Beyond the Sand Dune_Novel of Peace

by Asen Djinah

  Later in the evening, a group of girls would come from the camp to help with the milking of the goats and camels before the rounding of the goats into a rudimentary pen for the night. Goats and camel calves had to be guarded overnight, due to the threat of desert jackals and foxes. Adult camels however, could take care of themselves and were usually left free to graze at night with their front legs hobbled to prevent them from wandering too far. In fact they acted as an early warning should any predator come close to the goat pen.

  Despite the pain and contractions, Zeynab felt excited. She was convinced that this time she would give birth to a boy. When Nayila was born nine years ago, she had seen the fleeting look of disappointment in Abdul-Basir’s eyes, even though father and daughter had become inseparable since. Zeynab was certain that her husband would not have wished for any other child than Nayila, now that they had become close.

  ‘This pregnancy is so different from my first one. I will finally make my husband happy with a son,’ she told Katija.

  ‘You will get what God Almighty has decided to give you and I hope it is a boy,’ the midwife replied philosophically.

  Zeynab could not wait to see the look on her husband’s face when he would hold his first son in his arms. Dear and loving Nayila was fussing over her mother. After getting her to sip some water, the little girl began to mop her mother’s face with a wet cloth before adjusting the cushion under her head. One would have thought that she was the midwife rather than old Katija, who was just sitting with her eyes closed and her lips moving in silent prayer. Whenever the old midwife needed to do an examination, she would gently ask Nayila to leave. The little girl reluctantly obeyed and waited patiently outside to be called back in. When Katija finally felt the correct four-finger dilation of the cervix, she knew it was time.

  ‘Can you boil some water and get some clean linen ready?’ she called out to her assistant at the back of the tent.

  As usual, men were not welcome to be at the birth of their child, so Abdul-Basir was with the elders in another tent, drinking tea and smoking a hookah, trying to keep his mind occupied. Nayila was pacing up and down outside the tent and every now and then she would run to her father to keep him updated.

  ‘The baby is not here yet,’ she would tell him before returning to the main tent.

  Despite being exhausted from running back and forth at this late hour, the little girl simply would not stop.

  It was a long labour and it had already been three hours since full dilation. Katija was getting worried. She could see the baby’s crown and from its curvature and her experience, she judged the baby’s head to be fairly big.

  ‘It will be a hard and testing labour,’ she thought grimly.

  ‘Did you eat a lot of dates during your pregnancy, Zeynab?’ she asked casually, when the contractions eased up a little.

  ‘You know I have a sweet tooth. I like my dates and figs very much, morning and evening,’ Zeynab replied with a grin on her sweaty, reddened face.

  Katija became alarmed. She inserted her fingers and with her index, felt the side of the baby’s crown. It was not as soft as it should be, but hard as she had feared. From experience she knew that too much of certain foods could cause the bones in the skull to calcify and harden before birth. She silently prayed that both mother and baby would be safe, but with the baby’s head engaged and little progress being made over the last hour, Katija was seriously concerned. She whispered to her assistant to warm some camel fat. She generously applied the warm fat around the baby’s crown in the birth canal, hoping it would ease the passage of the large head. She pressed Zeynab to push harder.

  ‘If you don’t push, the baby will die and Abdul-Basir will be without a son,’ she motivated the patient.

  Zeynab needed no greater motivation and she pushed like she had never pushed before. The baby’s head popped out. A relieved Katija pulled the baby out and saw it was a girl. She quickly tied and cut the umbilical cord. Holding the baby upside down, she gave her a sharp tap on the back to clear her airways. The sharp tiny cry of the baby thrilled the exhausted Zeynab.

  ‘It is a boy, isn’t it?’ she inquired.

  The midwife shook her head negatively.

  ‘You have given birth to life, no matter boy or girl. Which is what God wishes for you and Abdul-Basir,’ Khadijah replied.

  Zeynab’s face dropped. She had been so convinced that she would give birth to a boy. After checking the baby’s nostrils Katija wrapped her in a clean sheet. From outside, Nayila too had heard the baby’s tiny cry and ran barefoot on the warm sand to her father.

