by Asen Djinah
Amel looked up from her task, taken aback by her father’s unexpected outburst. It was so unlike him.
‘Abbi, there is no point talking about it. I promised ummi that I will look after you until you find a wife. I am not going to break my promise,’ she replied matter-of-factly and returned to her task, showing that she did not want to discuss the matter any further.
Her father felt that he had been cornered into ending the discussion, but he really wanted to find out what kind of life Amel wanted.
‘Humour me, my daughter. Let us say I get married and have someone to look after Nabila and me. What kind of husband would you wish to have? And what sort of life would you like to live?’ he asked.
Amel remained silent for some time, carrying on with her mending as though she had not heard her father. After a while she finally put her work down and stared at him.
‘Do you really want to know? I fear it may upset you and you might feel that I am being ungrateful,’ she warned.
‘Oh Amel, you are the light of my life. How could I ever think of you being ungrateful? You have the right to have your own opinions and aspirations,’ Abdul-Basir replied.
‘Yes, Amel, do tell us what type of husband you want. Please, please, please,’ Nabila butted into the conversation.
Amel took a deep breath, uneasy at sharing her most inner thoughts and unsure how her father would react.
‘Well abbi, I would like to marry a tall and kind husband who will be only a few years older than me. But more important than his looks, he should promise that he will not take another wife as long as I live. I would like us to have a house in town so that our children will not have to live the kind of life that we have now,’ she explained and stared at her father to see his response.
Abdul-Basir sighed and did not answer. He was not surprised that his daughter wanted to leave the desert and naively wanted the best of both worlds. He was aware that on the one occasion he had taken Amel into town, the young girl had realised how harsh and meagre their life really was. He felt saddened that eventually Amel would have to face reality and compromise and settle for much less than her dreams. He hoped that she would not be too stubborn and not stick to her desires for too long. However, one thing he now knew for certain was that he would have to take a wife before Amel would even consider marriage. Once his daughter had made up her mind, she would stick to it stubbornly.
‘I will tell Basim that I am ready to take a wife. He will pass the information among the other tribes,’ Abdul-Basir replied, causing Amel to look up from her task at her father’s unexpected response.
Although Abdul-Basir had not told anyone – including Basim – about his failing eyesight, the entire tribe had their suspicions. The way he held on to Amel’s or Nabila’s arm when he moved around camp, or the fact that he carried his camel stick at all times, as well as his unsteady gait – were clear betrayals of his ailment. He never attempted to go anywhere alone and always ended up in the company of others so he could casually follow their lead.
‘Is your father having problems with his eyes?’ Basim asked Amel one day, pulling her to one side.
‘I think so, although he has not said anything. In the evenings he is always rubbing his eyes, which keep watering. And whenever we go anywhere he is always holding onto my shoulder. Uncle Basim, I fear he may be losing his sight,’ Amel told her uncle in confidence.
‘Let us pray that it will not come to that,’ Basim replied to reassure his niece.
Still no one, including Basim, confronted their leader, for it would have been disrespectful. Abdul-Basir would tell them about his ailment when he was ready. So everyone, including his daughters waited patiently for Abdul-Basir himself to reveal his illness. Basim casually kept him informed of things he had missed, like the grazing was getting low, or that they would need to move camp soon, or of the need to secure the tents whenever a sandstorm was imminent. Everyone was aware that it was the younger brother who was actually running the camp these days, imperceptibly steering Abdul-Basir to make the correct decisions.
Chapter 10
Nomads would never miss a chance of obtaining fresh news since their survival depended on it.
‘What is the latest news?’ would be the first question they usually asked after the initial greetings, whenever they saw a new face at the water-well.
They were eager to learn about recent events, whether they happened nearby or a hundred miles away. It was important to know where there had been recent rainfall, or where the good grazing spots were, or which wells had dried up. They would seek to find out which tribes had joined in alliance as this could impact on their own tribal relations, and wanted to know who had passed away recently. Nothing was insignificant and they, in turn, would pass on the news to others – even the most trivial piece of information. The watering wells were the news hub of the desert. In the absence of any passing encounter, they would often ride out far and wide to obtain the most recent news.
When a traveller casually mentioned that there had been reduced rainfall in the far-away mountains last spring, Basim’s ears pricked up. The fields in the distant mountains were the most fertile of the land, since they received the most rainfall in the country.
‘Whenever the rain in the mountains fails, this could be a precursor of a drought to come,’ the words of his late father came to his mind.
Alarmed by the news, Basim went into the pasturage and picked at the grazing at several different spots. Although green, the grass and leaves were slightly brittle, an indication that there was reduced moisture in them. He next asked the shepherds about the milk yield and received confirmation that there had been a little reduction of late. Basim came to the conclusion that the underground water tables were getting low. Undeniably a drought was looming but no one could predict how long it would last. The Rub Al Khali or Empty Quarter, which was the largest contiguous area of sand in the far south, was known to have suffered a drought lasting over twenty-five years.
