Layla fished a large rectangular piece of fabric out of her waist bag. “Here, cover.” She threw it at Amina.
“I’m not wearing this,” Amina said.
Layla kept her eyes on the boy near the gate. “It is not what you want, but what you must do that matters.”
The guard must have noticed Layla staring at him and strode closer. “What’s taking so long?” He was the same boy who was at the gate when we first arrived.
“Nothing. I had a stone in my sandal,” Layla said.
“Get moving, now.” The boy, satisfied with the answer, walked back to his post.
Amina, threatened by the danger, cocooned herself in the cloth and walked between her grandmother and me.
The call for the Duhr—the midday—prayer coming from the masjid in the Farmers’ Hall welcomed us into the main house.
As soon as Layla opened the door, a woman charged at us from the inner room. “What did you do?”
“I brought them in like Ahmed said. What else was I to do?” Layla turned to us. “This is Maryan, Ahmed’s first wife.”
Maryan looked at Amina with curious contempt. “What does he want with her?”
Layla took rolled up mats leaning against the wall and spread them on the floor. “You know the answer. No need to ask.”
Maryan sighed. “Each one gets younger. There was Hawa, you, and now her.”
My chest heaved. “She is only eleven years old.”
“I’m nine,” Amina corrected, “and I don’t want to marry an old man.”
“Never mind, Amina. It won’t happen, I won’t allow it,” I said, unsure of how I would keep such a promise.
“He said you were the last.” Maryan was speaking to Layla. “There would never be another. He promised me.”
“He doesn’t know the meaning of the word promise,” Layla said.
“He can shoot us in the middle of the yard, but I won’t allow this to pass. She is a child.” I paced the floor.
Amina panicked. “No one gets shot. No one dies. I’ll do what they want. Please, no one dies!”
“Stop! No one is dying,” I shouted back to silence Amina and to quell my fear of what Ahmed might do if I opposed him. No one spoke after that. We settled on the mats that Layla placed on the floor of our old common room.
Maryan left as soon as we sat down and returned a few minutes later. “Ahmed is with your husband outside. He wants you there,” she told me.
She took her scarf off exposing dark, wavy hair that fell to the middle of her back. She surveyed the room, searching for something, but didn’t find it. She turned back to me. “Please go before he gets upset.”
“Did Ahmed say what he wants with Idil?” Layla asked.
Maryan shook her head. “No. He just said to tell her to come out and then looked at his watch to time me. Please go. If you are slow, I’ll be the first one punished. I’ll have to endure his foul mood because it is my day to be with him.”
Layla beckoned her. “Maryan, come sit. Idil will go soon.”
Maryan’s anxiety was palpable. “I can’t. Please go! Why are you not leaving yet?”
“I’m going,” I said, and stepped out of the room. Once outside, I saw Hasan and Ahmed standing near the cowshed.
I stared at the ground beneath my feet and didn’t look up until I was standing next to Hasan. “Assalamu Alikum,” I greeted them.
Ahmed nodded. “Your husband has accepted my request for Amina’s hand. May Allah guide us to the right path. I know the family has a long journey ahead, and I don’t wish to delay your departure, so the nikaax will be tomorrow. We called you so you could tell us what is needed for the bride and help us get her ready.”
“We weren’t planning on a wedding and we have nothing for the girl.” The idea to trick Ahmed into letting us leave came to me as fast as I could speak it. “I need to go to the market and shop for her—henna, dresses, and shoes.” I listed everything that came to mind. “I’ll need the whole day tomorrow if you are willing to wait one more day.”
“Thank you for your help. May Allah reward you for your obedience.” Ahmed was all smiles. “The day after tomorrow is agreeable.”
Hasan didn’t interject, and Ahmed didn’t seem to mind that I—the wife—was leading the discussion this time. “Is it all right if Maryan and Layla come with me to help find outfits for Amina?” I asked. “They will know the best shops.”
“If you wish.”
“Could my husband come to see to it that his daughter gets all she needs?” I asked as gently as I could manage.
Ahmed smiled again. “Yes, that is a good idea. I will have my guards escort you all safely to the market and back.”
Ahmed shook hands with Hasan to seal the agreement and sauntered off.
Hasan waited until Ahmed was in the house and couldn’t hear us. “What are you doing? I didn’t agree. I’ll never agree,” he said.
The thought of Amina in Ahmed’s arms made me shudder. “We’ll get away somehow. We will,” I said without believing my words and went back inside the house.
Layla closed the door behind me as soon as I came in. “What are you going to do?”
I didn’t realize I had been holding my breath until the latch clicked. I exhaled, tilted my head back, and closed my eyes. “We agreed to have Amina ready for a nikaax the day after tomorrow.” I explained. “That way, I have some time to plan our escape.”
“You can’t lie, not to Ahmed. He will see right through you. He always does when I try to lie to him,” Maryan said.
“We are not lying. We are telling him what he wants to hear.”
After a long and involved debate, we decided to leave early in the morning and use the day to hire a truck that would take us out of Somalia.
“What are we going to do about the guards Ahmed is sending with us?” I asked Layla as the fear of Ahmed’s retribution filled me.
