by Asen Djinah
After much persuasion, Leila eventually relented. Hayder came to start a new life in town and Asif introduced him to the world of commerce. Though Asif was by far the major partner in the business which he had built up from scratch, he always treated Hayder as an equal, listening to his suggestions and valuing his input.
Having been abandoned as a baby, Asif never knew his biological parents. A family had taken him in from the orphanage with the sole purpose of collecting the orphan’s allowance from the state. As soon as the boy was old enough, his foster parents began to treat him like a slave and the young boy would spend all his waking hours doing chores. They would beat him whenever he did something wrong, but more often for no reason at all. One day, when he was eleven years old, Asif went out to empty the chamber pot and did not return. For the next few years he lived on the streets, doing odd jobs at the market. In the evenings he would sleep at the orphanage. It was the best time of his life, carefree and living as he wished. He saved whatever coins he earned in a purse tied around his waist, under his shirt. The good life lasted for four years until he was fifteen. By then he had turned into a tall young man. One day, the official at the orphanage called him into the office.
‘Asif, you are now fifteen years of age. Unfortunately you are no longer eligible for help. We can no longer provide you with food or a bed for the night,’ the man said apologetically to the young man.
From that day onwards, Asif truly lived on the streets. He often worked as a porter, carrying huge bales of goods for a few coins. In fact, he would take on any job to feed himself. To save money, he slept in alcoves in the narrow alleyways rather than taking a room in a boarding house. There were other vagrants living on the streets, many of whom used drugs, but Asif avoided them. He kept to himself, despite his loneliness being unbearable at times. Being young and not very streetwise, Asif did not know how to look after himself and during his first winter he developed a nasty cough. The worn-out blanket he had obtained from a kind woman did not keep him warm enough and the coughing persisted. As weeks went by, with his cough getting worse, Asif felt increasingly tired and could no longer work as hard as he used to. He had to reach into his precious savings to buy food. Soon he became so weak and his lungs so congested that he could not work at all. He was afraid that his savings might not last till summer.
One night as he lay rolled tightly in his blanket, exhausted and weak from the persistent coughing, a man came and sat next to him. He offered Asif a portion of his stuffed bread.
‘I don’t normally share my food and water, but since you look ill and weak, it’s my duty to help you,’ the man said.
‘Thank you, but I am not very hungry,’ Asif refused although he was really hungry. The proud young man did not want to be seen as a beggar.
‘God will repay me a thousand-fold. Please don’t let me miss out on this opportunity,’ the man replied.
The famished boy decided to accept his charity. While eating, the two of them got talking. At one stage the man warned Asif to be vigilant, since he had heard that there were vagrants robbing people at night. When they finished eating, he took out his purse and gave Asif a couple of coins.
‘Put these safely away, out of sight. You can never be too safe,’ he said, ‘You can buy some food tomorrow.’
Naively Asif took out his own purse from under the blanket. As he was putting the coins away, the man jumped on him, snatched the purse and ran off. Asif was too weak to give pursuit or call for help. There was no one around at this time of night anyway. With all his savings stolen, Hayder barely managed to survive. Sometimes passers-by took pity on the frail-looking young man with the persistent cough and gave him food. Towards the end of winter, he was so weak that he could barely sit up. It was in this state that Hayder’s maternal grandfather Mahafuz found him.
Mahafuz was the leader of the Juhayah tribe. His tribe had set up camp an hour’s ride away and he had come into town on his own to negotiate the sale of a couple of goats and some goatskins. If he was successful in negotiating an acceptable price he would go back to camp and return with his men and the goats, otherwise he would look to sell at the next town for a better price. From experience, Mahafuz had learned that had he brought the goats along with him, the buyer would offer a knocked-down price, knowing very well that the seller would be reluctant to return to camp with unsold goats.
‘Feed the two goats well and make sure that you give them plenty to drink so they look plump,’ Mahafuz had instructed his men before leaving camp.
It was a chilly winter morning just after dawn when Mahafuz made his way to the market with his blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders to keep out the bitter cold. As he passed by an alleyway, he heard a prolonged bout of coughing. It immediately reminded him of his own son, Hisham, who had been critically ill with a chronic cough when he was a toddler.
‘Thank you, God Almighty for saving Hisham,’ he made a silent prayer of gratitude.
He had already walked past the alleyway when the coughing started again. Mahafuz stopped in his tracks and listened. It was as though the person was coughing his guts out. He retraced his steps and went into the alleyway where he saw the outline of a body curled up in a frayed blanket. In between bouts of coughing, a rattling sound could be heard in the person’s breathing.
‘It sounds like someone young,’ he thought.
Heaving a deep sigh, Mahafuz squatted down on his heels and moved the blanket aside to see who the sick man was. As he stared at Asif’s face, for the briefest instant he thought he saw his son Hisham. He blinked and looked again to see the pale, gaunt face of a young boy about the same age as his own son staring back at him.
‘Son, don’t you have a warm place to sleep?’ he asked, immediately annoyed with himself for asking such a silly question.
The boy didn’t reply and just stared back with his dark sunken eyes. The coughing started again and Mahafuz patted him on the back to give him some relief.
