. He looked beyond his brother to see Sharif walking towards him. He sighed again.
'I'm being punished,' he said to himself. 'I'm being punished for being lazy.'
He felt sorry for himself, and felt like crying for himself but this self pity did not prevent him from his duty. He told the old man that his granddaughter had died in childbirth. The old man froze and leaned heavier on the cane.
'Is that right?' he said, first nodding like his ex wife had, and then wiped his face for reasons of comfort, not to wipe tears, finishing with 'Let's go.' He too had been prepared for this. His first wife had died in childbirth and several others in his family besides. All three now walked back to the house of the newly dead. What greeted them was familiar. A strain of a Surah was being recited to mark deaths and a strong smell of adar, a perfume for this occasion, was present even from the outside of the house. Its pleasantness only served to increase the grief already felt. They had already begun to clean the bodies.
Sharif and others found Abdullah in the corridor crying with his head in his knees. His sister's death had reminded him of his mother's death and this felt like his mother had died twice over.
'Hiba!' Sharif barked, as was his habit.
The strains stopped.
'Walaal!' she responded back.
He didn't want to go inside the room as he knew the bodies would be naked and felt it improper to watch them wash nude females, even dead, so he spoke from the corridor.
'Has the imam been called?'
'My boy has been sent for that.'
Mahad flushed. He forgot to get him.
'I'll go at once,' he whispered and walked out.
The rest simply waited. Bari joined Abdullah in shedding tears while Sharif sat on a stool and rubbed his face. The strains of the Surah rose again.