‘Dear God, let me be wrong,’ he prayed as he made his way to the tent of his more experienced brother.
‘Perhaps Abdul-Basir has an answer to this impending calamity,’ he thought.
Basim found his older brother sitting down with Nabila cutting his hair, chattering away. He inwardly smiled at the scene and was thankful to God. Since Amel’s illness, his brother had finally pushed aside his bitterness and had come to accept his younger daughter. Everyone was relieved that Abdul-Basir had become equally fond of both daughters.
‘Uncle Basim, have you found a wife for abbi yet?’ Nabila asked in her innocent and direct way.
Even Abdul-Basir had to smile.
‘These things take time. Stop bothering your uncle,’ he reprimanded his daughter gently.
Basim took the hookah pipe from his brother and the two were soon engaged in idle chat. When Nabila left to prepare tea, Basim told the tribe leader about what he had heard and the details of his own findings. Abdul-Basir listened attentively, without interrupting. He could not help but blame himself for not being around to gather the news and noticing the small details that his younger brother had picked up on. It dawned on him that his failing eyesight had affected his capabilities and that he had let his people down. When Basim finished, the tribe leader remained quiet for a while, lost in his thoughts. When he finally spoke, he surprised Basim.
‘There is one issue that I want to raise first, Basim, before we discuss the impending drought. For a while now, my eyesight has gradually been getting worse. I have kept it to myself and not told you, dear brother, so as not to burden you. However, now I realise that my silence has actually caused harm to the tribe. I was hoping that the illness would be temporary, but one thing is certain in that it has impaired my ability to lead. As from today, I would like to forgo that responsibility in your favour. You have proven yourself time and time again as a capable and worthy leader. I will call for a meeting of elders this evening and inform them of my decision,’ he said.
‘Oh b
rother, I am sorry to hear about your eyes,’ Basim said, acting surprised, ‘When did it start?’
Abdul-Basir went on to explain how his eyesight began to fail about four years ago and had slowly been getting worse – and that presently he could barely distinguish between faces. Basim was shocked, as he did not realise that his brother’s eyesight had declined to such an extent.
‘Well, you can still be the leader and I will help you with the responsibility,’ he said, not knowing how to react to his brother’s candid confession.
‘No Basim, you will be the tribe leader and it is I who will help you with my experience,’ Abdul-Basir said in a final tone of voice.
‘Now, the impending drought is a most serious matter. Although I trust your findings, I think we need some more information,’ he added.
‘I will dispatch four riders to visit the local wells and report back about water levels. We should have a final conclusion within a few days,’ Basim suggested, ‘but what should we do in case of a drought?’
‘Remember how father used to tell us about the drought the tribe faced when he was a child? They tried to escape it by undertaking the long trek across the country, to the fertile lands in the north where the drought was less severe. It was an arduous and gruelling journey of over six hundred miles. Father used to say that the journey took more of a toll on both animals and men than if they had stayed and faced the drought. But let me think about it and we will discuss it with the elders tonight,’ Abdul-Basir advised.
The elders were relieved when Abdul-Basir informed them of his renunciation as leader, although their relief was respectfully hidden from their faces. They unanimously approved the nomination of Basim as successor. However, when Basim introduced his findings about the possibility of a drought, the elders’ faces fell. The uncontrollable force of droughts was one of the most feared calamities, for not only did it take lives, but it would also destroy their fragile economy for years to come. The livestock on which their survival depended would be completely decimated. Families would lose many of their loved ones, mostly the weak and the young, as they clung to a precarious existence. Parents would watch their children wither away and sometimes, driven by compassion, they would pray for death to end their suffering. For with the drought came sickness and starvation. Lawlessness would also become part of daily life, as people competed for scarce resources. Fights at water-wells or over the sparse grazing would become common and often end in fatalities. Food prices would rocket as crops failed, adding to an already disastrous situation.
Although Abdul-Basir himself had never experienced a drought in his lifetime, the knowledge and details of previous droughts had been passed down through generations. Thus he decided that the news of the impending disaster would have to be carefully managed, so as not to cause panic.
‘Let us keep this quiet among ourselves until the riders come back with their reports,’ Abdul-Basir advised the council.
‘In the meantime, I ask your permission to visit my friend Rafiq bin Qassim, the carpet maker. He is a wise man and I will seek his counsel discreetly and report back to you,’ he added, turning to the new leader.
Abdul-Basir had become acquainted with Rafiq about a year after Zeynab’s death.
Chapter 11
On the first anniversary of Zeynab’s death, when baby Nabila was still living with Kulthum and Amel was still known as Nayila, the tribe went back to the same campsite where she had been laid to rest. It was normal for nomadic tribes to use the same camping sites throughout the year unless there was a serious change in the weather; then they would be forced to go into unfamiliar areas outside of their usual route to find grazing for their herds. So it was no surprise that they set up camp in exactly the same place as the previous year, much to the delight of Nayila. She had been looking forward to visiting her mother’s grave.
