Desert Flower (11 page)

“Believe me, you don’t want to know the reason I spanked her, because you don’t want to know what I know! If you had seen what she did today, you would say she’s no daughter of yours. This child is out of control she’s like an animal.” My explanation did not make matters any better between the two of us. Suddenly after leaving me a thirteen-year-old girl to cope with three children under the age of ten, her daughter’s welfare was of major importance to her. My aunt came at me shaking her fist, threatening to beat me for what I’d done to her little angel. But I’d had enough not only from her, but from the whole world. “Look, you’re not going to touch me!” I screamed. “If you do, you’re going to wind up bald-headed.” This ended any discussion of anyone beating me, but I knew at this point I had to go. But where would I run to this time?

Raising my fist to knock on Aunt Sahru’s door, I thought, Here you go again, Waris. Sheepishly, I said hello when she answered the door. Auntie Sahru was Mama’s sister. And she had five children. This

fact, I felt, did not bode well for my happiness in her household, but what choice did I have? Become a pickpocket or beg for food on the street? Without going into details about my departure from Auntie L’uul’s, I asked if I could stay with her family for a while.

“You have a friend here,” she said to my surprise. “If you want to stay with us, you can. If you want to talk about anything, I’m here.” Things were off to a better start than I’d imagined. As expected, I began helping around the house. But Auntie Sahru’s oldest daughter, Fatima, was nineteen years old. The majority of the responsibility for running the house fell to her.

My poor cousin Fatima worked like a slave. She got up early each day and went to college, then came home at twelve-thirty to cook lunch, returned to school and came back again around six in the evening to make dinner. After dinner she would clean up, then study late into the night. For some reason her mother treated her differently, demanding much more from her than she did from any of the other children. But Fatima was good to me; she treated me like a friend, and at that time in my life I certainly needed one. However, the way she was treated by her mom seemed unfair to me, so I tried to help my cousin

in the kitchen at night. I didn’t know how to cook, but I tried to learn by watching her. The first time I ever tasted pasta was when Fatima made it, and I thought I was in heaven.

My responsibilities were largely cleaning, and to this day Auntie Sahru says I’m the best cleaner she ever had. I scrubbed and polished the house, which was hard work. But I definitely preferred cleaning to babysitting, especially after my adventures of the past few months.

Like Aman, Auntie Sahru continued to worry about my mother, and the fact that Mama was left without any older girls to help her with the work. My father might help with the animals, but he wouldn’t lift a finger to help with the cooking, or clothing, or making baskets, or taking care of the children. This was woman’s work, and Mama’s problem. After all, hadn’t he done his part by bringing home another wife to help? Yes, he certainly had. But I, too, had been worried about this issue since the dark morning when I last saw my mother. Whenever I thought of her, I remembered her face in the firelight the night before I left, and how tired she’d looked. While I was running across the desert looking for Mogadishu, I couldn’t

get these thoughts out of my mind. The journey had seemed as endless as my dilemma: Which would I chose my desire to take care of my mother or my desire to be rid of the old man? I remember collapsing under a tree at dusk and thinking, Who’s going to look after mama now? She’s going to look after everyone else, but who’s going to look after her?

There was no point in turning back now, however; it would simply mean I had gone through all the hardships of the past few months for nothing. If I went back home, a month wouldn’t pass before my father started dragging around every lame, decrepit fool in the desert who owned a camel, trying to marry me off. Then not only would I be stuck with a husband, I still wouldn’t be there to take care of my mother. But one day I decided that a partial remedy for this problem was to earn some money and send it to her. Then she could buy some of the things my family needed and wouldn’t have to work so hard.

I set out to find a job, and began looking all over the city. One day my aunt sent me to the market to do her shopping, and on the way home I passed a construction site. I stopped and watched the men carrying bricks, mixing pits of mortar by tossing in shovels of sand and stirring in water

with a hoe. “Hey,” I yelled out, ‘do you have any jobs?”

The guy laying bricks stopped and started laughing at me. “Who wants to know?”

“I do. I need a job.”