  ‘Abbi, the baby has come,’ she called out.

  ‘Boy or girl?’ asked Abdul-Basir from inside the tent.

  ‘Wait, I am going to find out,’ she replied and without waiting for a reply, ran back to the main tent.

  ‘Jaddati – grandmother, is it a boy or a girl?’ she called to Katija from outside.

  Nayila was thrilled when she learned it was a girl.

  ‘Now I have a sister to play with,’ she thought as she ran back to her father.

  Being a single child, Nayila had always envied those of her friends who had a sister. Seeing the girls taking care and looking after their younger sisters made her realise that she was all alone. The closest thing she ever had to look after was her pet goat, Abitha. Nayila had turned five when the goat kid – just a few days old – first saw the little girl. She immediately left her mother’s udders and gambolled over to the toddler on her long, unsteady legs to investigate. The goat kid sniffed her ankles, nibbled at her clothes and seemed finally satisfied with the results. As Nayila sat down on the sand to scratch the kid’s chin, she climbed into the girl’s lap. Nayila was instantly adopted by the cute, all-white kid with its black head and feet. When the toddler walked away, the goat kid followed her and from that day onwards would spend all her time between her mother’s udders and Nayila’s tent.

  ‘You run like a gazelle,’ Nayila said loudly to the kid, as if she could understand, ‘I am going to name you Abitha.’

  When Abitha was about four weeks old and partially weaned from her mother, Nayila pestered her father to let her keep the kid as a pet until he eventually gave in to her. She loved it when her new pet rested its chin on her while she rubbed and scratched its belly. During the day, the kid would spend her time between grazing, feeding from her mother and following Nayila everywhere. Whenever the little girl sang in her beautiful voice, Abitha would stare at her with those peculiar rectangular-shaped pupils as if she understood every word. This happy relationship lasted about four months until Abitha started to receive attention from a male buck. Once she had mated with the buck, the goat began to lose interest in the little girl and would spend more and more time with the rest of its herd, until eventually she stayed completely away. Nayila was heartbroken.

  ‘Animals have to live their own life, as decreed by God. They would be unhappy if forced to live otherwise,’ Zeynab patiently explained.

  So when she learned that she had a little sister, Nayila was over the moon, since finally she would have a friend for life.

  The baby had been cleaned and was in her mother’s bosom, enjoying her first drink. Katija had already read the adhan – the call to prayer softly in the baby’s right ear. She next chewed a piece of date and put a little bit of her sweetened saliva in the baby’s mouth, as required by the traditions. Soon after, the afterbirth was expelled and Katija was wrapping it in a piece of cloth to be buried later when she noticed that Zeynab was still bleeding.

  ‘The bleeding should have stopped by now,’ she thought to herself, but did not say anything so as not to alarm the exhausted mother.

  After waiting for a while and seeing the blood still oozing out, Katija feared the worst. She put her head out through the tent opening and asked Nayila to get her father. When Abdul-Basir came, the midwife pulled him to one side of the tent and quietly explained her fears.

  ‘Zeynab is still bleeding. The baby’s head had harden
ed during the pregnancy. The hard skull must have ripped a tear in Zeynab’s birth canal, which is causing the internal bleeding,’ she murmured in his ears.

  ‘What can we do?’ asked Abdul-Basir, a distressed look on his face.

  The tribe leader was a tall, lean man in his early forties, with a stern and weathered face. The responsibility of leading the tribe and making difficult decisions to ensure their survival had weighed down on him over the years. He rarely smiled, except in the privacy of his own tent with his wife and daughter. To everybody else he appeared a hard and tough man, whilst deep down, he was of a gentle and affectionate nature. His father, Hamza the previous chief, used to tell him that as a leader he must never show his feelings to others, as it would be perceived as a sign of weakness. And above all, he must always be strict but fair. Now, faced with his wife’s predicament, Abdul-Basir was uncertain how to react emotionally.