‘Would you like to come with me to pay our respect to your mother?’ Abdul-Basir asked Nayila once the camp was settled and running smoothly.
The ten-year old girl was both surprised and delighted. Immediately after the funeral, when her father was away and before the camp had moved to the next site, she had visited the grave at dawn each day, taking her breakfast with her. She had sat down by the side of the grave and watched the sunrise whilst eating. Reminiscing about her mother, she had watched the same familiar colours changing hues over the horizon as the light of dawn slowly overcame darkness. She had felt her mother with her in spirit, watching the sunrise with her and she had vowed to carry on with their customary ritual. It was her way of coping with her grief and keeping the memories of her mother alive.
So when her father asked her to accompany him to the grave, Nayila was excited as it would be the first time that she would be going with him. Hand in hand, father and daughter walked the short distance to the grave.
‘The sky looks bleary, and the horizon is hazy and not very clear. We must hurry as a sand storm will be upon us soon,’ Abdul-Basir remarked, looking up at the sky.
Nayila was puzzled by her father’s comments, for the sky was clear and she could clearly see the distinct line between sky and sand in the distance. She was about to say so, but decided to hold back. Lately, she had noticed her father rubbing his eyes frequently in the evenings, especially in the light of the oil lamps. And she had also noticed that his eyes kept watering profusely. At the time she thought her father must be thinking about her mother and feeling sad. So when her father made that remark, Nayila realised for the first time that there was something wrong.
‘I will have to keep watch over him,’ she thought to herself.
Whilst her father tidied the grave, rearranging the displaced stones, Nayila went looking for wild flowers to plant on her mother’s final resting place. She soon found a few plants with small, light pink flowers which would brighten up the grave. Her father helped her to plant these and used his gourd to water the plants. Afterwards, when they were satisfied with their work, Abdul-Basir held up his two hands in front of his face at the sky and asked duah for his late wife. Head bent, Nayila made a silent prayer and then spoke aloud for her father to hear.
‘Ummi, when Nabila is older I promise I will bring her to you, so you can meet her again,’ she said.
Her father did not respond and remained silent.
Since the funeral, Abdul-Basir had only made a few fleeting visits to Kulthum to see the baby, but had never held her in his arms. He had not even commented on her being named Nabila. Nayila was heartbroken to see her baby sister ignored by her father. She hoped that with time her father would come around, and in spite of her young age she wisely decided not to raise the subject directly. Instead, she would casually include Nabila in their conversations at every opportunity, but every time she did so her father did not comment. Nor would he ever make any direct reference to his youngest daughter. On the other hand, his bond with Nayila grew even stronger than before, now that he was without a companion.
On returning to camp they sat at the opening of the tent, father and daughter sitting cross-legged on the rug in intimate silence. Both were reflecting on their visit to the grave and were longing for Zeynab’s company. Shortly, their attention was drawn by a small speck in the distance and as it got closer they saw that it was a rider on camelback. When the rider was within visible distance he stopped, dismounted and picked up a handful of sand which he threw in the air. He repeated the action at regular intervals as he advanced towards the camp. It was an established sign of peace, to differentiate between foes and friends. It hailed from the old days when, before the time of the Prophet, there were raiders and looters across the desert.
‘Go. Get tea and dates ready and inform Uncle Basim that we have a visitor,’ Abdul-Basir told Nayila.
By the time the rider reached the tent, Basim had already arrived and together the brothers welcomed the visitor.
‘Sayyidi, my name is Khadim and I am the slave of Rafiq bin Qassim, the carpet maker,’ the visitor introduced himself.
Although
the two brothers did not know Rafiq personally, they had heard of him as he was one of the richest men in Kuffrat. Abdul-Basir invited Khadim into the tent and despite being a slave, the brothers treated him as an equal with the same hospitality reserved for other visitors. Basim lit up a hookah which they shared as they sipped tea and ate date cakes. Only after drinking the ritual tea and sharing the latest news did the slave state the purpose of his visit.
‘My master has sent me as he has been suffering from a very painful tooth infection for the past month. None of the local healers have been able to help him. Knowing your reputation, he has been waiting anxiously for you to come to your usual camping area. He told me to inform you that he will reward you handsomely if you can come as quickly as possible,’ Khadim explained.
Kuffrat was only a couple hours away and Abdul-Basir had already planned to go into town the following morning, to sell goods the women had made over the past months. Funds were badly needed with the supply of flour running low. Lately there had been rationing in the camp and most families had been living solely on camel milk, labneh – dried yoghurt balls and dates. Nomads were constantly hungry and thirsty. There was no tolerance for laziness or weakness and they had to work from dawn till dusk to scrape by. Water and grazing for the herds were the main driving factors in all decisions, since their livelihood depended solely on their animals. Yet despite all their efforts and hard work, they were constantly running low on supplies.
‘We are going to the souk tomorrow and will meet you there. We should arrive mid-morning and you can then take us to see your master,’ Abdul-Basir told Khadim.