Harmattan (19 page)

‘No.’

‘But, Father!’

‘No, I say!’ He threw the shoe onto the ground. ‘God only knows what your brother is doing at present. Didn’t you pay attention to the news on Monsieur Letouye’s television set the other night? Niamey is a dangerous place at the minute.

Mainassara’s people are arresting anyone who even looks like they might be
thinking
of causing trouble. And there have been more rumours of mutiny! It was difficult enough for Moussa and me to get back here. It’s certainly not safe for a child to be travelling alone.’ He stepped forwards and, taking my chin in his hand, tilted my head back so that I was looking into his eyes once again. ‘You must forget this idea, girl.

You are needed here.’

I knew that I should give in, but I no longer cared. ‘And Mother needs me!’ I said, pulling back from him. ‘Besides, aren’t you always telling me that I am almost a woman?’

My father clapped his hands together in frustration and then bent down so that his face was close to mine. ‘You’ve accepted that no one can help her!’ he said, angrily.

‘Now accept that I will not permit this journey.’

I buried my face in my hands and sobbed, frustration and rage now vying with my feelings of fear and sadness.

Behind us the excited cries and shouts of the boys playing soccer continued and, for a few moments, I tried to block out all other sounds and thoughts and concentrate only on those of the game. Then Moussa spoke again.

‘Forgive me, Salim,’ he said, stooping to pick up the shoe. He dangled the pair on his fingers. With his free hand he took my father’s arm and led him a few metres away.

His hushed, urgent manner made me suspicious. In truth, all of his actions made me suspicious. ‘Salim. Cousin. I do not mean to interfere, please believe me, but may I speak with you on this matter?’

‘
Toh
.’

Moussa glanced back at me awkwardly as he spoke. ‘You know, I really need to return to Niamey very soon – as I’ve said. I think you will agree that our business here is concluded for the time being?’

My father nodded.

‘And my own family needs me.’

‘Of course.’

‘And then there is my shop… I really don’t trust that young oaf I’ve left in charge. He’s bone-idle, and Doodi can’t watch him all the time!’ With this, Moussa turned to look at me again and then stroked the gleaming shoes. ‘But I may be able to help you out with this problem.’

‘How so, cousin?’ my father said.

‘I could escort the child to the capital, Salim,’ Moussa replied. He held the shoes up in front of my father’s face. ‘Many people come to my shop. I can easily find a customer for this fine footwear. It would cover all expenses and…’ he motioned towards me without actually turning his gaze, ‘… it would do your daughter no harm to see my home, meet with my family.’

My excitement immediately pushed aside my instinctive mistrust of Moussa.

‘Yes, Father!’ I said. ‘That is a good idea!’

But my father’s response was more measured. ‘I don’t know…’ he said, quietly.
‘Please
, Father…’

He held his hand up to silence me, but looked at Moussa as he spoke. ‘You would take her on the
camion
?’

‘Of course,’ Moussa replied. ‘And she could stay with my family. That goes without saying.’

‘And afterwards – when she has seen her mother – how would she return home?’‘We can work something out,’ Moussa said.

I could not contain myself. ‘Perhaps Abdel could bring me back, Father.’

Again he held his hand up. ‘Quiet, child. Your brother will be too busy to have to worry about you.’

‘We can work something out,’ Moussa said again.

And so it was decided. We were to leave for the capital in a few days’ time. I was to ask Sushie for a ride to the
camion
post and, once we arrived in Niamey, Moussa was to contact Abdelkrim. If my brother was unable to escort me to the hospital, Moussa himself would take me.

I was to see my dear, sweet mother again!

The following morning I awoke before the cockerels began to crow. I had been dreaming again of my grandmother, my mother – and of Moussa. Now, as I lay awake in the darkness, I could not recall the details of my dream; only the vague notion that Moussa had been smiling his broken-toothed smile at me.

Somehow I felt unsettled by the dream, and yet I also felt guilty that I should still bear suspicion towards my father’s cousin – a man who was clearly prepared to help me. Slowly, as I began to collect my thoughts, I realised that it was not my dream which had wrenched me from slumber, but physical discomfort. I reached down and, fumbling beneath my blanket, felt a thick, warm wetness between my legs. The
jingar ceeri
had come upon me.

