Stories of the Sahara

Home > Other > Stories of the Sahara > Page 29
Stories of the Sahara Page 29

by Sanmao


  Line after line flowing like blood on the white walls rushed out at us, gloomy indictments that brought forth cold and sticky sweat beneath the hot sun. The surge of panic I felt was like someone in deep slumber being awoken by a bayonet.

  ‘The guerrillas are back?’ I asked José quietly.

  ‘They don’t need to come back. All the Sahrawi who live here are on their side.’

  ‘Are these slogans all over town, too?’

  ‘They even appeared on all the walls at the barracks. It happened in the span of just one evening. Who knows what happened to the guards.’

  Fear grabbed hold of us. As we drove through town, every single Sahrawi on the street made me feel jumpy and paranoid. We didn’t go back home. José took us to the cafe at his company.

  The employees were all gathered in a dense mass in one room, smiling stiffly at each other in greeting. The sleepy summer seemed to have totally vanished. Besides panic and tension, everyone’s face bore varying degrees of shame and embarrassment from having been insulted.

  ‘The United Nations mission is coming. Of course they want to cause a ruckus. They want to express their views on the Sahara at any cost.’

  ‘I heard Bassiri was educated in Spain all the way through law school. After so many years, how could he come back and oppose us as a guerrilla?’

  ‘What’s going to happen to the company? Do we hold on or should we split?’

  ‘I’m sending my wife away tomorrow. I’m not going to wait until things get bad.’

  ‘It’s not just their own guerrillas, I heard. A whole bunch of them came over from Morocco long ago.’ Confused chatter rose and fell around the room, everyone groping in the dark about a hotchpotch of matters.

  Suddenly, a rough-looking Spaniard I didn’t recognise pounded on the table and stood up. Face red, he spoke with great agitation, gesticulating wildly, spittle flying everywhere. ‘Fuck, these bastards don’t know how to eat or take a shit, but they dream of independence. We Spanish are being too lenient. If you ask me, we should be able to kill them if they dare to insult us. Bah! Only seventy thousand people. It wouldn’t be too hard to sweep them with a machine gun. What did Hitler do to the Jews…?’

  He was so angry his eyes looked like they might burst out of their sockets. His rage went far beyond mere hatred. ‘Slaughtering a Sahrawi is no different than killing a dog. Dogs are better than them. At least they know to wag their tails for the people that feed them…’

  ‘Uh. . . uh…’ I listened to him say these inhumane things. Originally I’d been siding with the Spaniards, but his extreme comments pushed me far in the opposite direction. José was frozen in place, staring at this guy.

  Unbelievably the majority of people in the room started clapping and shouting their support for this man’s mad rhetoric. He swallowed spit, picked up a glass and took a big gulp of booze. Then he saw me. ‘We Spaniards are not the only colonialists,’ he added. ‘Those Chinese in Hong Kong are anxious to please England. After this many years, the Chinese are at their beck and call. The Sahrawi aren’t able to see this example, but we are…’

  Before I could even jump up, José banged loudly on the table and stood to drag the guy out for a fight. Everyone stared at us. I desperately pulled José towards the door. ‘He’s just a redneck, he has no sense. Why bother going to the trouble?’

  ‘This lunatic is talking trash, and you want me to leave?’ José started shouting. ‘According to him, people who aren’t subjugated by foreign powers should just die off in waves like flies. Does he know how you Chinese resisted Japan back in the day?’ I kicked him out the door.

  ‘José, I also disapprove of colonialism, but what can we say about Spain in this regard? If you clash with your own people, you’ll end up with a reputation for being unpatriotic. And where’s the good in that?’

  ‘These kinds of bad apples… Ay, no wonder the Sahrawi don’t like us.’ José seemed surprisingly sad. ‘We’re not doing well with either side. The guerrillas call us dogs on one hand, but then hearing my own people speak drives me nuts. Ay! Dios! ’

  ‘This could have been resolved peacefully if Morocco hadn’t wanted to partition them. Then they wouldn’t have become as agitated as they are for independence.’

  ‘The observer mission will be here soon, Sanmao. Do you want to leave for a while and come back once the upheaval is over?’

  ‘Me?’ I laughed coldly. ‘I’m not going. As long as this place is under Spanish occupation, I’ll be here. Even when Spain leaves, I’ll probably stay.’