‘Where are your parents?’ Mahafuz asked when the coughing subdued slightly.
The boy shook his head negatively; he didn’t dare open his mouth in case the cough would return.
‘What’s your name?’ Mahafuz asked.
‘Asif,’ the boy murmured in a raspy voice.
Mahafuz was a hard man, toughened by the harsh life of the desert and by his responsibility as tribe leader. He was a man of few words and seldom smiled. He looked at the young man and for the second time that morning he thanked God for sparing Hisham’s life all those years ago.
‘God Almighty, you are the best of all planners,’ he said to himself, quoting the Holy Scripture.
In one swift movement, he scooped up the blanketed body with ease and stood. He turned around and made his way back to the edge of town where he had left his camel.
‘Business can wait for another day,’ he told himself as he carried the weightless body.
When Mahafuz reached camp, two of his men rushed forward when they saw him scrambling off the crouched camel with the boy in his arms. Although they were dying to know about the outcome of his trip, they realised this was not the time. Mahafuz would tell them later whether he had negotiated a good price for the goats. Leaving his men to take care of his camel, the tribe leader took the boy directly to his own tent. His wife Maryam was waiting for him at the entrance. As soon as Mahafuz laid the boy down, without any questions or showing any surprise, Maryam pushed him aside and took over. She called out for her daughter Leila.
‘Put some water to boil on the fire and bring me some of Hisham’s clothes. Also get me my medicine chest,’ she instructed her.
Maryam was very possessive about the contents of her medicine box, which had been handed down to her by her late mother-in-law. Along with the herbs and medicines in the chest, Maryam would use the knowledge her mother-in-law had passed on to her to help the injured and sick of the tribe. At every opportunity, whenever the tribe camped close to a town, she would visit the souk to replenish her medicine chest, addi
ng new ingredients that the seller recommended. She remembered how her own son had been ill when he was four years old, with a chronic cough and a chest infection. When everyone else had given up hope, her mother-in-law had fought day and night until the toddler miraculously recovered.
Maryam took out a finger of dried turmeric root, a handful of black habba seeds, half a finger of dried ginger and a few black peppercorns which she ground into a fine powder in a small stone mortar. When Leila came back with the hot water, Mariam gave her the powder.
‘Boil this mixture with five cups of milk,’ she asked her daughter.
Maryam removed Asif’s filthy clothes and using a piece of cloth soaked in the hot water, gently cleaned his emaciated body. Every time Asif coughed, Maryam would stop, turn him onto his side and pound his back just beneath the shoulder blades with her small fist. Holding a piece of cloth to his mouth, she made him spit out the phlegm. After she had scrubbed him clean, she dressed the sick boy in clean clothes before wrapping him up in a thick woollen blanket. When Leila brought in the boiled mixture, Maryam sieved it through a clean cloth into a second bowl and patiently blew on it to cool the brew. She tenderly lifted Asif to a sitting position and slowly made him drink the mixture. Asif, having never been bestowed any affection in his entire life, could no longer contain himself and sobbed loudly, tears running freely down his face.
‘Shukran, Shukran Jazilan,’ he simply said, his voice breaking.
The loneliness that had been with him his whole life melted away and for the first time ever he felt the warmth of Maryam reaching deep into his soul.
Over the next few weeks, Maryam slowly nursed Asif back to health. Gradually the coughing subsided and Asif started to feel better. The entire family fussed over him and made sure that he was comfortable. Although Hisham was of the same age as the convalescent boy, he took Asif under his wing. He brought him the best dates he could find and kept him company after he had completed his chores.
‘Come, I will show you around camp,’ he said to Asif, once the patient was up on his feet.
He proudly took Asif on a tour of the camp, stopping at each tent and introducing him to the other members. Everyone welcomed Asif warmly, showing genuine happiness at his recovery. Asif had never felt so loved. He was in awe at these simple uncomplicated nomads who were unpretentious and humble compared to the town people. Leila also fussed over him, making sure he regularly drank the nourishing concoction of camel milk infused with Maryam’s medicine.
‘Drink your milk, my little baby,’ she would tease him.
Often Asif would purposely make a face when swallowing the mixture and Leila, pretending to be angry, would slap him on the shoulder. They would then both burst out laughing.
The young boy quickly grew close to both Hisham and Leila. Soon he recovered fully from his illness and roamed the desert with his newly-found family, working as hard as them to survive in the tough and merciless environment. In no time at all he became as toned and tanned as Hisham.
During the day, Asif helped with the many chores of tribal life alongside the other boys. Water had to be brought in goatskins by camels continuously throughout the day, from the nearest well to the livestock grazing on the sparse pasturage. Depending on the campsite, this could be some distance away and the water boys worked from dawn till evening. Others looked after the goats and camels, paying particular attention to the kids and calves as well as milking the herd twice a day. It was a hard, demanding life, but Asif had never felt so happy. In the evenings after a tiring day, he would sit with Hisham and they would watch the younger boys playing and horsing around.
‘I never had any friends to play with when I was young. My foster parents used to make me work all day,’ Asif confided to Hisham.