  ‘What can we do to stop the bleeding?’ he asked again, on the verge of tears.

  ‘The only thing is to insert some clean linen into the birth canal and hope it will make the blood clot. Other than that, there is nothing we can do except pray,’ Katija replied grimly.

  Abdul-Basir nodded in agreement, since he was a medicine man himself and knew that there were no herbs or remedies against internal haemorrhage. He knew that Katija’s suggestion was the only option they had.

  ‘Why don’t you soak the linen in some alum solution first? This might accelerate the clotting,’ he suggested, to which Katija nodded approvingly.

  Abdul-Basir kept a rock of alum crystal in his medicine box, which he used for treating bleeding wounds and mouth ulcers. Alum was known to cause clotting of blood, thereby stemming any bleeding. The dejected leader went to his box to get the alum for Katija.

  Keeping his face resolute despite his fears, Abdul-Basir squatted by his wife’s side and held her hand.

  ‘Forgive me, my husband. It is a girl,’ Zeynab apologised with disappointment in her voice.

  ‘Hush, Zeynab, you have given me a daughter. When she grows up and finds a husband, I will gain a son.’

  He squeezed her shoulder and in his heart he pleaded to God.

  ‘God Almighty, I have never asked for much, but now I beg you to spare Zeynab. Both her daughters need her and I simply cannot imagine my life without her.’

  Meanwhile, Katija quietly instructed her assistant to go and tell the other women of the tribe to assemble and pray for Zeynab.

  ‘Maybe God will hear their collective prayer and bring clemency to Zeynab,’ she told her.

  She also instructed her to go and inform Kulthum, who had given birth two months earlier that she would have to act as a wet nurse to the newborn.

  ‘Tell her that Zeynab’s situation is critical and she is in no condition to breastfeed the infant,’ Katija added.

  As the night advanced, Zeynab’s bleeding would not stop, leaving her pale and weak. The newborn had earlier been entrusted to the care of Kulthum. Nayila had not seen the baby yet, as she had been bundled away from the back of the tent to avoid the group that had gathered in front. Unable to understand what was going on, the little girl began screaming from outside, asking to see her mother.

  ‘Wait a few minutes while I change your mother’s clothes, abnati – my daughter,’ the midwife replied.

  Katija cleaned the ailing woman, replaced the soaked sheet under her and covered her with a fresh sheet so that there was no sight of blood.

  ‘You can come in now, abnati,’ she called out to the little girl.

  Nayila was shocked to see her mother looking so pale and gaunt, and yet Zeynab managed to summon the strength to smile at her daughter. The midwife showed Nayila how to dip the corner of a piece of cloth in the lightly salted water and squeeze it between her mother’s lips. Although no one had told her, Zeynab somehow knew she would not last the night, realising that the bleeding was slowly sucking the life out of her body. With her eyes she beckoned her daughter to move closer and moving her lips, she indicated that she wanted to speak. With her tears running freely down her face, Nayila bent forward, placing her ear close to her mother’s lips.

  ‘Nayila my loving daughter, I have to go and meet our Creator,’ she spoke in a rasping whisper.

  ‘My appointment has come. Don’t worry, I will be watching over you every single day, I promise.’

  She paused to collect her remaining strength before continuing.

  ‘I give you the important task of looking after your father until he finds another wife. You must also take care of your little sister.’

  In a moment of lucidity, as if she could see the future, she added, ‘your father will push her away... you will have to be the bridge between them.’

  ‘No, Ummi, you will get better soon,’ the little girl told her mother not really understanding the gravity of the situation.

  Nayila was squeezing drops of water between Zeynab’s lips when she suddenly felt some stickiness on her foot. She looked down and saw blood seeping from under the sheet. As she cautiously lifted the cover to investigate, she saw her mother’s legs soaked in blood. The little girl screamed as the realisation that her mother was dying finally dawned upon her innocent mind. Abdul-Basir came behind her and gently put his hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Say goodnight to your mother. It is time for you to go and rest,’ he said gently.

