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Authors: E.C. Osondu
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helping us to become better Muslims.
“She is like a new bride. She no longer knows what she is doing. I think we should return to the camp,” Nur said, agreeing with me. “The elders will always look out for us,” she added.
That night, as soon as it got dark, we began heading back to the camp.
When we walked into the camp, a loud ululation went up. “They have come back. They would rather be thin and free than fat but in bondage,” the women sang. The elders began shouting prayers and thanking us for bringing honor to the tribe. Food in trays appeared from different tents, and there was dancing and singing as the moon shone on Zagrawa Camp.
Nur looked at me as we ate, and I looked at her. We should be happy, but we were not. Father would have been so proud of us, but what about Mama? All around us men, women, and children ate and danced.
A few days later Mama came to the camp to see us. First she stood by the entrance to the camp and sent for someone to call us. People in the camp began to whisper.
“So she is now too big and important to step foot in the camp, eh?”
“Why would she not feel important? Look at all that fine jewelry around her neck.”
“She should remember that she once lived here and was no better than the rest of us.”
“Better to live in the poverty of this camp with my dignity intact than to be a kept woman.”
The wind must have blown some of their whisperings into Mama’s ears, because she began to walk into the camp as we were running out to meet her. She held us, and we hugged. She was crying and wiping the corners of both eyes with her shawl.
“My children, you both left me alone—your own mother that carried both of you for nine months. How could you do such a thing? I spoke with El Hajj. He said it was a misunderstanding. He only wished to draw both of you closer to him, but you misinterpreted his fatherly gesture.”
We looked at each other and stared at the dusty earth.
“He is ready to make amends. He says he will give you both some time to grow closer to him.”
Once again we stared at the ground.
“I saw your father in a dream.”
That got our attention. We both drew closer to her.
“Your father was unhappy in the dream. He turned his face away all the while that he spoke to me. He said the only way he could turn his face back to me was if I brought you all back andwe all lived under the same roof. I promised him I would. You know I can’t break a promise made to the departed. If I do, I too will die.”
We both gasped. We went back to the camp and picked up our few items and returned to El Hajj’s house with Mama. As we entered El Hajjs’s compound, he waved at us from a distance. He was sitting on his prayer mat. He had a big smile on his face.
“I told your mother that you are good children. It was a misunderstanding. This is your new home. You will both be very happy here just like your mother.”
We both shivered, giant goose bumps on our skin, and walked into the house.
Going Back West
I woke up one morning, and Uncle Dele was standing by the upright mirror in our sitting room; he was looking out into the street from the window and smoking a cigarette. My mother was brewing a cup of tea, and my father was sitting in his favorite cushion chair, shaking his legs from side to side.
I had heard of Uncle Dele and seen photographs of him taken in America. In one of the pictures he was wearing a winter jacket, his shoes half hidden by snow, and standing in front of a large maroon-colored car. He had an Afro hairdo and was smiling very broadly. In person, he seemed a little disappointing; he wore a frown and drew impatiently on the cigarette like a bird sucking nectar. As he exhaled the smoke through his nose and mouth, he licked his lips lightly like a child relishing the taste of candy. I was shocked someone was smoking around my mother; she generally did not permit anyone smoking around her. Uncle Dele’s imprint was all over the house; the old
“She is like a new bride. She no longer knows what she is doing. I think we should return to the camp,” Nur said, agreeing with me. “The elders will always look out for us,” she added.
That night, as soon as it got dark, we began heading back to the camp.
When we walked into the camp, a loud ululation went up. “They have come back. They would rather be thin and free than fat but in bondage,” the women sang. The elders began shouting prayers and thanking us for bringing honor to the tribe. Food in trays appeared from different tents, and there was dancing and singing as the moon shone on Zagrawa Camp.
Nur looked at me as we ate, and I looked at her. We should be happy, but we were not. Father would have been so proud of us, but what about Mama? All around us men, women, and children ate and danced.
A few days later Mama came to the camp to see us. First she stood by the entrance to the camp and sent for someone to call us. People in the camp began to whisper.
“So she is now too big and important to step foot in the camp, eh?”
“Why would she not feel important? Look at all that fine jewelry around her neck.”
“She should remember that she once lived here and was no better than the rest of us.”
“Better to live in the poverty of this camp with my dignity intact than to be a kept woman.”
The wind must have blown some of their whisperings into Mama’s ears, because she began to walk into the camp as we were running out to meet her. She held us, and we hugged. She was crying and wiping the corners of both eyes with her shawl.
“My children, you both left me alone—your own mother that carried both of you for nine months. How could you do such a thing? I spoke with El Hajj. He said it was a misunderstanding. He only wished to draw both of you closer to him, but you misinterpreted his fatherly gesture.”
We looked at each other and stared at the dusty earth.
“He is ready to make amends. He says he will give you both some time to grow closer to him.”
Once again we stared at the ground.
“I saw your father in a dream.”
That got our attention. We both drew closer to her.
“Your father was unhappy in the dream. He turned his face away all the while that he spoke to me. He said the only way he could turn his face back to me was if I brought you all back andwe all lived under the same roof. I promised him I would. You know I can’t break a promise made to the departed. If I do, I too will die.”
We both gasped. We went back to the camp and picked up our few items and returned to El Hajj’s house with Mama. As we entered El Hajjs’s compound, he waved at us from a distance. He was sitting on his prayer mat. He had a big smile on his face.
“I told your mother that you are good children. It was a misunderstanding. This is your new home. You will both be very happy here just like your mother.”
We both shivered, giant goose bumps on our skin, and walked into the house.
Going Back West
I woke up one morning, and Uncle Dele was standing by the upright mirror in our sitting room; he was looking out into the street from the window and smoking a cigarette. My mother was brewing a cup of tea, and my father was sitting in his favorite cushion chair, shaking his legs from side to side.
I had heard of Uncle Dele and seen photographs of him taken in America. In one of the pictures he was wearing a winter jacket, his shoes half hidden by snow, and standing in front of a large maroon-colored car. He had an Afro hairdo and was smiling very broadly. In person, he seemed a little disappointing; he wore a frown and drew impatiently on the cigarette like a bird sucking nectar. As he exhaled the smoke through his nose and mouth, he licked his lips lightly like a child relishing the taste of candy. I was shocked someone was smoking around my mother; she generally did not permit anyone smoking around her. Uncle Dele’s imprint was all over the house; the old
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