One Shadow on the Wall

by Leah Henderson

  Although their baay did not have much, everything he loved was from Lat Mata. Mor hadn’t had much time to think with the burial, his days of grief, and what had happened in Mahktar, but he definitely hadn’t believed she would take them from their home. But now he realized that was exactly what she planned to do.

  “We will all be on it,” she said matter-of-factly, cutting into his thoughts as if everything had long been decided. “I’m sure you don’t have much to collect before we go.”

  “All” and “go” rung in Mor’s ears, slowing him. “I don’t want to leave. When would we come back?”

  “Never.” She halted in the dirt and turned to stare at Mor, who fended off troubled stares from both Fatima and Amina. Fatima’s little hand tugged on him, squeezing the life out of his fingers. “There is nothing for you here, and I have made arrangements.”

  “But the barak has been left in my care. I am supposed to take care of it.”

  “Nonsense. You are not grown. He never thought it was Allah’s will for him to leave us so soon. Besides, you will be starting at a daara, and Amina will tend the house of my late husband’s sister. You will both be well taken care of.”

  “And Fatima? What will happen to her?” Mor asked, even though he knew it was better not to press her.

  “She will have to remain with me, I suppose. There is no getting around that right now. You can hold a rag and carry a bucket, can’t you, child?” Fatima shrank behind her brother, biting her bottom lip—a warning sign that she was about to cry.

  “I promised Baay we would stay together. We don’t want to be separated. That is not what Baay wanted. We belong here.”

  “You belong where I say. There is no one here to care for you.” Their bàjjan continued down the road. “Now do not question me further. Such an insolent tongue.”

  “I can care for us,” Mor said, challenging her.

  Dust kicked up as their aunt stopped and spun, her boubou coiling around her. Through gritted teeth she said, “With what? You are hardly old enough to wipe your own backside. How can you take care of yourself and two young sisters? No, you will be coming with me in two days and I want no more words about it!”

  Right there in the street, around the sights and smells of his home, Mor realized it would take more than just him to convince her that they didn’t need to leave Lat Mata. And he needed to do so fast.

  As they neared their home, even the light of the day appeared dimmer than usual.

  Fatima yanked on Mor, stopping abruptly on the path outside their family’s door. “Why did you lie to me?”

  “What do you mean?” He turned to her, raising the bag so it did not drag along the ground.

  She shook her head back and forth. Her eyelids were rows of wrinkles because she closed them so tight. “Auntie is not nice at all.”

  “Nopil,” Mor shushed her. He tilted his head in their aunt’s direction, hoping she had not heard Fatima’s poor attempt at a whisper. But he had no cause to worry because she had already stepped inside their barak.

  Then she was back outside in an instant.

  “This bëy has nibbled at my dress.” Their aunt scowled, shooing Jeeg out of the cramped interior of their home. Jeeg bleated and snorted as she was shoved with a square of cardboard. “Goats are for the yard, not where I lay my head to sleep! And this one needs to be brought to the reykat.”

  “No!” Fatima raced to Jeeg. “She hates the butcher.”

  “My, do all of Fallou’s children have loose tongues?” She eyed Amina, who stayed quiet. Shaking her head, their aunt ducked back inside. “I must pray.”

  Amina and Mor shared another look while Fatima whispered close to Jeeg’s ear.

  “Don’t worry, you are not going to the butcher’s. I promise Mor won’t let her take you.”

  Mor stood, uneasy as Fatima made a promise for him. More promises.

  “You only nibbled the bottom of her boubou because it is green like sweet grass, right?”

  Jeeg bleated.

  “Shh, Fatima stop,” Mor snipped.

  “But she doesn’t even like Jeeg, and everyone loves Jeeg.” Fatima hugged the goat’s neck. “I don’t want to live with her, and neither does Jeeg.”

  “What is this?” their aunt shouted, ducking her head back out the doorway. “No water for prayer?” Their aunt let out a tsk. “What if the spirits were thirsty, what would they have to drink?” Mor didn’t say it, but he knew Jeeg had probably sipped out of the jars as she always did.

  Mor did not meet their aunt’s accusing stare, even though he was not in charge of getting the water.

  Because of their bàjjan’s arrival, Amina had not had an extra moment that morning to take her third trip down to the well to get fresh water after cooking. And since Mor was not expected to mingle with the women busy with their daily chores, he had not even thought to help.

  “I am sorry, Bàjjan,” Amina said. “I will fetch it now.” She bowed slightly, grabbed a cloth and a bucket, and hurried away.

  Mor watched her go and then mumbled, “I need to go down there for a moment.” He nodded toward a side path parallel to the one Amina had taken.

  “I hope it is in the direction of the mosque for prayer. Your sisters are still young, but you are growing. There is no excuse.”

  Mor knew he should not lie, but he did anyway. “Yes, Bàjjan.” He gave a shallow nod.

  “Well, give me my saag.” She snapped her fingers at him as if she were the one in a hurry. “There is no point in you taking it along.”

  Mor handed it to her and was off, hopping as his foot slipped out of one of the sandals.