When Leila completed her chores, she would often come and join them. She kept asking Asif endless questions about life in town and the young man enjoyed her attention. She usually wore a cotton scarf wrapped around her head, which covered her nose and mouth to protect from the sand and dust, showing only the upper half of her face. When she laughed, Asif loved the way she threw her head back, revealing her throat under her scarf. He particularly adored the way her larynx moved in concert with her laughter. Although her deep and fruity laugh didn’t seem to fit her slender figure, it was sweet music to Asif’s ears. Her eyes were pools of innocence on her angelic face. Sometimes Asif would casually lean towards her to catch a whiff of the attar – perfume of rose oil in her hair. Every now and then Leila would innocently put her hand on his arm when asking a question, which caused Asif’s heart to race. Soon he found himself impatient for his tasks to be over so he could see the young girl back in camp.
Every night, the whole family would sit and have dinner around the traditional large plate. After dinner, once everything had been cleared away, Mahafuz would tell anecdotes about the clan, as this was the way tribal history was passed down through the generations. The light of oil lamps making flickering shadows on the tent’s sides gave a surreal ambience to the stories. The children, as well as Maryam, would listen with full attention. Even when Mahafuz repeated a previous story, the whole family would still listen as though they were hearing it for the first time. Asif loved his new family and was at his happiest.
Chapter 7
One night, about three years after Asif had been living with them, Mahafuz asked the young man to come and sit next to him.
‘Asif, are you happy here with us?’ he asked.
‘Yes, uncle, why do you ask? God sent you my way and you rescued me from certain death. I never knew my parents and had been alone all my life. There was a time when no one cared about me, but now I have you and Aunt Maryam. I have never been so happy in my life,’ he replied, his voice breaking.
‘Well, I have talked to Maryam, Hisham and Leila and we all want you to be part of our family so that Maryam and I can now have another son. What do you say?’ Mahafuz asked.
Asif was at a loss for words and became all choked up. Tears welled in his eyes and he leant towards Mahafuz, leaning his head on his benefactor’s shoulder without saying a word. Maryam, Hisham and Leila looked away for they too were overwhelmed with emotion. After a while, Asif went over to Maryam and hugged her. The images of Maryam looking after him, cleaning him and changing his clothes came back to him and he sobbed openly.
‘You may call me abbi – father if you wish, or continue calling me uncle,’ Mahafuz said gently with a grin.
‘God, how could I ever repay these wonderful people?’ Asif thought.
He was the happiest he had ever been. He didn’t know it then, but the memory of that night would come to haunt him later.
From that day, Asif worked harder than anyone else and would stop at nothing to please his new parents. Hisham and the others kept telling him to slow down and to take it easy with the tasks.
‘Life in the desert should be taken at a slow pace,’ they told him, to no avail.
Every evening, although exhausted, he found himself more and more looking forward to spend time with Leila. Lately, he had felt an aching in his chest whenever he looked at her. Every morning at dawn, the boys would eat a quick breakfast of bread and a bowl of milk before heading out to their chores. Leila and Maryam would eat theirs outside, behind the tent, while starting on their own chores. Asif would delay as long as possible – to try and catch a glimpse of Leila before going to the pasturage. On those days that he did not see her, his chores seemed heavier and the day longer. He finally realised he was in love with his sister and that he had been previously in denial about his feelings.
After his initial elation, a creeping sense of guilt came over Asif as he felt he was betraying Mahafuz and his new family. Gradually he began to dread returning to camp in the evenings, despite wanting desperately to see Leila. He made excuses to check on the goats or get more water from the well to be away from her. At meal times he was often quiet and would avoid looking at the girl or addressing her. He was at a loss about how to address the sit
uation. Asif could clearly see that Leila was hurt by his behaviour and the ache in his heart grew even more unbearable. Even the rest of the family noticed the change in him, but they didn’t say a word, giving him time and space to fight whatever demons were haunting him. Every time he prayed, Asif would ask God to show him an honourable way forward.
‘Had I not been formally adopted by Mahafuz and Maryam, I could have asked for Leila’s hand,’ he thought in despair.
For almost four years Asif had been living the life of a nomad and he was honoured and glad that every single member of the tribe had accepted him as one of them. Despite this, he finally came up to a decision.
‘I have no alternative but to leave, else I will bring shame on my family for being in love with my sister,’ he thought in despair.
The idea of leaving his new family filled him with great sadness, but he felt that he had no other choice. However he did not know how to inform them of his intention. One night after dinner, Mahafuz finally decided to confront him about his troubles, providing him with the opportunity.
‘Asif, my son, tell me what makes you so sad lately?’
There was silence in the tent as everyone was eager to hear Asif’s reply. They had all been unhappy to see that something had been bothering the young man for quite some time. However Asif could not tell them the truth, for he felt that confessing his true feelings would hurt Mahafuz and Maryam deeply.
‘Abbi, I owe you and Ummi Maryam my life. You have accepted me in your family as your son and I will never be able to repay you. The truth is, having grown up in town, I miss it terribly. Although I have tried hard to adapt to life in the desert, my mind keeps taking me back to life in Kuffrat’ he lied.