From a Crooked Rib

by Nuruddin Farah

  ‘Very long. It is very long,’ said Ebla.

  ‘Not very. It is normal,’ said Aowralla.

  Ebla knew what the people in the country did with the umbilical cords. Maybe she ought to wait until Aowralla told her what to do with it though, she thought.

  ‘What is today?’ asked Aowralla.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What about the date?’

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘This is my third day.’

  ‘Yes. Your third day.’

  ‘What a pain!’

  ‘But it is over now,’ said Ebla. ‘Console a miser to save his liver,’ she thought.

  ‘And is bound to come back.’

  ‘Only if God blesses you with them again.’

  ‘I don’t know if I will want any more.’

  Aowralla looked up at Ebla, who looked even more than six foot from that angle.

  ‘It has been a great drawback to our economy. I mean the family—including yourself,’ she said.

  ‘The widow told me.’

  ‘What else did she tell you?’

  ‘Many other things.’

  ‘She is a gem of a woman.’

  ‘I think she is.’

  ‘Do you like her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But the townspeople gossip about her being a white-shoed woman.’ This is a common way of saying that she was easy-going.

  ‘I don’t know much about it.’

  ‘Well that is why her Arab husband left her.’

  ‘She told me.’

  ‘Did she tell you the whole story?’

  ‘No. Only bits of it.’

  ‘Well, she faced much trouble with that Arab fellow. He did not want to divorce her. Neither did he want her to remain his wife.’

  ‘And then what happened?’

  ‘Her nephew saved her.’

  ‘Awill?’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘He is here.’

  ‘Did you see him?’

  ‘Yes. I saw him yesterday evening.’

  ‘He is a charming chap.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘I know him fairly well,’ said Aowralla, and as an afterthought she asked, ‘How long did he say he is going to stay?’

  ‘Six days. I think he said that.’

  ‘He wanted to marry an Arab girl himself. She was a spinster, but she was the sister of the widow’s husband. So the Arab wanted to get her married off to Awill. It was after the trouble that the project failed.’

  ‘Is he married?’

  ‘I don’t know. You never know with people from Hamar. Only God knows whether or not they are married, but I don’t think they are, otherwise I would have heard about it.’

  ‘I guess so.’

  The baby began to cry. Her mother turned over, so that her breast could dangle out to her mouth. Ebla could hear the sound of the baby’s sucking.

  ‘Do you have the umbilical cord?’

  ‘Yes. Here it is.’

  The cord was dry, but moist inside. Pressing it with her fingers, Ebla could feel the thing breathing. Now that it was going to be disposed of, she amused herself fingering it.

  Then Aowralla told Ebla:

  ‘Tie it round the ear of Bafto.’

  ‘Yes. I will.’

  Hardly five minutes had passed when Ebla’s cousin entered the house. He looked at her angrily. If she could, she would have run away and never see him again.

  ‘How is it?’ asked his wife.

  ‘Very bad.’

  ‘Do they know whose goods they are?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Because they caught one of the coolies.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘In prison.’

  ‘And did he give you away?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, why shouldn’t he?’ said Aowralla.

  ‘Why should he?’

  ‘They are not his goods, are they?’

  ‘Anyway, I am in trouble.’

  ‘Why didn’t you go back to the shop and work as a normal man?’

  ‘I have got to pay them. And I have also got to pay money to the man from whom I bought the goods.’

  ‘How are you going to manage that?’

  ‘Maybe I will sell one or two of the cows.’

  ‘Yes. But that doesn’t seem to solve the problem.’

  ‘It does. If only a little.’

  ‘Which of the cows? There are only four of them. The rest have died or been eaten by hyenas.’

  ‘Bafto is the only cow which can sell well.’

  ‘I have just offered Bafto as a navel-knotted-present to the baby. You should not sell it.’

  ‘Who did the tying?’

  ‘Ebla did.’

  Ebla thought to herself, ‘God save me.’

  ‘She is an ominous person. If she were not with us, we would not have been caught. I have always dealt in smuggled goods and nothing has happened before. It is because of her.’

  ‘But don’t you care for the baby?’

  ‘It doesn’t know anything about it. This is a question of survival. And dignity. And prestige.’

  ‘But the baby’s feelings! Although she is only three days old, she will hear about this.’

  ‘She won’t. Unless you tell her.’

  ‘Yes, I will tell her.’

  ‘You can tell her. By then we will have either gone down or up in the scale of life.’

  Ebla’s eyes met those of her cousin. Because her face was directed towards him he said, ‘Why are you looking at me like that? It is my baby, my cows and the problem is between me and my wife.’

  Having said this, he walked away. On the same day, before lunch, he sold Bafto.

  Later on, Ebla had just milked the remaining cows and had her back resting lazily against the door when her cousin came in. He was happy and in high spirits. This was the opposite of what Ebla and Aowralla had expected. He told them that the goods had been confiscated by the police and that they had fined him a thousand shillings or so, and warned him that next time he was caught, he would be put in prison for two years with hard labour and the fine would depend on the value of the smuggled goods. Each of the women had been weeping inside, though occasionally Ebla would sob and Aowralla would comfort her.