  Crying her heart out, Nayila reluctantly kissed her mother. Her father carried her next door to her aunt Salma’s tent. The little girl was sobbing inconsolably. Salma’s two elder daughters welcomed their younger cousin and tried to distract her by telling her stories. Despite her sadness and anguish, the nine-year old was soon transported to the land of genies, princes and princesses until she fell asleep between her two cousins.

  Chapter 4

  The full moon was high in the sky when Zeynab drew her last breath and passed away peacefully. Abdul-Basir felt a deep sorrow and heaviness in his heart as he stared at the pale yet serene face of his wife. He could not believe that he would not see her smile or hear her laugh ever again. His soulmate had been taken away from him and a lonely life lay ahead. Externally, he maintained an impassive face. As head of the tribe, he had settled into the habit of masking his emotions and showing strength for the sake of others. Deep down, he knew the anguish and emptiness inside him would never abate.

  ‘Dear God, grant me the strength to carry on if only for the sake of Nayila,’ he prayed as he gazed at Zeynab, looking so small under the white sheet.

  The women immediately began to make preparations for the burial, which was to take place in a few hours at first light. Corpses were never kept for very long in the hot climate, as decay would rapidly occur. A couple of men hurriedly erected a small tent for privacy at the back of the main tent, where the ghusl – washing ritual as well as the shrouding would take place. Others went to get water from the well and collect dead palm fronds.

  Abdul-Basir went out into the bright moonlight to choose a place for the grave. He wanted an open space, facing east so that the grave would catch the morning sun. After a while, he finally found the ideal spot, secluded from the camping area and where there were lots of stones.

  ‘No one will ever set up camp on such stony ground. Zeynab will be able to rest in peace,’ he thought.

  There were only small bushes but no trees to block the morning sun. He knew how Zeynab loved to sit and have breakfast while watching the sun rise every morning.

  ‘It is my peaceful moment of the day when I can contemplate life, God and all His creations,’ she used to say.

  From the time she was a baby Nayila would accompany her mother and sit in her lap. And later as a toddler, she would imitate her mother and sit cross-legged like an adult by her mother’s side. Often her mother would tell her about the beauty of life in animals, trees and plants, which was even more beautiful than the colours of sunrise. She too learned to meditate in awe at the marvel of God’s decree over the universe. Once Abdul-Basir had decided upon the lo
cation, he pointed it out to his companions who would spend the next few hours digging the grave.

  Zeynab’s body had been taken to the temporary tent at the back where the water boys had already set up a haubh and filled it up with fresh water. Salma would perform the ghusl – washing ritual of the body. She was Zeynab’s sister-in-law, being married to Basim, Abdul-Basir’s younger brother. While other women could assist, it was only close family members who were allowed to perform this ritual. A sheet of cloth was stretched above the corpse, held at the four corners by the helpers to keep the body covered at all times to maintain dignity. With her right hand wrapped in a piece of cloth like a glove, Salma scrubbed the body delicately under the sheet, while one of the assistants poured water from under the covering sheet. Each part had to be washed three times. The assisting women were silently praying for Zeynab’s soul to rest in peace in Jannah – heaven. Finally, the body was patted dry and ready for dressing with the kafan – shroud which should be of three pieces of white unstitched cotton cloth for a man or five pieces for a woman.

  After the body had been dressed, Salma called Abdul-Basir and her husband Basim to take it to the main tent where the tribe women were already gathered and were reading from the Sacred Book. They would pray for Zeynab’s soul and recite verses from the Scriptures throughout the night, while the men sat around a fire outside, some praying silently, others in quiet talk. Salma went to wake up Nayila and brought her to the main tent along with her cousins. According to the tradition, children were encouraged to take part in funerals to help them with their grieving, whilst at the same time prepare them to accept their own mortality. Bedouins strongly believed that death was part of life and that one's status in the afterlife was a reward or punishment for their conduct in this material world. The eldest cousin made Nayila repeat some prayers after her, but soon – exhausted from all the emotions and tears – the little girl dozed off with her head in her cousin’s lap.