“Nope. We don’t have any work for a skinny girl like you. Somehow I don’t think you’re a bricklayer.” He laughed again.

“Hey, you’re wrong,” I assured him. “I can do it - I’m very strong. Really.” I pointed at the guys mixing the mortar; they stood there with their pants hanging down to their buttocks. “I can help them. I can bring all the sand, and mix as good as they can.”

“Okay, okay. When can you start?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Be here at six and we’ll see what you can do.” I floated back to Auntie Sahru’s without touching the ground. I had a job! I would be earning money real cash! And I would save every penny and send it to Mama. She’d be so surprised.

When I got to the house, I told Auntie my news. She couldn’t believe it. “You got a job where?” First of all, she couldn’t believe any girl would want to do this kind of work. “And exactly what are you going to do for these men?” she asked. Second, she couldn’t believe the boss would

hire a female, especially me, as I still looked half starved. But when I insisted it was true, she had no choice but to believe me.

Once she believed me, she was angry that I planned to live with her, yet instead of helping out with the household chores, I’d be working for someone else. “Look,” I said tiredly. “I need to send Mama money, and in order to do that, I have to get a job. Either it’s this one, or a different one,

but all the same, I have to do it. Okay?”

“All right.”

The next morning my career as a construction worker began. And it was horrible. I struggled carrying back-breaking loads of sand all day; I didn’t have any gloves, the bucket handle cut into my hands. Then, along my palms, I developed enormous blisters. By the end of the day the blisters had burst and my hands were bleeding. Everyone thought that was the end of me, but I was determined to come back the next morning.

I stuck it out for a month, before my hands were so torn up and sore that I could barely bend them. But by the time I quit, I. had saved the equivalent of sixty dollars. I told my auntie proudly that I had saved some money to send home to Mama. Recently a man she knew had visited us; he was soon heading out into the desert

with his family and offered to take the money to my mother. Auntie Sahru said, “Yeah, I know his people; they’re all right. You can trust them to take the money.” Needless to say, that was the end of my sixty dollars. After all that, I found out later that my mother never saw a penny of it.

When I retired from construction work, I started cleaning house for my aunt again. Not long after this, I was working one day as usual, when a distinguished guest arrived: the Somalian ambassador to London. The ambassador, Mohammed Chama Farah, happened to be married to yet another aunt, my mother’s sister Maruim. As I dusted my way around the next room, I overheard the ambassador talking to Auntie Sahru. He had come to Mogadishu to find a servant before he began his four-year diplomatic appointment in London. Instantly, I knew this was it. This was the opportunity I had been waiting for.

Bursting into the room, I called to Aunt Sahru, “Auntie, I need a conversation.”

She looked at me in exasperation. “What is it, Waris?”

“Please in here.” When she walked through the door and out of his sight, I grabbed hold of her arm fiercely. “Please. Please tell him to take me. I

can be his maid.” She looked at me and I could see the hurt on her face. But I was a strong-willed kid only thinking about what I wanted, instead of what she’d done for me.

“You! You don’t know nothing about nothing. What are you going to do in London?”

“I can clean! Tell him to take me to London, Auntie! I want to GO!”

“I don’t think so. Now, stop bothering me and get to work.” She walked back into the other room and sat beside her brother-in-law. I heard her say quietly, “Why don’t you take her? You know she really is good. She’s a good cleaner.”

Auntie called me into the room and I leaped through the door. I stood there with my feather duster in my hand, smacking my gum. “I’m Waris. You’re married to Auntie, aren’t you?”

The ambassador frowned at me. “Would you mind taking that chewing gum out of your mouth?” I spat the wad into the corner. He looked at Auntie Sahru. “This is the girl? Oh, no, no, no.”

“I’m excellent. I can clean, I can cook and I’m good with children, too!”

“Oh, I’m sure you are.”

I turned to Auntie. “Tell him’

“Waris, that’s enough. Get back to work.”

“Tell him I’m the best!”

“Waris! Shush!” To my uncle she said, “She’s young still, but she really is a hard worker. Believe me, she’ll be okay…”

Uncle Mohammed sat still for a moment looking at me with disgust. “Okay, listen. I’m taking you tomorrow. Okay? I’ll be here in the afternoon with your passport, then we’ll go to London.”