  ‘It is not true, is it?’ Aowralla said.

  ‘What?’ her husband asked.

  ‘That you have been fined.’

  ‘Not as much as a thousand.’

  Ebla always kept quiet when Aowralla and her husband discussed their family affairs, and unless spoken to, she never uttered a single word. She knew that she was not expected to say anything.

  ‘You’ve sold the cow?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How much did you get for it?’

  ‘One hundred twenty.’

  ‘My cow was worth more than that.’

  ‘It was not. Otherwise, I would have sold it for more than that. The broker is my friend and he did more haggling than I could expect anyone else to do.’

  ‘Who was the broker?’

  ‘Dirir.’

  ‘Oh heavens! God in the heavens,’ Ebla prayed.

  ‘Yes. He is not a bad fellow.’

  ‘You may be right.’

  ‘What makes you happy?’

  ‘Ebla,’ her cousin addressed her for the first time since he came in.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Can we be alone for a little while?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  Ebla went to the widow’s house. After she had gone her cousin whispered some private things to his wife.

  ‘Are you sure it was the right thing?’ asked his wife when he had finished talking.

  He nodded. It was dark inside and naturally she could not see if he had nodded. She repeated the question.

  ‘Yes,’ he said aloud.

  14

  In the meantime, Ebla and the widow exchanged greetings. The widow had something to say, but since A
will was in the other room, she thought at first that she would not mention it. But then she changed her mind and told him to go down-town and buy her certain things. When he had gone, she said:

  ‘Have you heard, Ebla?’

  ‘No,’ replied Ebla.

  ‘You have not heard? Are you sure?’

  ‘I don’t know if I have. But what is it anyway?’

  ‘That your cousin has given your hand to a broker?’

  ‘No. I have not. Who told you?’

  ‘I heard it from one of the man’s relatives.’

  ‘Is that the reason why he asked me to leave him and Aowralla to talk alone?’

  ‘Is that why you came now?’

  ‘Yes. He told me to leave them.’

  ‘What about the fine?’

  ‘A thousand shillings with a warning.’

  ‘And did he say he had paid it?’

  ‘I did not hear.’

  ‘The broker paid him some money for your hand. As dowry or something.’

  ‘Do you know the broker?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘He is sick. Very sick.’

  ‘How sick?’

  ‘They say he’s got T.B.’

  ‘Oh, has he?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what should I do?’

  ‘I don’t know, Ebla. I really don’t know. I wish I knew what would be best for you.’

  ‘But you are more experienced. You know better. What should I do? I must do something.’

  It was the impulse of the moment that made her say this.

  ‘Do you want to marry him?’

  ‘No. I don’t think I want to marry a sick man—especially one who is already sick.’ And she told the widow why she had run away from the country. The widow kept quiet.

  ‘What should I do?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Ebla was paralysed in the region of the mind which gives one suggestions for things to do and paths to follow.

  ‘Do you want to escape?’ asked the widow.

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘Anywhere. Elope. Do something like that.’

  ‘I don’t know if I want to. I have had enough of that. Why? What is this about?’

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Nineteen or twenty. Why?’

  ‘After one year, you will be a spinster.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘Do you want to go to Hamar?’

  ‘What would I do there?’

  ‘You might get a husband.’

  ‘I don’t like this sort of marriage.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I don’t want to be sold like cattle.’

  ‘But that is what we women are—just like cattle, properties of someone or other, either your parents or your husband.’

  ‘We are human beings.’

  ‘But our people don’t realize it. What is the difference between a cow and yourself now? Your hand has been sold to a broker.’

  ‘Just like Bafto. He has sold it too.’

  ‘Did he sell that cow?’

  ‘Yes. This morning. And he was speaking about a certain broker whom he met this morning. Or did he say that this broker sold it for him at a high price?’

  ‘But what will you do?’

  ‘I won’t marry a broker. Unless I choose him, I cannot think of anything else to do. Maybe something will come up.’ With this said, Ebla left the widow.

  When Ebla returned to her cousin’s house, Aowralla said that she had been waiting for her.

  ‘Why?’

  She told Ebla that her husband had brought her some new clothes.

  ‘Should I or should I not accept?’ Ebla asked herself.

  She took the bundle and immediately examined the contents. Inside was a six-metre sheet of a new type of dress she had never worn, but had always wanted to own. On it, some animals were painted. Normally on this type of dress one would find butterflies, swans, and even eagles. However, this one had hedgehogs on it, raising their heads as if they wanted to smell the wearer or curling up themselves into a bundle as if waiting for an ambush.

  ‘What is this for?’

  ‘I don’t know much about it.’

  ‘He did not say anything?’

  ‘No. Not much.’

  ‘What are the little things that he said?’

  ‘Wait for him.’

  ‘I will see him only tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes. Then wait till tomorrow.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘I have got thirty-six days, during which I should remain locked in the house. But when I have finished my convalescent period, then you won’t find much to do.’

  ‘You mean in the house?’