  “Wait. Where are you going?” their aunt questioned as Fatima dashed after her brother, pulling Jeeg by the neck to follow.

  “I’m not staying with you!” Fatima said. “And Jeeg doesn’t want to either.” She wrapped the cord at Jeeg’s neck around her little fingers.

  “You insolent children,” their bàjjan grumbled. “I will cure you of that spiteful tongue.”

  Mor waited for Fatima to catch up. “Why would you say that?” he asked when she reached him. He kicked off the sandals, picked them up, and ran. “Come on.”

  “She is mean, mean, mean,” Fatima whined, yanking Jeeg along. “Nothing like the stories Baay used to tell of her. And now I know why she always used to send those pretty things. It was so she would not have to come. Wasn’t it?” Fatima asked her brother, who also realized his aunt was worse than he remembered.

  She had said and done all the right things when Mor’s yaay died, making sure his baay had all he needed. She had even hugged Mor, and Amina, and cradled a crying Fatima in her arms, but now Mor wondered if it was just because back then she wouldn’t have to take them home with her. That their baay was still there.

  The loss stung anew.

  At the end of the path Mor saw Amina with some of her friends, pulling long strings from the well. Two girls helped Amina settle her bucket on her head before she turned to hurry back to their aunt.

  “Why have you three come to fetch me?” she asked, standing tall, balancing the water bucket on her head without using her hands. “Is there something else Bàjjan needs?”

  “We have no other time. We need to talk without her ears gobbling up our words,” Mor said, breathing heavy.

  “There is nothing to talk about. We must leave with her.”

  “But we can’t.”

  “What other choice do we have? Do you think I want to cook and clean for others always? Don’t you think I know she has made no room for me to continue school? Don’t you think I want to stay?”

  “Then let’s stay. You want to go to that fancy school. Baay said you could. He even put down a deposit. It was supposed to be a surprise.”

  Amina halted. Staring. It was one of the only times Mor had seen her speechless.

  “What? How do you know that?”

  “I was with him. He had been saving for months. Next he wanted to buy you a uniform and save more to finish payi
ng for the start of the year. But he . . .” Mor was speechless himself. Then he looked at her. “Don’t you see? We have to stay. We can try to make the money on our own.”

  “It won’t be that simple. I’m sorry, but just because you wear Baay’s sandals, it does not make you grown like Baay.”

  “I know that.” Hurt pinched Mor.

  Amina stared at him. Then bit at her lip. “You were as surprised as I to hear Bàjjan’s plan for us, but we have to obey. She is making room for us and no one else will. Iéna Academy was a dream even when Baay said I could go. Even with his deposit. But as you said, he hadn’t paid all the fees yet. If he could not get all the money, there is no way we can. And I do not think Auntie would help. Maybe you will be happy at the daara and I will be able to go back to school one day in the city. There are schools there, too.”

  “Amina, you know that is not true! Cheikh has gone to the daara and we have not seen him since. When would I ever see you? Besides, she wants to split us up. Is that what you want too? To leave Tima? To get rid of me?” Mor actually sounded unsure, as if she might say that was exactly what she wanted.

  “Of course not. Part of me is in you and Tima. I would not be complete without you.”

  He exhaled.

  “But how can we change any of it?” Amina said. She took the bucket from her head. “She will not listen to us.”

  “I will find a way.”

  “Brother, you do not even have one hair on your chin. What can you do?”

  “He can do anything,” Fatima spoke up, pushing between them. “Stop being mean, Mina. Mor can stop her.”

  “How, Tima?” Amina said. “I am not trying to be mean, I am only telling the truth I see and that each of you needs to see.” She looked back at her brother. “What will it help to pretend anything will be different? It is not our path to stay here. We have no yaay or baay anymore. The money we did have you’ve taken.”

  Mor stared at her. She knew the pouch was gone?

  “Don’t think I did not notice that the Dieg Bou Diar can is empty. I peer inside it each day as Yaay did, as you did, to be closer to the things she loved, and it is gone. Why do you only think of yourself when you make decisions?”

  Her words were a slap.

  “I don’t,” Mor whispered. “I am thinking of all of us right now. I know how much you want to go to that school, Mina. I see you looking at that shiny paper with the girls in those clean, new uniforms when you think I am not looking.” Amina stared past him. “And Tima does not want to be separated from us. And I want to stay here with all the things Yaay and Baay loved. I can do this. I know I can. I will go to Baay’s old shop. They have always told me I am handy with a wrench. I will find work there. I will fix engines like Baay. I was already learning.”

  Amina’s eyes narrowed, but she did not cut in. Encouraged, he continued.

  “How much more would you need to start school? Baay has already paid almost fifteen thousand francs. Maybe Auntie can help us get started for the rest if she knows Baay has already given what he had and I will work to find more. I will make sure we do not go hungry each night too. I can. I just need your help.”