I was not frightened. I knew what had happened and I knew what to do.

Mother had prepared me for this moment and, as my body had changed, I had waited for it for a long time. Even so, I was perturbed that my bedding should be soiled, and determined to get it out of the house before anyone else should notice.

Beside me, Fatima was fast asleep. From the other side of the room I could hear Adamou’s snores. I sat up and craned my neck to peer at the lumpy silhouette in the darkness. (Father had occupied his own bed more frequently ever since
Aunt
Alassane’s outburst.) It was a sight that would usually have given me some comfort, but now it only caused me frustration. It meant that Moussa had spent the night in our living room and that I would have to get past him without drawing attention to myself or my bedding.

I cleaned myself as best as possible, dressed hurriedly and then quietly gathered up my bedding. Fatima stirred, ground her teeth and then muttered Adamou’s name. I guessed that our brother’s taunts and torments had even followed my sister into her dreams. With two steps I was at the curtain that divided our two rooms. I stood in the darkness for a few moments, straining to hear some indication that cousin Moussa was still asleep too. From outside, as if to thwart me, the low moan of a fresh wind drowned out the gentle sounds of our sleeping household and then ceased almost as suddenly. At last, I heard the rhythmical breathing of our guest, whose dark form I could just make out lying on the floor in front of me. I would have to step over him.

I checked the bloody bundle in my arms and then lifted first my left foot and then my right over the slumbering body. I had made it! All I had to do now was take a few more paces towards the outer door and then head for the river. I could have my bedding laundered and well on its way to drying before anyone else even stirred.

I put my hand carefully on the door and pushed it outwards. Suddenly, a beam of light enveloped me from behind. Startled, I looked around and, dropping my bedding, raised my hands to shield my face from the glare.

‘Who’s there?’ Moussa called, gruffly. He was leaning on one elbow and holding a small flashlight above his head.

‘It’s me. Haoua, cousin Moussa,’ I whispered, anxious that no one else in the house might be disturbed. ‘Forgive me for waking you.’

‘What are you doing, girl?’ He moved the light down my body, from my face to my feet, and then on to the unfurled blanket.

‘I – I – nothing…’ I said.
This is my house
, I told myself.
I don’t have to
explain myself to him!

But Moussa’s light was fixed on the soiled bedding in front of me. Frantically, I threw myself onto the blanket and began to bundle it up again.

It was too late. ‘Ah, so you’re a
real
woman now – eh, girlie?’

I looked up and saw that he was now shining the beam on to his own face, the harsh light making his features and broken teeth eerily prominent, his eyes still more yellow. He was leering.

‘It’s nothing to be ashamed about,’ he said, chuckling to himself. ‘It just means that you’re
ready!’

I did not answer him. Instead, I backed out through the door and, running through the darkness, headed for the river.

I was not ashamed. I knew that what was happening to my body was perfectly natural. I wanted to be able to talk to my mother more than ever, though I was glad that she had prepared me so well. As I ran, I thought about Fatima and wondered if our mother would be granted the time to prepare her also. I knew that it would fall to me to do so should my mother not survive her illness. Bunchie had told me stories about the old ways – when ‘showings’ were made public and the bedding of virgin brides was displayed for the whole village to bear witness. I was glad that those ways had changed.

I slowed to a brisk walk and put the bundle on my head. By now, the sun was beginning to peek over the horizon and the air was beginning to lose its chill. I looked down at my bare feet, kicking through the cool dust, and wished that I had remembered my sandals. I thought again of the beautiful shoes that Katie and Hope had sent me. My friends in Ireland were about my age. I wondered if they had become women yet. The image of Moussa’s leering face stuck in my mind and I suddenly felt more apprehensive about travelling with him to the capital.

…
It just means that you’re ready!
His words echoed around in my head. A shiver ran down my back.