  Aowralla nodded.

  ‘What is the name of the broker?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The broker.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I just want to know. He helped my cousin.’

  ‘Dirir, that’s his name.’

  After a while, Ebla said she would go out for a walk.

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘Maybe to the widow’s.’

  ‘I will sleep. I am tired and hungry. The kid has been sucking me and I am empty inside.’

  ‘Do you want anything to eat?’

  ‘No. Don’t bother.’

  ‘If you are hungry, I can make you something.’

  ‘I don’t have the tongue to eat with: it is heavy. Sleep will do me good. Have you eaten?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why don’t you prepare something for yourself?’

  ‘When I was a kid, they used to tell us not to eat anything when you are given new clothes. You might spoil them.’

  ‘But you are no longer a kid.’

  ‘Just like a kid, I might dirty the new clothes.’

  ‘Which you have not put on as yet!’

  ‘Anyway, you sleep.’

  ‘Blow out the lamp and take the box of matches with you. And when you come back, try not to disturb the baby.’

  Ebla did as she was told, and she walked towards the widow’s house.

  15

  On her way to the widow’s house (which Ebla now thought of as Awill’s provisional home) her legs seemed to betray her. Her lips moved rapidly while she wondered about the present situation and what it might lead to. She had escaped before: it was no longer an enigma—the only problem was where to go.

  Ebla was afraid of the fact that she might not be able to summon the required courage to talk to Awill. ‘What should I say to him? I hardly know him. And people don’t think highly of a girl who asks a man to marry her. But why should one marry after all? To beget children? To raise a quiver-full of children? Only that? Or is it to love also? To love a man? In the history of love in Somaliland the most fascinating love story occurred somewhere near Barbara between Hodan and Elmi Bowderi. He died of love. Was it worth it? What happened to Hodan? I wish I knew. I wish I could meet her. Maybe she has lots and lots of interesting stories to tell me.’

  Ebla leaned against the main door and continued her train of thought. There were a couple of people going nearby with a flash light. She could see the light, but it was only a lamp to Ebla.

  She knew love was out of the question, as far as her case was concerned. Awill did not love her. How could he love her? He had met her only once. She did not know if there was such a thing called ‘Love’, which could exist between a person like Awill and herself. Enslavement was what existed between the married couples she had met. The woman was a slave. And she was willing to be what she had been reduced to, she was not raising a finger to stop it. But since she would not be able to do anything about it, why not marry simply for the sake of living a married life and thus avoiding spinsterhood? In the process she would live to be a married woman. Why not get married to Awill—or whoever falls into the ditch of matrimony, she chuckled to herself—in order to get children of her own blood, of her own stock? They would be her own babies, which would be
nice. She loved children. She loved Aowralla’s child, so long as she did not think of it as her cousin’s; but she must overcome this sudden bitterness, she thought to herself.

  From experience she knew that girls were materials, just like objects, or items on the shelf of a shop. They were sold and bought as shepherds sold their goats at market-places, or shop-owners sold the goods to their customers. To a shopkeeper what was the difference between a girl and his goods? Nothing, absolutely nothing.

  What an agony, what a revolting situation! Naturally women are born in nine months (unless the case is abnormal) just like men. What makes women so inferior to men? Why is it a must that a girl should refund a token amount to her parents in the form of a dowry, while the boy needs the amount or more to get a woman? Why is it only the sons in the family who are counted? For sure this world is a man’s—it is his dominion. It is his and is going to be his as long as women are oppressed, as long as women are sold and bought like camels, as long as this remains the system of life. Nature is against women.

  If a woman wants to argue about her fundamental rights not being fulfilled by her husband, it is always a man that she must see—at the government office and every other place (she smiled to herself for being conversant with the town terminologies). Before she has opened her mouth, she is condemned to the grave. Aren’t men the law?

  ‘But it is good to sell yourself,’ she told herself. ‘Without a broker there is no bidder—and no auctioneer. All I need is the Sheikh’s fee if Awill wants to marry me.

  ‘Is it possible that the widow has spoken to him? Let us hope she has. Will I get a positive reply? Only God knows.

  ‘But he is a man—like any other. But he may be different. In all probability he will be—otherwise I will try to reform him, to teach him, to break his pride, to turn him into a human being.’

  On second thoughts she decided to go back and collect her new dress. ‘That will help me in case we agree to elope together.’ She tiptoed back. She timidly went in. Aowralla was awake.

  ‘You have come back, have you?’

  ‘Yes, but I will go out again. I want to show the new dress to the widow.’

  ‘Come back soon.’

  ‘I will.’

  She walked into the widow’s house, unalarmed, as she always was before. She found Awill reading a novel. He later told her that it was an Italian novel. It had a beautifully decorated cover, and Ebla, although she could not understand what it was about, was most impressed by it. But she could not endure looking at the semi-nude woman on the cover. She closed her eyes tight. She thought that this woman must have been photographed without her consent. It was a wicked work. Awill, sensing that there was somebody else in the room, raised his head from behind the novel. He saw Ebla. He was quite pleased and showed it.