Chapter 8
In the village there were two rivers. One that cut the village in half, with waste in place of water. The second river was on the edge of the village; a river which was a strange mix of salt and freshwater. It was not salty enough in order to make it undrinkable but it was not fresh enough for it to be regular drinking water. Its colour was almost white, and before one touched it, one had the feeling it would be viscous, near solid, until having the unnerving sensation of a trick being pulled when the water turned out to be pure, flowing liquid.
While they were waiting for a biyoole, a water carrier, Afrah and Mohamed were taking sips from this deceptive river, sitting on the rocks that were nearby. From time to time Mohamed was jumping from one side of the river to the other. This river was of the same width as the unnatural river of waste in that you could jump over it. It was about the same depth - a quarter full. It hadn't rained for a while, and they had to make do with a water quality that was degrading as the water level was diminishing. But those who were used to drinking out of the river Baramood weren't complaining and were hopeful God would swell up the natural river again with white water that tricked the eye.
There was a pathway carved in the desert ground for the biyooles, smooth and cleared of rocks, to push the wooden carts from the river to the houses of the village. One biyoole was walking on the path towards them with strong strides. He had on a tattered sweat drenched brown shirt, and dark trousers frazzled at the openings towards his feet. His exposed feet in their sandals were dusty, his toenails almost the same colour as his feet and they looked hard and sharp. He walked towards the children with his afro and friendliness. He was familiar with them. Afrah was the first to speak.
'Biyoole! Why do you keep a woman waiting?'
He smiled a warm smile because her words meant that their relationship hadn't changed.
'Is that my baby you're carrying? Why shouldn't I make you wait?'
'You wish this was your baby.'
He hauled the big, one metre long barrel, blue all around but brown at the bottom, off the cart and threw it into the river, holding onto it by the rim. Afrah admired his strength. Mohamed watched intently. The biyoole smiled at the attention.
'All you have to do is promise me the next one and you'll never wait again,' he shouted.
'Never.'
'The third one?'
'Never.'
'The fourth one!' Mohamed yelled jubilantly, having just learned how to count to five. The two older people laughed merrily.
There was a short silence where they listened to the water filling up the barrel, a rustling, strangely exhilarating sound.
'Who will win, Afrah?' the biyoole asked softly.
'My brother.'
'I don't mean that,' the biyoole growled. 'Why would I care about that? I mean the race between the rivers. Which will reach their limits first? Will the river of waste reach the top first, or will this river reach the bottom before that?' He spoke enigmatically, his muscles tensed but not just because of physical labour. Afrah squinted her eyes as she looked at the powerful figure heaving up the full barrel of water from the river, set it on the ground, for a breather, and then lifted the barrel onto the cart. He turned to Afrah for an answer.
'What a dumb question that is. Have you ever seen the river dry?' Afrah said with the absolute certainty of a child's memory.
'It's true what they say,' he said with an awed, slightly mischievous smile, and took the next barrel out of the cart. 'There's nothing as perspicacious as a pregnant child. Marvelous sense.'
Thirty minutes later they were at Afrah's house where the grandmother was waiting for her, ensconced in the darkness of her bedroom. She had a strange glow in that lighting, amidst the backdrop of the dark room, like she had drawn to herself all the light that could have existed in that room, and reflected it through her skin.
'What took you so long?' the near luminescent woman shouted. 'I could have died here, alone, before anyone could have saved me.'
'Hello, aunt ! ' the biyoole shouted back. 'I'm here.'
One could see the aunt flinch at the word aunt, even in the distance and darkness.
'Biyoole,' she replies back coolly.
He chuckled at the rebuff, heaving two barrels off his cart.
Afrah went inside, through the two stakes that constituted the frame of their door, and the biyoole followed. He put the two barrels next to two other barrels, which were empty, with black lids covering them. On top of the nearest was a long tube. Afrah snatched the tube off, in a manner that was like a dance, looked at the biyoole, and put one end of the tube in the full barrel, and the other end in her mouth and sucked the tube until water spurted out of it. She was such a knack at this that not a drop of the water touched her tongue, moving away as soon as the water was ready to burst out. It flowed out of the tube in a steady stream while she quickly took the lid off the family barrel and put the tube inside.
'Demon,' her grandmother rasped.
'You should have done that earlier,' the biyoole said, grinning, referring to the lid and the water waste.
When the second barrel was filled up in the same manner, they became aware of someone behind them. As soon as they turned, the person's face instantly lit up with a handsome smile, complimenting the handsome face, and handsome manners. This was Aaden.
'Husband and wife, salaam. Is there any pleasure greater than seeing two lovers together, apart from being one of them?' he said in a voice still breaking from childhood into manhood. 'Such a sight is hard to come by, let me cherish it through fixation.'
He walked inside and stood next to the biyoole. They were a perfect contrast with one another. Aaden was lithe, with soft curls and seemingly impervious to the sun. The biyoole was tall, muscular, and proof that nothing is impervious to the sun.
'Don't worry, you'll find a husband soon,' Afrah told him, struck slightly by the insolence of his eyes, which she had seen before but could not get used to. Though he was of her generation, she wanted to demand the respect of her status as a new matron.