  “How?” Amina asked. “What can I do?” She stared down at the water bucket. “I have nowhere to get money. And even if you take Baay’s old job, they will not pay you enough to save for school and feed us. Even Baay did not bring home lots of coins. You will not be able to collect over nine thousand francs in three months’ time.”

  Even with their baay’s deposit, that was still a lot of money. More than Mor had ever seen. However, he refused to give up before he had even tried. He watched her for a long time. “If you say you believe I can do it, that’s all I need right now. I need to know you want to stay together.”

  Amina swatted at the corner of her eye so quick that Mor would have missed it if he’d blinked.

  “I don’t want us to be scattered, but I don’t know how we won’t be split apart.”

  If you tug a length of stubborn rope together, as my flock of three, and pull again and again together, you will gain what you seek. Their father’s voice swept in.

  “If we do it together,” Mor said. The image of him yanking a rope with the help of his sisters was clear in his mind. “We can do this, Mina. Baay wants us to try. And we want to be here.”

  “Yes.” Fatima jumped up and down. “I want to try.”

  Amina exhaled and even gave a slight nod.

  “Okay, now go back to Bàjjan. I will be there before the steam over our food is gone.” Mor took off down another path before Amina had a chance to protest, or Fatima could follow.

  WHEN Mor rounded the corner to Tanta Coumba’s barak, he nearly collided with her.

  “Ah, slow yourself, unless you are chased by a lion or something much worse.” She smiled.

  Even within that instant he felt better than he had all morning. He was hopeful that she might be able to help convince the stubborn ox that was his aunt that he and his sisters should stay. He dropped his father’s sandals into the dirt and slipped back into them, smoothing down the front of his shirt.

  “I am sorry to bother you when you are about to tend your garden,” Mor said, looking down and seeing her hands filled with seeds and a small bowl.

  “You are never a bother to me. But why are you not with your bàjjan, has she not arrived? I was going to come later and give my greetings after you had time to visit.”

  “Can’t you come now?” Mor asked. “She is taking us away.”

  “But that is to be expected. You knew that was to happen, right?”

  Mor’s gaze dropped to his feet. “I thought she might stay here. In her old house.”

  “This is no longer her home. Her heart lies with the city now.” Tanta Coumba’s brows came together in concern.

  “Then maybe she will give us a little money and check on us sometimes,” Mor said, hopeful.

  “Come now, she won’t leave you children alone.”

  “She has till now. Baay was in the clinic a week before the burial and she did not come.”

  “She was away and could not get back for over a week. It was not enough time. I am sure she is very sad about that.”

  “Well, we took care of ourselves while she was too busy to do so.”

  “Ease your venom. She came when she could,” Tanta Coumba said. “And you were not alone. You had a village of help.”

  Mor thought about the countless times over the last week Tanta Coumba, her daughters, or someone else was at their door bringing food or checking to make sure they were okay. “Exactly, so we will not be alone now.”

  “I know you want this badly, but it does not always work that way. Being alone for one week with eyes constantly watching and helping is far different from raising yourself and two young sisters. That would not be easy.” Tanta Coumba knocked his nose with her knuckle. “Your baay always said your bàjjan has a big house in the city where she can care for you all.”

  “But she won’t care for us. She is sending Mina and me away. And she doesn’t even want Tima, but she says she will keep her because there is nowhere else for her to go. I’m sure she will leave her with someone else as soon as she can, though. She doesn’t want her or us.”

  “Hush now. That is not true.” Tanta Coumba stared down at Mor. “She loves and cares about each of you.”

  “But Mina won’t get to go to that fancy school, and you know how much she wants to.” Mor’s voice rose in pitch.

  Tanta Coumba looked troubled.

  Baby Zal giggled and gurgled on a blanket near Tanta Coumba’s garden. In Mor’s rush to speak with her he had not noticed the naked little boy playing with a carved wooden boat. Tanta Coumba glanced at her son, then back at Mor.

  “If she has already decided, I cannot interrupt that.”

  “But I can take care of us.”

  Creases appeared at the corner of her eyes. “And how will you do that? You are still a boy that should be in school yourself, learning his numbers and l
etters, not finding work to care for a family.”

  “But she wants to send me to a Koranic school like Cheikh, to memorize verses, not learn my math or writing. I won’t get to see my sisters, like you haven’t seen Cheikh. I know you miss him. I see it.”

  Tanta Coumba’s mouth lay slightly open, as if she was going to speak.

  Mor watched her, ready to say more.

  “Why are you so sure the city will be bad? You might like it there.”

  “I won’t. My family won’t be with me.”

  “We can’t always be with the ones we love, sometimes we have to carry them here and here.” She pressed her hand to her heart and then to her temple.

  Mor went still. “I have to keep my promise to Baay. He is depending on me to keep us together. I can’t lose what I have left of my family. Please help us.”

  A restless quiet stretched between them.

  “I don’t know what I could do.”

  “You could tell her you’ll come see us, like you have. You won’t need to bring us food, I’ll find a way to get us that.”

  “I don’t know. . . .”

  Mor was desperate. “I will run if you don’t. As soon as she leaves me at that daara, I will run back here.”