“If we had money, we could pay off the guards and convince them not to come back,” Layla said.
“We have money,” I told her. Mother’s parting gift might be our salvation, and I was willing to risk everything to save my daughter.
With that plan in place, we made the decision to take a chance on escaping.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I left the mat I was lying on before dawn and pressed my face against a space between two logs on the common-room wall. The farm was quiet and deserted. Memories of all the activities that had filled it before the war, slipped into the gray background of the drought-ridden landscape. The wind whipped rolls of dry hay back and forth, along with dust and dirt. The stools and chairs we had left in the room were gone, replaced by sleeping mats on the floor and cushions that lined up against the back wall. Amina and Layla were asleep on the same mat on one side of the room and my mother-in-law was across from them.
Maryan had left after supper last night because it was her turn to sleep with Ahmed in my in-laws’ old bedroom. She had changed her outfit twice before settling on a yellow kaftan under a black robe. She rubbed perfume behind her ears and over her chest, but wiped it off mumbling that Ahmed wouldn’t like it if she went past the guards smelling fragrant.
At the first light of morning, Maryan entered the room a great deal more somber than when she’d left. “Ahmed sent me from his bed as soon as I opened my eyes. He is so excited about tomorrow,” she said and went outside to the cooking fire. The smell of burning wood reminded me of the beautiful memories this house held, but not for long. One glance at the desolation outside, and I was back in our present horror.
Maryan returned, holding a bowl of cornmeal and buttermilk out to me.
I took the food and set it on the floor. As I ate, I was confronted by the signs of neglect on Amina’s body. She was still asleep on the mat, her chest rising and falling in even, rhythmic breaths. Her three-day-old braids had unraveled, le
aving the loose hair tangled at the base of her neck. Rubber sandals, old and raggedy, rested against her small feet, and her thin legs stretched across the floor. For a fleeting moment, I envied Sidow, because death had sheltered him from this destruction.
Layla opened her eyes and nudged Amina, who was lying next to her. “Wake up.”
Amina turned to her with a sleepy smile. “Can’t I rest a little longer?”
“No. It is time to eat.” Maryan handed a bowl of cornmeal to both Amina and Layla. She filled her own bowl and sat near my mother-in-law to eat. She finished her food and put the bowl and spoon away before she spoke. “I didn’t sleep at all last night. A nightmare about our plan woke me. It was so vivid and frightening, I tremble even now to think about it.”
“It was just a nightmare,” I said.
“Yes, but you should have seen it. We were in hell, all of us, clamoring to get out, but it was hopeless.”
“Is this not a living hell?” Layla interjected.
“Not compared to my nightmare. Fire was burning all around us, but it wasn’t hot. It was ice-cold, and we were freezing.” Maryan glared sharply at Layla. “That dream was a message for me—for us. You know as well as I do that disobeying your husband is a sin,” she scolded.
“In that case, we should’ve gone to hell sooner,” Layla said with a bitter laugh.
“It is no laughing matter. I want to leave as much as you, perhaps more, but this is a sign not to be ignored.” Maryan turned on me. “You have brought conflict into this house. We were fine before you came.” She pointed a finger at me.
“Were we?” Layla asked.
Maryan hesitated before continuing. “If she hadn’t come here parading the girl, naked and wanton, he wouldn’t have seen her. Women should cover up so as not to arouse men’s desire.”
“She is a child, and you hold her responsible for his wantonness?” I was stunned by the accusation.
“She’s is a woman, grown and developed. He sees and he’s attracted. Men wouldn’t want, if it wasn’t our doing.”
“So, he’ll want any woman in sight.”
“He can marry four. You can’t deny what’s his by right. He’s doing nothing wrong. He asked her father, and her father agreed.”
“He didn’t,” I said.
“He must have. Ahmed is a righteous man; he’ll do no wrong.”
“Do you think your Mr. Righteous married me with my father’s permission?” Layla was seething with anger.
“Well! With your long hair and small waist, which you refused to cover, what else could Ahmed conclude, except that you wanted him? The way you walked by the house every day going to the water well, even after I told your mother to keep you inside and make sure you were covered. You still did it and now you are in his bed more nights than I ever was.”
“You’re jealous of those nights? Pinned under him, all I can think is, how long until he’s done?” Layla’s voice cracked.
Maryan gave Layla a measured look. “All of you are committing a sin. I won’t—I can’t—go along with it.”
I stood before Maryan to keep the situation from getting any more heated. “You don’t have to come. But please, don’t tell Ahmed. I have to save my daughter.”
“I’d come if I could, only I know it’s wrong—we all do. The dream last night was a warning, and all of you are going to a special hell reserved for those who don’t listen to warnings.”
“Please! I need to save my daughter,” I repeated.
“If you wanted to protect her, you should have covered her long before you brought her here. You’re going to hell if you…if you go through with this.” She finished with an effort and ran out of the room.
“It will be a well-earned hell,” Layla called after her.
“Layla, please leave it alone.” I stared at the door where Maryan disappeared. “Will she tell on us?” I asked her.