  That night, all of town was under martial law. The atmosphere of disturbance submerged every street corner and alleyway. During the day, Spanish police pointed their guns at Sahrawi pedestrians on the streets. One by one, they were pushed up against the walls and ordered to take off their loose-fitting robes. The youth had long ago disappeared. The only ones left were pitiful old people who stared blankly with arms raised as they were being frisked. There was nothing to be gained from this except a feeling of disgust. Would the guerrillas really be so stupid as to carry handguns that could easily be found?

  I went to the hospital to find Shahida. The concierge told me she was on the second floor assisting in a birth. After I got up there, I hadn’t taken more than a few steps when Shahida walked out, all flustered. We nearly collided full on.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Nothing, let’s go!’ She dragged me down the stairs.

  ‘Don’t you have a baby to deliver?’

  ‘The woman’s family members don’t want me,’ she said, her lower lip trembling. ‘It’s a difficult birth. She was near death when she got here. As soon as I walked in, they started cursing me. I…’

  ‘What do they have against you?’

  ‘I don’t know. I…’

  ‘Shahida, why don’t you just get married? Coming and going with Afeluat doesn’t sit well with the community.’

  ‘It’s not Luat,’ she clarified quickly, lifting her head.

  ‘Eh?’ I was puzzled.

  ‘It’s because Ajyeiba and his gang of thugs kept wanting to get me. I had no other option… Who could I tell my pain to…’ Tears rushing from her eyes, she shot off quick as an arrow.

  I slowly walked down the hallway and through the compound where the nuns lived. A group of children were obediently drinking milk. Among them was a little Sahrawi boy with milk bubbles all over his upper lip like a funny white moustache. I picked him up and walked into the sunlight to play with him.

  ‘Hey, where are you carrying him off to?’ A young nun rushed after us anxiously.

  ‘It’s me!’ I laughed and gave her a wave.

  ‘Ah! You gave me quite a scare.’

  ‘This little guy is really handsome. So strong.’ I looked deeply into the kid’s large black eyes and tousled his curly hair.

  ‘Alright, hand him over!’ The nun reached out and took him in his arms.

  ‘How old is he?’

  ‘Four,’ the nun said, giving him a kiss.

  ‘Shahida was already grown up by the time she got here, right?’

  ‘She arrived when she was older, sixteen or seventeen.’

  I smiled and bade the nun farewell, giving the little guy another kiss. He shyly bowed his head as low as he could. The expression sparked a flicker of a memory in my mind. Who was it that this kid reminded me of?

  On the road we saw loads of military convoys driving into town. The government buildings were tightly enclosed by barbed wire. A huge crowd was queuing patiently at the tiny airline office. Suddenly a group of journalists I didn’t recognise caused a commotion by rushing forward like a bunch of hooligans. The anxious racket cast an ominous cloud over this once peaceful town. A storm was brewing.

  I quickly walked home and found Gueiga waiting for me on the stone steps. ‘Sanmao, Tebrak wants to know if you’re giving Khalifa a bath today?’ Khalifa was Gueiga’s youngest brother, who had dermatitis. Every few days they brought him over and asked me to bathe him with medicated
soap.

  ‘Yep!’ I replied, absentmindedly opening the door. ‘I’ll give him a wash. Bring him over!’

  In the bathtub, large-eyed Khalifa wriggled about disobe­diently. ‘Time to stand up!’ I was sprawled on the ground washing his feet.

  He picked up a wet brush and banged it against my lowered head. ‘First kill José, then kill you,’ he sang like a nursery rhyme while knocking my head. ‘First kill José, kill José…’ The words were unmistakable. As soon as I realised what he was singing, I heard a loud pounding in my ears. I made a great effort to calm myself.

  After I finished bathing Khalifa, I wrapped him up in a big towel and carried him to the bedroom. I felt a sense of unreality during these few short steps, like I was walking on cotton, my footing unsteady. How I got into the bedroom, I have no idea. I gently wiped down Khalifa, my body in shock.

  ‘Khalifa, what did you say? Good boy, say it again.’

  Khalifa reached out a hand to grab the book by my pillow. Looking at me, he grinned and said, ‘The guerrillas will come, mm, mm, to kill José and kill Sanmao. Heehee!’ Then he went to grab the alarm clock at the bedside, completely unaware of what he was saying.

