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Authors: E.C. Osondu
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outside to play out of modesty. She would wash the cloth and sit naked indoors waiting for it to dry.
As we entered our tent, I smelled the strong scent of the dark green perfume oil—
bint el sudan.
The smell filled the whole of our tent. It came from a fat man with folds all over his body. Every inch of him seemed to be folded in parts: his face, his arms, his cheeks. He had facial hair and a single gold tooth. He spread out his arms as Nur and I entered, and even his palms were creased and folded in many places.
“Welcome back, children. You came back so quickly and with so little wood, greet Hajj, and do I need to tell you to do that? Greet like good children and thank Hajj for all the good things he has brought for us,” Mama said, pointing at a rich-looking bundle lying in the tent. Nur looked at me, and I looked at her. If Hajj had not been looking at us so intently through the folds of his apparently delighted eyes, we would have burst into laughter. Mama’s new bride manner was hilarious. Nur and I knelt to greet Hajj, but he drew us up toward himself.
“No, no, do not kneel to greet me. The prophet forbids it. You must never kneel in greeting before anybody from today onward.”
As he drew me toward him, I felt the folds of his plump-looking fingers graze my buttocks through my thin dress, and I flinched. I looked at Nur, but his other hand was at that very moment accidentally touching her left breast. Mama was looking down on the floor and smiling.
Hajj soon rose from his position. In rising he reminded me of an old camel as different parts of his body heaved and seemed to jiggle.
“El Hajj, thank you for honoring our modest dwellings with your esteemed presence.”
“You need not thank me at all, and you need not worry yourself further. I will take you people out of here soon,” he said, his hand sweeping through the tent.
El Hajj was a big trader in the town. He already had four wives and many children. One of the gun-carrying men on horseback who rode round the camp had told him about Mother, and he had decided to take her on as something between wife and concubine. He would take us out of the camp, and we could live in a real house once more. Mama, who told us this, was ecstatic and seemed to be out of breath as she told us even more wonderful things about El Hajj. He was indeed a very holy man and had performed the pilgrimage not just once, but four times. The sand that was used to lay the foundation of his house was from the holy land of Mecca. He fasted once every week, unlike many others who waited until the holy month. Beggars from all over the town came to his gates to be fed every day. In short, Hajj was a saint in huge folds of human flesh.
We moved out of the camp to El Hajj’s house. Mama was not exactly his wife, and we did not live in the main house but in a small block of two rooms that was perhaps originally built for his servants.
One night a few days later, El Hajj called me to his bedroom. The room was filled with milk-colored curtains. The bed was high and had a gold-colored pole on each of the four corners. He was wearing his djellaba and was sitting on the edge of his bed. He was smiling and drew me toward his huge belly. I was looking at his soft, white palms and the folds around his neck.As the soft fingers began to poke around me, they no longer felt soft. I felt like someone was poking sharp bicycle spokes into me. Everywhere he touched stung, and I began to cry.
The next day Hajj called Nur to his room, and when she came back her eyes were red.
“Did he do anything to you?” I asked Nur.
“You tell me first. Did he do anything to you?” Nur asked me.
“Should we tell Mama?” Nur asked me, though I had not answered her first question.
“I think we should go back to the camp,” I said. I told Nur that I had hinted to Mama that we did not quite like it here because of Hajj, but Mama had responded that Hajj was a kind and religious man, and that he was only
As we entered our tent, I smelled the strong scent of the dark green perfume oil—
bint el sudan.
The smell filled the whole of our tent. It came from a fat man with folds all over his body. Every inch of him seemed to be folded in parts: his face, his arms, his cheeks. He had facial hair and a single gold tooth. He spread out his arms as Nur and I entered, and even his palms were creased and folded in many places.
“Welcome back, children. You came back so quickly and with so little wood, greet Hajj, and do I need to tell you to do that? Greet like good children and thank Hajj for all the good things he has brought for us,” Mama said, pointing at a rich-looking bundle lying in the tent. Nur looked at me, and I looked at her. If Hajj had not been looking at us so intently through the folds of his apparently delighted eyes, we would have burst into laughter. Mama’s new bride manner was hilarious. Nur and I knelt to greet Hajj, but he drew us up toward himself.
“No, no, do not kneel to greet me. The prophet forbids it. You must never kneel in greeting before anybody from today onward.”
As he drew me toward him, I felt the folds of his plump-looking fingers graze my buttocks through my thin dress, and I flinched. I looked at Nur, but his other hand was at that very moment accidentally touching her left breast. Mama was looking down on the floor and smiling.
Hajj soon rose from his position. In rising he reminded me of an old camel as different parts of his body heaved and seemed to jiggle.
“El Hajj, thank you for honoring our modest dwellings with your esteemed presence.”
“You need not thank me at all, and you need not worry yourself further. I will take you people out of here soon,” he said, his hand sweeping through the tent.
El Hajj was a big trader in the town. He already had four wives and many children. One of the gun-carrying men on horseback who rode round the camp had told him about Mother, and he had decided to take her on as something between wife and concubine. He would take us out of the camp, and we could live in a real house once more. Mama, who told us this, was ecstatic and seemed to be out of breath as she told us even more wonderful things about El Hajj. He was indeed a very holy man and had performed the pilgrimage not just once, but four times. The sand that was used to lay the foundation of his house was from the holy land of Mecca. He fasted once every week, unlike many others who waited until the holy month. Beggars from all over the town came to his gates to be fed every day. In short, Hajj was a saint in huge folds of human flesh.
We moved out of the camp to El Hajj’s house. Mama was not exactly his wife, and we did not live in the main house but in a small block of two rooms that was perhaps originally built for his servants.
One night a few days later, El Hajj called me to his bedroom. The room was filled with milk-colored curtains. The bed was high and had a gold-colored pole on each of the four corners. He was wearing his djellaba and was sitting on the edge of his bed. He was smiling and drew me toward his huge belly. I was looking at his soft, white palms and the folds around his neck.As the soft fingers began to poke around me, they no longer felt soft. I felt like someone was poking sharp bicycle spokes into me. Everywhere he touched stung, and I began to cry.
The next day Hajj called Nur to his room, and when she came back her eyes were red.
“Did he do anything to you?” I asked Nur.
“You tell me first. Did he do anything to you?” Nur asked me.
“Should we tell Mama?” Nur asked me, though I had not answered her first question.
“I think we should go back to the camp,” I said. I told Nur that I had hinted to Mama that we did not quite like it here because of Hajj, but Mama had responded that Hajj was a kind and religious man, and that he was only
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