“No, she won’t. With us gone, she won’t have to share Ahmed.” Layla giggled. “But she’ll only have him until the next twelve-year-old comes along.”
“Or the next nine-year-old,” Amina added.
*
One alley led to another through a Bledley much different from the one we left. The log cabin inns along the road to the market were deserted. The dry, dark landscape made it hard to recognize the town so ravaged by war, hunger, and drought. The buildings that housed the jewelry and clothing stores and cattle and grain merchant offices appeared as dry and ashen as the people within them. We arrived at the market an hour after we’d left the farm.
Layla nudged me. “The money,” she whispered.
I extended my hand with the thousand dollars clutched in it. That was the agreed-upon fee for helping us escape. Layla had arranged it with the two men who guarded the women’s sleeping quarters. The thought that others might know of our plan terrified me, but there were no other options. Layla told me the guards would take the money and go to another village. She took the cash from me and passed it to the guard on her right.
He dropped the money into his shoulder sack. “May Allah, reward you,” he said, stepping aside along with his partner. They spoke in hushed voices for a minute, and then the one with the money turned to us. “I’ll check to see if the truck is leaving soon.” He pointed to a vehicle parked a few feet away. He approached the driver standing near the cab. After a few minutes, the guard returned. “He’s going to Bledhawa, and they’ll start loading soon. Come with me.”
We followed him.
“This is my brother and his family,” the guard said, pointing at Hasan.
The driver of the truck nodded. “Get inside now. We will leave soon.”
We did as we were told.
*
Before long, a young man ushered other passengers in, collecting fares by the door. “Go in, go, go. Pay here and go inside. We have to leave soon.” Close to forty adults and children, filled the seats by the time he came inside and closed the door.
He extended his hand to collect even more money. “This is for the militia roadside checkpoints,” he told a man sitting next to us.
“I paid my family’s fare at the door, just now. You counted it and put it in the box.”
“Did you not hear me say just now that it is for the checkpoints on the road? That’s extra. Twenty dollars per person.”
“It was only ten dollars yesterday. Why more today?”
“Is this yesterday?”
“It is not fair for the price to double in one day. Are you not afraid of Allah?”
The young man became angry. “If Allah gets rid of the road checks, then you’ll get your money back. I suggest you pay now and pray hard.” The last part, I am certain, elicited many silent prayers.
“You are taking half my money. How will I feed my family for the rest of the journey?”
“That’s your problem. Stop wasting time and pay now, or get off.”
Having no option, the old man paid.
The youth snatched the money. “Do not make challenging me a habit,” he said and moved on to us.
Hasan readied our fee. “Here.”
The boy’s hungry hand took it unceremoniously. The rest of the passengers paid the surcharge without delay.
About forty minutes after we boarded, the truck pulled out of the yard and drove off.
*
I peered through the gaps between the glass panels on the back of the driver’s cab as the vehicle slowed. The glass partition allowed the view of a village ahead. I saw a man come out from behind a tree and slip back in again. He was there for only an instant, and he disappeared just as quickly. “Did you see that?” I asked Layla.
She hadn’t.
The slowdown was momentary, and the truck soon returned to its usual speed. For a second, I thought I’d imagined the whole thing. If a person wanted to stop a truck to loot it, he wou
ldn’t duck behind the trees. He’d block the road and make his demands. I looked again, and that same man emerged from behind a bush, lifted his arm, and threw a large, round object at us. A white light followed by a loud, screeching noise came at us, and a dark cloud of smoke filled the air. Then everything went black.
*
When I regained consciousness, I was lying on the floor of the truck. The deafening silence reminded me of something Mother told me when I was young. “When other organs and functions fail, the hearing continues. You can hear the mourners leaving your grave. You won’t be able to think or feel, but hear, you will.” Mother always wagged her finger after such a statement. I shuddered at the memory, but I knew I was not dead because I couldn’t hear and I could still think. I climbed down and looked around for the rest of my family. It took a few minutes to locate them amidst the chaos, but even then, the relief of seeing Amina, Adam, and my mother-in-law, alive was short-lived. My head cleared. “Where’s Hasan?” I shouted in a panic.
My mother-in-law threw her arms around me. “He went into the village to get some help,” she cried, her voice sounding hollow and distant in my ears.
“Where’s Layla?” I asked and hurried back inside the truck.
I found Layla, leaning against the driver’s seat. A few pieces of glass and some metal shards had entered the passenger cabin through small openings in the wall, but it seemed that no one had suffered major injuries, except Layla and the old man who had argued about the fee when we first boarded. Layla appeared to be just sitting there, waiting for me to come and collect her. Her face was serene and happy, so her injuries couldn’t be serious—or so I thought. She waved her right hand, but her eyes closed against her will. I climbed in next to her and saw what was wrong. Layla, pinned under the twisted metal of the cabin floor, could not move. The blast had lifted the floorboard under her and folded it around her thighs. A trace of blood ran from her knees to her feet. I took Layla’s hand. She opened her eyes again and smiled. Her lips moved, but I couldn’t hear, so I put my ear next to her mouth.
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