Tale of a Boon's Wife Read online

  Bodies of the dead littered the page as the battle raged. Victorious clan members stood in the middle of the field, holding their weapons aloft. In the distance, on the side of the winning tribe, he drew a line of women advancing toward the men with open arms. On the losing side, women held white sheets, to prepare for the funerals.

  The sketch was intricate and detailed—beyond something such a young person could normally create.

  “Where did you learn to do this?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t do this in art class.”

  “They tell me what to draw, and I can’t do that. I have to see it in my head.” Sidow watched my reaction. “Do you understand?”

  I wasn’t sure I did.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  I searched for a fitting response. “I love it,” I said. Indeed, I did.

  “Here.” He gave me the drawing.

  I snatched the sheet of paper away from him, lest he change his mind. I was in awe of both my luck and his generosity.

  Elmi reached for it. I held it up, so he could admire it but I didn’t want anyone to touch it. Not even Elmi.

  *

  Sidow’s gift formed a deeper connection between us. I loved discussing literature with him, but I loved even more to see Sidow through his drawings. Through the shades, the lines, and color on the page Sidow morphed into more than a classmate. He became bigger and more important to me than any other boy.

  “Draw the waterfall tournament,” I demanded the following week. As the words passed my lips, I noticed how demanding I sounded. I wanted to grab them and shove them back into my mouth. “If you don’t mind,” I added to soften my bossiness.

  “I don’t.” He went to the box where Elmi kept his art supplies. “I’ll do it right now.”

  We moved to the sitting room. I stood in front of the decorative bay window. Tall panes of stained glass covered a third of the wall, from floor to ceiling. “I’ll tell you what I remember from the last month’s waterfall tournament, and you draw.”

  “Ready.”

  I talked for a long time, swept away by the memory of my experience of the magnificent waterfall, and Sidow’s drawing materialized across the surface of the paper. “Okay, let me see.”

  He lifted the page, holding it before me. “Here.”

  I gasped.

  In the center of the drawing was a lone swimmer leaping out of the whirlpool, hands outstretched, smiling broadly. Water ran down his body in long streaks. His dark skin shone against the clear water, and the droplets on his tight curls glittered like diamond dust.

  On the cliff overlooking the water, Sidow drew a line of children clapping to mark the victory of the first swimmer to reach the surface. Below that image, they watched another in mid-flight, a cannon ball, hurtling toward the whirlpool. The images, refined and innocent, filled me with joy.

  He extended the pad toward me. “It’s yours.”

  My hand shook as I reached for it. “This is the best gift I’ve ever had.” I was still wrapped in the marvel of my beautiful gift, when Mother entered the room. She had made her way up the stairs and into the room without making a sound and was upon me before she spoke.

  “What do you think you are doing?” She grabbed me by the elbow and dragged me away from Sidow. “This is what you spend your whole day doing? With him here, and your brother involved?”

  Elmi was already retreating to his room.

  Sidow moved toward the door, ready for a quick getaway, but he didn’t leave.

  Mother waved her hand encompassing the area. “You have everything and all you want is to bring him here.” She took the drawing and held it away from her face. “What is this?” Saliva flew out of her mouth and spattered the page. “He needs to go home.” Mother knew Sidow’s name, but she refused to dignify him with it. “He is leaving right now.”

  Sidow slunk away, a wounded animal, without saying good-bye. I wanted to run after him and take back the pain, wipe the tears I knew were inside, even if his cheeks were dry. “Sorry,” I called after him as a cheap substitute.

  Mother clenched her fists. “I don’t want to see you anywhere near that boy or the likes of him again.”

  “Why?”

  “Ask why again, and I will send you to Timbuktu.”

  The first time Mother uttered that threat, I was four years old and believed Timbuktu was a place where young girls died. At fourteen, I would’ve gone to Timbuktu rather than sever my friendship with Sidow. I ran out of the room. Mother didn’t stop me.

  Later that night, when I was in bed, she came to me. “Idil,” she pulled the chair from under my desk and sat. “I do what I do to protect you from you. A girl who follows her heart is a great danger to herself. Please use your head.”

  If seeing Sidow was dangerous, I didn’t want to be saved. I told Mother that, but she only sighed and left.

  *

  The next morning at school, a cloud of sadness surrounded me. At recess, I sat on the rock bench at the far corner of the yard. Even after I was invited to join the girls in a game of skipping, I remained, plucking the grass beneath my feet.

  Sidow left the soccer game and stood next to me. “I know your mother doesn’t want her precious daughter playing with a Boon.”

  “You are a Boon?” The revelation shook me. I believed Boon people to be slaves for those from my clan, the Bliss. Mother had explained more than once that they were ugly and their brains were smaller than ours.

  “Yes.”

  Sidow was like other boys, if not better. He was very smart and his refined image contradicted the picture I had of the Boon people as hideous and backward. “But you are smart, handsome, and kind.”

  Sidow’s gaze landed hard upon me, covering my whole body in a smothering stare. “What did you expect?”