  Dazed, I wrapped Khalifa in one of José’s old shirts and slowly walked over to Hamdi’s house where the door was open. I handed the child over to his mother, Tebrak.

  She lovingly took him in her arms right away. ‘Ah! Thank you! Khalifa, say, Gracias!’ she said to her child, all smiles.

  ‘The guerrillas kill José, kill Sanmao.’ The little kid pointed at me and started singing again, bobbling excitedly in his mother’s lap.

  When she heard this, Tebrak flipped her child over and made to strike him. ‘I’ll kill you!’ Her earnest face grew red an instant.

  ‘What’s the use in hitting him?’ I sighed helplessly. ‘The child doesn’t understand what he’s saying.’

  ‘Sorry! Sorry!’ Tebrak was practically in tears. She looked at me, then immediately lowered her head.

  ‘Don’t look upon us differently! We are all children of Maulana!’ (Maulana is the name of God in Hassaniya Arabic.)

  ‘We do not do that. Gueiga and my children are all friendly with you. We are not those kind of people. Please forgive us. Sorry, sorry.’ As she went on and on, tears of shame rolled down Tebrak’s face. She kept on wiping her eyes with her shirt sleeve.

  ‘Tebrak, what nonsense you are talking. Don’t be absurd.’

  Gueiga’s older brother Bashir entered, chiding his mother. He laughed coldly and looked at me askance. Flinging aside the curtain, he walked out.

  ‘Tebrak, don’t feel bad. Young people have their own ideas. You don’t need to say sorry.’ I patted her and stood, feeling wronged but unsure of what to do, just like when I was bullied as a kid. I floated out in a trance.

  At home, I sat listlessly, my mind a total blank. I didn’t even notice when José came in with Afeluat. ‘Sanmao, I need a favour from you. Please drive me out of town on Sunday.’

  ‘What?’ I was still drifting in another world and hadn’t heard him clearly.

  ‘Help me leave town to go home,’ Luat said, straight to the point.

  ‘I can’t. The guerrillas are out there.’

  ‘I guarantee your safety. Please, I beg of you!’

  ‘Don’t you have your own car?’ That day I’d somehow lost not only my spirit, but also my manners. I was not remotely in the mood to talk to anyone.

  ‘Sanmao, I am a Sahrawi,’ Afeluat said, looking at me patiently. ‘They are not giving car passes to local people now. Usually you are the most level-headed person. What’s the matter today? It seems you are angry.’

  ‘Aren’t you a police officer? Yet you’re still asking me.’

  ‘I am a police officer, but I am also a Sahrawi.’ He smiled bitterly.

  ‘If you want to leave town, don’t get us involved. No matter what, they’ll murder us and feed our hearts to the dogs.’ I don’t know where my temper came from. I couldn’t keep myself from yelling. Upon saying this, tears burst forth from my eyes. Might as well just cave in and sit bawling on the ground.

  José had been changing his clothes. When he heard me cry out, he rushed over to my side. He and Afeluat looked at each other speechlessly.

  ‘What’s wrong with her?’ José said, brow furrowed.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Afeluat said, puzzled. ‘I was just speaking normally and she got like this.’

  ‘Fine. I’ve gone crazy. It’s none of your business.’ I snatched a tissue to wipe my face and nose. Then I took a deep breath and sat on the sofa, staring into space. Thinking back to how well Afeluat’s parents and siblings had treated me in the past, I began to regret my rash behaviour. I couldn’t help but start talking again. ‘And why do you have to leave town right at this moment? It’s a mess out there.’

  ‘The entire family is getting together one more time on Sunday. It’s going to get worse soon. We won’t be able to go into the desert very often.’

  ‘Are the camels still there?’ José asked.

  ‘We sold them all. My older brothers needed money, so they sold everything. They just have a few goats with them.’

  ‘Why do they need so much money that they’re selling off family property?’ I felt much better after crying for a spell and had calmed down a bit.

  ‘Luat, we’ll drive you out of town on Sunday,’ José said, cool and collected. ‘You guarantee that we get home by night. Don’t disappoint your friends.’

  ‘I won’t,’ Luat said with sincere gratitude, patting José’s shoulder. ‘It really is a family gathering, trust me.’ It was settled then.