It was light by the time I reached the river and a persistent wind had developed, scuffing up snake-like wisps of sand across the reedy banks and causing ripples on the surface of the water. Without even checking to make sure that I was alone, I set down my bundle, stripped off my
pagne
and stepped into the cool, dark water to bathe. After several minutes, I suddenly became aware that I was being watched. I was submerged to the neck with my back to the riverbank, yet still I sensed eyes boring into me.

I spun round in the water, half expecting to see Moussa standing there. Instead, a small troop of monkeys scattered in all directions, startled by my splashing. I realised then that they had been playing with my clothes and pulling at my bundle, and one of them was now dragging my blanket towards some bushes to my left.

‘Aiiiee!!!’ I screamed and hurled a rock at it. The creature let go of the blanket and disappeared into the bushes after its companions. I stumbled through the silt and on to the riverbank, where I quickly gathered up my belongings. Without pausing to dry myself, I pulled on my
pagne
and then carried the bloody – and now muddy – blanket down to the water’s edge where I scrubbed it against some rocks.

As I worked, I realised that it was a school day and wished that I could go home, fetch my schoolbag and then call for Miriam. I wished that I could find my mother at home, cooking
boule
and serving tea to my father. I wished that Abdelkrim was not away from home and that Moussa was not staying with us. And I wished that Alassane and her sisters would leave Wadata forever and go far, far away.

As I worked, I sang a song that Bunchie had taught me when I was little.
Nil,
Niger, Congo, Senegal, Orange et Limpopo, Zambeze. Azikiwe, Awolowo, Una na
nya ran na, Orange et Limpopo, Zambeze. And
I wished also that Bunchie could be there beside me, telling me stories about Harakoye Dicko, Goddess of the River Niger, the mother of genies who could transform themselves into the bodies of possession dancers; that we could be washing our clothes together, as we had so often in the past.

Then I thought of Katie and Hope and I wished that their father’s father’s father had not died.

I knew that I could not ask God to reverse these things, that what was done was done, but I thanked Him for His greatness and asked Him, once again, to spare my mother.

As I walked home, I sang Bunchie’s song again. I recalled standing beside her in the muddy waters, my head barely reaching her exposed thigh: copying her actions as she scrubbed and rinsed; eager to learn.
That was my childhood,
I thought.
But now I am
a woman.

When I got home the house was quiet, and both my father and Moussa had gone. I draped my blanket over the compound fence and then drank some water and ate a little millet paste. As I took my cup and dish back into the house, I noticed my shoebox on the floor beside Moussa’s untidy bedroll. I looked out through the door to make sure that neither Moussa nor my father were nearby and then lifted the box and set it on the table. I reminded myself that the shoes were still mine and that I did not need to feel guilty about looking at them again.

I lifted the lid off the box and set it on the table. Again the clean, new smell hit me. I folded back the thin paper and was about to take one of the shoes from the box when I noticed, in one corner, the little radio that Abdelkrim had sent me. I hesitated for only a moment then, quickly looking over my shoulder, I lifted out the radio instead.

The earphones knocked gently against the inside of the box as I coiled the cable around the radio. I stared at the beautiful little object in my hand for a moment, in awe of its precision and curious numbers, until a movement from the bedroom brought me to my senses and I stuffed it quickly under my head wrap.

‘I’m telling.’ It was Adamou.

‘What?’

‘You shouldn’t be poking through our guest’s things,’ Adamou said.

‘They’re
my
shoes, actually,’ I said. ‘They’re mine until they’re sold.’

He walked towards me and then reached behind my head. I flinched a little.

‘Wait!’ he said. ‘What’s this?’

The earpieces of the headphones had been dangling down from beneath my head wrap and Adamou now gave them a gentle tug.

‘That’s mine too,’ I said, pulling the radio out. ‘Moussa was only borrowing it.’

‘Still, I don’t think he’d like you poking around.’

‘You’re always poking around my things!’ I said.

‘And you’re always complaining about me doing that!’ He picked up one of the shoes and let out a shrill whistle. ‘I think they’d fit me,’ he said.

I grabbed the shoe away from him. ‘You mustn’t put them on! They must be new shoes if we are to sell them.’

Adamou made no reply. He put his hand into the box again but I held his wrist tightly. ‘Don’t touch that one either, Adamou!’ I hissed.