  I couldn’t tell him about the Boon image imprinted on my mind from the time I could walk. I was told that Boon people have wide noses, large lips, and darker skin—that they are first cousins of African apes. Mother often explained to me how my grandfather owned Boon slaves. “But you’re…you look so different,” I sputtered. Sidow couldn’t belong to any Boon tribe. He didn’t fit Mother’s account of how stupid and degenerate they were. I gathered my leftover lunch and went back to class.

  Chapter Six

  When we returned from school, Mother called Elmi and me into the sitting room. “I have new rules,” she announced in an important tone.

  Omar was in Father’s chair, so I braced myself for what was to follow.

  She pointed at me. “You will walk to school and dugsi—religious school—with Omar.”

  I heard a swooshing sound in my ears. The joy of walking with Sidow to and from school and dugsi flew from my grasp.

  Omar jumped to his feet, angry. “I don’t want her with me. She is a girl!”

  I could’ve hugged him for saying that. I wanted to plant a deep kiss upon his cheek for despising my company as much as I hated his.

  Mother appealed to Omar’s sense of duty. “That’s why she must walk with you. She’s your responsibility.” She waited for a few seconds for the statement to sink in. “You must watch her to protect the family name.”

  Omar sat back in the chair with a huff. He couldn’t argue with Mother because he understood his duty and where it lay.

  She walked to where he sat and placed her hand on Omar’s shoulder. “She can’t be anywhere near that boy, ever.”

  “The Boon boy?”

  Mother nodded and turned to Elmi. “I want you to play with Omar on Fridays.”

  “Damn it!” Omar forgot his decorum and cursed in Mother’s presence. “You want Elmi to play with me, too?”

  She must have sensed she was asking too much of Omar because she didn’t chastise him for cursing. “He is a boy. Who else will he play with?”
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  “Mother,” Omar spoke with no reservation, “you know he is nothing like a boy.”

  Silence filled the room, and I waited for her open hand to land of his cheek for the implication. Instead she said, “Then he needs to be among boys. You have to teach him proper behavior.”

  “I will do it, but I want you to know that it is not fair.” Omar got up and left the room.

  “You’ll help Hawa in the kitchen on Fridays starting this week,” Mother instructed and the next day, she set her tortuous plan in motion.

  *

  Just like Mother ordered, I joined Hawa in the kitchen that Friday. Mother remained in the sitting room and only glanced up from her knitting occasionally.

  An hour before dinner was called Elmi came in upset. “I don’t want to play with Omar.”

  Mother ran her fingers through Elmi’s thick, sweat-matted curls. “What happened?”

  “I don’t want to be near Omar, or his friends, anymore.”

  Mother gently pulled Elmi close. “Why?”

  “They are killing cats in front of me!”

  She used the sleeve of her dress to wipe his tears. “Play on the field, away from them when they do that.”

  “I told them I don’t want to see it, but they won’t let me go. They hold me tight, and make me watch.”

  “Mother, you know how Omar is,” I added to show her how difficult it was to be around my big brother and his followers.

  She looked at me as if she understood, so I felt encouraged to say more. “It isn’t easy for me, either. I can do nothing right. Everything, from the way I walk to the way I breathe, draws a criticism from him. I am too slow, too fast, or looking at a boy.”

  Still, Mother remained focused on Elmi. “I’ll speak to him,” she said.

  “I can’t. I can’t,” Elmi wailed.

  Mother put a finger over Elmi’s mouth at the sound of the main door opening. “Is that you, Omar?” she called aloud.

  He barged into the room. “Is Elmi still crying?”

  Mother stood up and extended her hand to Omar. “Come with me.” She took him into the study and closed the door.

  Elmi stopped sniveling and followed me to eavesdrop.

  “I don’t want him around me!” The walls couldn’t contain Omar’s fury.

  Mother used measured words. “Is anyone forcing your brother to witness animals being killed?”

  “He is upset because we threw a rock at an alley cat; a stupid, injured animal made him cry.”

  “He is young.”

  Omar’s words flew out. “What man, no matter how old or young, is disturbed by seeing that? I am ashamed he is my brother.”

  With his next phrase, Omar dismissed my complaints altogether. “And Idil! Don’t even get me started on her!”

  “I’m sorry, but you are the eldest brother, the head of the house after Father. You must accept the challenge. I need your help.”

  It felt as though Mother’s pleading with Omar went on and on for hours. My legs got tingly and numb from squatting in front of the door for so long, but I continued to listen until Mother opened it. Both Elmi and I toppled into the room. Omar laughed, and left.

  “I expect the two of you to follow the rules and listen to your older brother,” she scolded us. “He is in charge when Father is not here. Keep that in mind before you complain.”

  Mother swept past us. Lost and helpless, I looked at Elmi. “We need a plan,” I whispered.

  “We’ll never win against Omar.”

  I knew he was right. We were no match for Omar and his power as the eldest son.

  I had to keep walking with Omar to and from school and dugsi, while Elmi continued to endure Omar’s company for the whole of every Friday.

  *

  Instead of waiting outside the dugsi window like he usually did—glaring and making hand gestures—Omar finished his Qur’an lesson and left. I was stunned he didn’t motion for me to hurry up. I watched him until I lost sight of him and went back to my reading. About thirty minutes later, I collected everything and left, grateful for an Omar-free walk.