London! I didn’t know anything about it, but I liked the sound of it. I didn’t know where it was, but I knew it was very far away. And far away was where I wanted to be. It seemed like the answer to my prayers, and yet too good to be true. I wailed, “Auntie, am I really going?”

She wagged her finger at me sternly. “You shut up. Don’t start.” When she saw the look of panic on my face, she smiled. “All right. Yes, you’re really going.”

On fire with excitement, I ran to tell my cousin Fatima, who was just starting dinner. “I’m going to London! I’m going to London!” I shouted and

began to dance in circles around the kitchen.

“What? London!” She grabbed my arm in mid spin and made me explain. “You’re going to be white,” Fatima announced matter-of factly “What did you say?”

“You’re going to be white, you know..” white.” I did not know. I had no idea what she was talking about, since I had never seen a white person, and in fact didn’t know such a thing existed. However, her comment didn’t trouble me in the slightest. “Shut up, please,” I said in my most superior fashion. “You’re just jealous that I’m going to London and you’re not.” I resumed my dancing, swaying and clapping my hands as if I were celebrating the rain, then chanted, “I’m going to London! Ohhh-aiyeee - I’m going to London!”

WAR IS Aunt Sahru called in a threatening tone.

That evening Auntie outfitted me for my journey; I received my first pair of shoes fine leather sandals. On the plane I wore a long, brightly colored dress she’d given me, covered by a loose African robe. I had no luggage, but it didn’t matter because I had nothing to take, except the outfit I’d be wearing when Uncle Mohammed picked me up the next day.

As we left for the airport, I hugged and kissed Auntie Sahru, dear Fatima, and all my little cousins goodbye. Fatima had been so kind to me that I wanted to take her with me. But I knew there was only a job for one person, and since that was the case, I was glad it was me. Uncle Mohammed gave me my passport and I looked at it in wonder my first official document since I had never owned a birth certificate, or any paper with my name on it. Getting into the car, I felt very important and waved farewell to the family.

Before this day I had seen airplanes from the ground; occasionally I would even see them fly overhead in the desert when I was out tending my goats, so I knew such things existed. But I certainly had never seen one up close until the afternoon I left Mogadishu. Uncle Mohammed walked me through the airport, and we paused at the door leading outside to the plane. On the tarmac, I saw a gigantic British jet gleaming in the African sun. It was at this point I heard my uncle jabbering something about ‘… and your Aunt Maruim is expecting you in London; I’ll join you in a few days. I’ve got some business to finish up here before I can leave.”

My mouth gaped as I turned around to stare at him. He thrust the plane ticket into my hand. “Now, don’t lose your ticket or your passport Waris. These are very important documents, so hang on to them.”

“You’re not coming with me?” It was all I could do to choke out these words.

“No,” he said impatiently, “I have to stay here for a few more days.” I immediately started to cry, scared of going alone, and now that leaving Somalia was imminent, I wasn’t sure it was such a good idea after all. For all its problems, it was the only home I’d ever known, and what waited ahead of me was a complete mystery.

“Go on you’ll be fine. Somebody’s going to meet you in London; they’ll tell you what to do when you get there.” I snuffled and let out a little whimper. Uncle pushed me gently toward the door. “Go on now, the plane is leaving. Just get on GET ON THE PLANE, WAR IS

Stiff with dread I walked across the sizzling tarmac. I studied the ground crew scurrying around the jet, preparing for takeoff. My eyes followed men loading luggage, the crew checking the plane, then I looked up the stairs, wondering how I was supposed to get inside this thing. Deciding on the stairs, I started up. But unused to walking

in shoes, I had to struggle to make it up the slick aluminum steps without tripping over my long dress. Once on board, I had no idea where to go, and must have looked like a perfect idiot. All the other passengers were already seated, and as they sat looking at me inquiringly, I could read their faces: “Who on earth is this dumb country girl who doesn’t even know how to travel on an airplane?” I spun around just inside the door and sat in an empty seat.