Aaden smiled as the grandmother shouted:
'Aaden, come here. Afrah, take Mohamed and the biyoole to Hiba and take the money from her. I've forgotten that I don't have enough here,' she added, obviously lying.
The young people followed orders. Aaden walked towards the grandmother while the biyoole rolled his barrels to his cart, using the curve at the bottom to do so. Afrah led the way, already feeling the humiliation that would soon be in front of her.
Chapter 9
'This is familiar,' the biyoole said, with an urge to scratch his wild beard, but having his hands full with the cart he settled by scratching the wood of the handles with the remains of his fingernails.
'Soon I'll be done with all this,' Afrah snorted, kissed her teeth, jettisoned a spit ball towards the rocks on the side.
Mohamed huffed from the heat, moaning with discomfort, saying:
'Why do I have to be out here just because grandmother wants to hear him sing ?' The biyoole sniggered.
The houses became more and more surrounded by crenellations of stone rather than the stakes and planks of Afrah's house as they walked towards Hiba's house. It took them less than ten minutes to arrive. This house was on the same street as Safia's house, about five doors down. If one were to make a triangle, it would be an isosceles with the midpoint being Aaden's house on the other side.
The biyoole waited outside, while the two siblings went inside Afrah's new mother in law's residence.
This was an interesting house compared to the other ones in this village. It was white like the rest, with a black door, but higher in length, narrower in width. What made this house truly stand out was the fact that this was the sole house that had steps leading up to the front door. Three steps to be exact. It had no forecourt, no crenellations nor stakes surrounding it; just three steps separated the front door from the street. The sides had a finish that was of curdled milk, and the edges of the steps were rounded rather than sharp, but it still was a curious anomaly of a modern make. It was so unusual for Mohamed that though he had been there before the elevation made him grab Afrah's skirt's as they entered. The door was open like the other houses in the village, besides the house of the man with the key ring.
Though the house was narrower in width it didn't seem that way as the corridor itself was narrow and cramped, and once it opened up, after two steps, the prairie made of dark stone opened to show its illusory reaches. All the rooms of this house connected through this area and like Safia's house, the female reception area was in the back. A place where you could be sure of privacy where no man could enter. In other words this was the kitchen.
Afrah went towards it, her steps echoing throughout the house and found Hiba right where she was expected to be, cooking for her household. Or rather, about to cook, as the fire hadn't been lit yet.
She looked up as Afrah greeted her with a breathless 'auntie'. Hiba could sense this would be a disagreeable visit.
'Grandmother sent me with...the biyoole.'
Afrah left a lot unsaid but having stated she was with someone who provided services, she really didn't need to say anything more.
Hiba leaned back, as if she was about to be hit, her naked neck showing multiple rings in a spiral. She then snapped forwards, recovering herself, her long teeth, matching her long jawline, set in spite. It was clear that what she wanted to say would not be said.
'Ah yes, I was expecting this. She did say something along those lines,' she never did, 'wait here, children, and I'll see that young man.'
Hiba got up and left Afrah in the kitchen kissing her teeth, muttering:
'Better the harassment of late payments than ask like this.'
Hiba came back.
'Well, new family. How is my grandson?'
She was sure that it would be a grandson, as all her children were boys. In fact Afrah thought it would be a boy too, as she informed her mother in law that whichever gender was in there, it was kicking.
'Ha! Beating a woman inside before beating her outside. He'll be a fine man, indeed!'
She was delighted.
Suddenly one heard the sound of relief, an 'ahhh'. Both girls looked up and saw Mohamed in the area outside the kitchen. He had taken his shirt off. When he entered the house he had already felt cooler, because the heat outside had been bothering him.
Unfortunately for him, he was at that age when human emotion began to diversify into complexity, his sister's embarrassment had translated itself to him, and the heat had come back. He felt an urge to take his shirt off, and couldn't resist, feeling instantly better.
'If taking the shirt off has this effect, what happens when I...'
When they heard Mohamed's noise, he had only taken his shirt off. Now they watched him sit down and take his shoes off.
'Hey now what's this boy doing?'
This was new to Hiba. She hadn't seen this penchant for exhibitionism in the boy as of yet and while exposing her long teeth, extending her long jaw, in a strange trance, she glared at the boy like she didn't know what would be the end result of someone taking their clothes off.
'Mohamed!' Afrah called out, lazily. She was used to this and knew that whatever anyone said at this point was useless.
Very quickly he had taken his shoes off, his socks and then his trousers. A deft hand at undressing himself, the kid was. Pregnant Afrah had just sat down and didn't want to get up. When she had decided to finally do so, about to push herself up. Mohamed walked up to her, completely naked. He had the most content expression on his face, and was looking up at Hiba who was nonplussed. He then looked at Afrah's face who was exasperated and bemused at the same time. Mohamed didn't recognize either woman's expression. All he knew was that the heat was gone and that he felt free and comfortable. He almost ran up to Afrah and half hugged her, burying his head in the crevice between her neck and shoulder and looked at Hiba with mischief in his eyes. Seeing the sweetness with which the boy went up to his sister broke her out of shock and made her burst into laughter.
'Boy, you, why don't you...xisho!'