  I was halfway home when Omar darted out from behind a tree, looking excited. “Idil, come here.” He led me away from the trodden path and into the narrow alley between the village huts and the military compound. “I have something to show you.” He was excited, and his words tumbled upon each other and came out jumbled.

  I was afraid, but still I went with him. “What is it?”

  “Just come.” He pointed at something. “Look at this.”

  I jumped back, away from the remains of a dead cat. Its open eyes stared into endless nothingness. “What is this? Why are you showing me this?”

  Omar’s excitement crackled. “It didn’t turn away or blink. It died staring.”

  I closed my eyes to erase the hideous image from my mind, but failed. The cat grew bigger, well-defined and vivid behind my closed lids. I had to open them.

  Omar sat next to the cat’s corpse. “If you hid everything but the face, you could pretend it’s still alive.”

  He removed the grass covering its tiny lower body, and broken bones protruded from skin. Fresh blood and stomach contents oozed out of each opening, matting its gray fur. One of the front paws, the only limb still intact, was outstretched, as though it had tried to reach for something beyond its grasp. It beckoned me to become a witness to the evil at hand.

  Omar smiled at me. “It was the bravest creature I have ever seen.”

  Bile filled my mouth. “This is disgusting.” My head spun and I staggered backward, gasping for air.

  Omar paid no mind. His voice seemed to come from a far-off distance. “It could fetch so much money if you had the right technique to preserve it like an Egyptian mummy. What do you think?” he asked.

  Omar is overjoyed because he’s killed a cat. I wanted to cry, to hit him, to yell at him, and to run away from him. I did none of that. “You…should…bury it.”

  His grin was too hard to bear. “What’s wrong with you? I’m going to keep it here for a long time and show it to everyone.”

  I backed out of the alley. “Let’s go home. It’s getting dark.”

  Omar ran back and forth collecting rocks. “Give me a minute.”

  “We’re late. Mother will be angry.”

  “No, she won’t.” He was right. If I was with Omar, Mother would be happy.

  Omar erected a rock wall around the cat as a shrine. “We can go now.” He walked next to me, his mouth spread in a wide, bright smile.

  I didn’t sleep that night. Whenever I closed my eyes, the cat’s image rose before me. In the morning I was exhausted, but the cat stayed with me. I rubbed my eyes until the skin burned and my eyeballs reddened. Still the cat’s dead stare haunted me.

  On our way to dugsi the next afternoon, Omar stopped. It was the same spot where he’d met me the day before. The cat’s remains were still visible in the distance. “I am not coming to dugsi with you today,” he said.

  I placed my fingers over my mouth to contain my happiness. “Should I go back and tell Mother?”

  “She doesn’t have to know,” he said, his voice stern.

  “I don’t want her to be mad.”

  “I said, she doesn’t need to know.”

  I nodded and ran, Omar-free and exhilarated.

  Chapter Seven

  Anticipation filled the schoolyard at the unscheduled assembly. Teachers walked between rows of students to silence their curiosity.

  At the sight of the principal’s determined stride, the teachers took their places at the front.

  The principal stood at the podium for a long pause before beginning. “This is a very important assembly.” He held a folder up and wiped his brow. “Today we are here to share a great news.” He stared into the distance, above the lemon trees that lined th
e yard. “The country must come together on this particular issue. The government has just decreed that the practice of subjugating people based on their tribal origin is illegal and immoral.”

  Standing still, I marveled as the principal read parts of the legislation.

  “Bliss and Boon are equal. One is not better than the other.” He stopped, giving his words a chance to sink in. “We are all Somali, one language, one religion under the same flag, government, and constitution.” Another pause.

  We were being ushered in to a new era. Despite the risk of being caught inattentive, I glanced around the schoolyard to see if others were as exuberant as I.

  “Every Somali person, child and adult alike, must understand this as one nation with one goal—to be united with no tribal differences.” The principal’s words took me to a happy place beyond the restrictions I felt, due to my feeling for Sidow.

  “The new law will erase the divide. After today, each person will marry, trade, and align with whomever they choose. Schools must teach children to reject tribal-based hate, and we’ll be taking this directive very seriously.” He placed the microphone on the podium and dismissed the students. The teachers gathered around him.

  I knew this was Allah’s way of legitimizing the friendship I’d developed with Sidow. “Did you hear?” I asked Sidow.

  “This changes nothing.”

  His response was outrageous. “What do you mean? It is the law now.”

  “You will always be Bliss, and I will always be Boon.”

  Anger rose within me at Sidow’s insistence that tribal differences would continue to exist among us. “That’s illegal now and immoral. You heard the principal.”

  “Rules on paper mean nothing.”

  I swallowed several times to bring my heart into rhythm. “But that is the law,” I repeated as we entered the classroom.

  “Your mother will never accept me as your friend, let alone your husband.”

  Do you like me enough to be my husband? I wondered. “You don’t know that,” I said.

  “Right.” The word dripped with sarcasm. “This will cause nothing but trouble. You mark my words.”