  ‘Luat, how will you guarantee our safety since you’re not a member of the guerrillas?’ I asked pensively.

  ‘Sanmao, we are true friends. Please believe that I am asking you only because I have no other choice. If I didn’t have a handle on things, I wouldn’t dare put you to the trouble. We all have parents who worry after us.’

  Hearing the sincerity of his words, I decided not to press the issue further.

  At the checkpoint, they took identification cards from all three of us, two in blue from José and me and a yellow one from Afeluat. ‘Pick these up when you get back to town tonight. Watch out for Bassiri on the road.’ The guard waved and let us go. His last words got my heart pounding like crazy.

  ‘Drive quickly! It’ll take us more than three hours round trip. Let’s go and come back soon.’

  I sat in the backseat, while José and Luat sat up front. For ease of travel, we were wearing desert garb. ‘How come you wanted to go home all of a sudden?’ I asked, feeling apprehensive again.

  ‘Sanmao, don’t be nervous,’ Afeluat laughed. ‘You’ve been saying the same thing over and over for the past few days.’ He had become much livelier since we left town.

  ‘How come Shahida isn’t coming along?’

  ‘She’s at work.’

  ‘You might as well say you’re afraid for her safety.’

  ‘Guys, stop talking. Luat, you navigate so I can drive faster.’

  A vast grey sky surrounded us on all sides. Through the thick layers of clouds, the newly risen sun could only give off a dim light in pale orange. A substantial chill lingered in the desert in the morning. A few lone birds cawed and circled above our car, deepening the sense of desolation.

  ‘I’m going to sleep a bit. Got up too early.’ I curled up in the backseat and closed my eyes, feeling like a piece of lead was weighing on my heart and keeping me from being at ease. It was better not to look out at the desert for now. If I looked, I’d be afraid of seeing something I didn’t want to see on the horizon.

  After dozing off for what seemed like just a short while, I felt the jostling of the car slow and then stop. I felt hot and flung the blanket from my body. Suddenly the back door of the car opened. I cried out in surprise.

  ‘Who is it?!’

  ‘My little brother, Sanmao. He came to get us from afar.’

  I sat up groggily, rubbing my eye
s. Before me was a fresh and innocent young face, smiling at me in greeting.

  ‘It’s really Muhammad? Ah…’ I smiled and reached out a hand. ‘Are we almost there?’ I sat up and opened the window.

  ‘It’s just up ahead.’

  ‘You moved again. You didn’t live here last year.’

  ‘We sold all the camels. Wherever we live it’s pretty much the same.’

  In the distance, I saw the large brown tent of Afeluat’s family. Finally I let go of the suspense I’d felt during this whole trip. Luat’s beautiful mother came out with his two sisters. Beneath the open sky, the three dots of their figures flew towards us.

  ‘Salaam alaikum! ’ his little sister called as she threw herself onto her brother. She immediately hugged me after, two hands encircling my neck. Her face was beautiful and innocent, her long gown spotless. Her teeth were clean and white, her braids thick and shiny. An earthy freshness emanated from her entire body.

  With small steps, I hurried over to Luat’s mother’s side. She was just detaching herself from her son’s embrace. ‘Salaam alaikum! Yasmin!’

  Wrapped in a deep blue fabric, hair in a low bun, she slowly opened up her arms and greeted me with warm affection. Her eyes were filled with sincere feeling. The greyness of the morning had disappeared; the sky behind her was now awash in bright blue.

  ‘Little sisters, get the fabric from the car,’ I called out to the girls, shooing a flock of goats out of my way. ‘I also brought some multi-coloured glass beads for you.’

  ‘This is for Luat’s father.’ José brought out two large jars of powdered tobacco.

  ‘There’s also a small box of biscuits. Go and get it. They’re made from cocoa powder.’

  Everything felt peaceful and orderly, like I was going home or visiting relatives, the same atmosphere as on every previous visit to Afeluat’s home. Not a thing had changed. I moved past a crowd of people and ran towards the tent.

  ‘I’m here, Chieftain!’ I stepped in. Afeluat’s father had a full head of white hair. He raised his arm without standing. ‘Salaam alaikum! ’ I dropped to my knees and crawled over. Raising my right hand from afar, I gently touched the top of his head. This old man was the only person to whom I offered the most respectful greetings.

 

‹ Prev