I’d needed the hard silence of the desert because I was still learning back then. This place was perfect. When I practiced, I liked to dig my fingers in the sand and scratch circles, squares, trapezoids, fractals, whatever shapes I needed to visualize the equation. This day when I was eight years old and had run away, I’d set up my tent beside the furthest stone and my fingers drew circles upon circles.
My eyes were half-closed as I watched swirls of sand tumble down a nearby dune. I was whispering a current into being as dividing numbers tumbled through my head. I worked hard not to think about the self-righteous look on my oldest sister’s face as she said, “It’s just dancing. You have to start sacrificing things like that now.”
I was angrily digging my left index finger hard in the sand when I felt it. My nail grazed over it first and I noticed, but unconsciously. I was seeing a short hazy blue line dance before me. Tears fell from my eyes. My family was right. For three years they’d been pushing and pushing me, my mother, father, sisters, brothers, aunts, and uncles. They were all so sure of what I was, that I had the gift. I did have it and now everything was changing because of it. But I just wanted to dance.
The current whirled itself into a perfect circle. Now it was a connection. This would have powered an astrolabe if I had it assembled and positioned for “turn on.” I felt a sting and hissed with pain. My hand. My finger. The blue disappeared as I brought my finger to my face for a closer look, my heart slamming in my chest. A scorpion bite all the way out here in the desert, while alone, was very bad news.
My thumb dripped blood and sand was ground into the wound. A tiny gray point poked from the spot where I’d been making circles with my fingers and thumb. Beside it was a small yellow flower. How’d I miss that? I wondered. I tried to pick the flower and realized that it was attached to a thin dry but strong white root that clung to whatever was poking from the sand. I put the flower down and grasped the point. It wouldn’t budge. I shifted to my knees and leaned closer for a better look.
“Oh,” I whispered. “It’s not just . . .” I sucked on my finger as I looked at it. Then I started digging around it with my other hand. Soon I was using both hands, disregarding the stinging and light bleeding. Whenever my father allowed me to buy a new book, I spent hours in my room with my eyes closed as I listened to it on my astrolabe. In many of those stories, a curious person would find a secret or magical object that would change her or his life. I’d always wanted that to happen to me. And now I was sure this was it.
This was the Book of Shadows that appeared on the boy’s astrolabe when he passed too close to a tree that had just been struck by lightning. This was the jeweled eagle figurine that the girl bought in the market that caused all the birds to come. This was the plant that began to grow in the old man’s bedroom after a strange dust storm.
The thing I dug up was a stellated cube. It fit into the palm of my hand and was made of a tarnished metal. There were intricate designs all over it, adept loops and swirls and spirals whose lines never touched each other. I turned it over this way and that, marveling at its complex pointy shape.
“What is this thing?” I whispered, awed.
I knocked off the remaining sand and used some of my otjize to polish it. This worked better than I expected, for soon its tarnished appearance changed to one of amazing shine. And each time I moved it, it produced a . . . a soft sound. Like the low husky voice of a woman. It was a little scary . . . and fascinating. There was somehow old current in this thing. Nevertheless, the more I moved it, the softer the sound until it stopped all together.
Father’s eyes will bug out when I show this thing to him, I excitedly thought. And that was how I decided that I was not running away after all. I couldn’t wait to hear what he had to say about the mystery device I’d found. Or if he could tell me the best way to study it. Maybe I can get it to do whatever it was made to do, I thought. I giggled to myself, sitting on one of the stones and holding the strange thing to my face.
When someone tapped my shoulder, I nearly screamed. And when I whipped around and saw the tall dark-skinned woman with a corona of black hair so huge that it blocked out the sun shining behind her, I did scream. I jumped to my feet and nearly fell over my satchel.
She was one of the Desert People. She looked ten feet tall and everything about her, from her hair to the light sheer blue cloth wrapped around her head to her flowing pants and top made of the same blue material, was blowing in the soft breeze. Slung over her shoulder was a small capture station, its catch bag, and a blue old-looking backpack. I squinted up at her in the sunshine. She was so very tall and so . . . blue. The tallest person I’d ever seen. And somewhat old like my mother’s mother. She grasped a thick gnarled walking staff with her long-fingered hands, but she wasn’t leaning on it.
“What are you doing out here?” she asked. Her voice was dry and commanding, also like my grandmother, and I immediately stood up straighter.
“I . . . this . . . this is where I . . . please . . . my . . .”
“Oh, shut up, child,” she sighed. “Forget I asked.” She rested her staff on her side and began doing that which I’d heard the Desert People did; she moved her hands this way and that, like a child swatting at a fly. I took the moment to quickly look around. There were no others. Could I outrun her? The woman wore no shoes. How can she stand the hot sand?
“Binti,” she said. “Daughter of Moaoogo Dambu Kaipka Okechukwu Enyi Zinariya.”
“That’s my name, my father . . . how do you know?” I whispered. I’d decided that there was no way I could outrun the woman. She was old and carried a staff, but something told me she was strong like a man and she didn’t use that staff for walking.
“Do you know who I am?” she asked.
“A desert person?”
She nodded, working her hands before her. It was as if they weren’t even part of her body. In my pocket, my astrolabe buzzed. The sun had just reached its highest peak and it was best to sit in the shade for the next hour. I reached into my pocket to stop it from buzzing.
“I journeyed all the way to this place so I can think,” the woman said.
“I . . . I did, too,” I said.
And for a moment, we stared at each other.
“I’ve been coming here since before your mother was a thought in your grandmother’s womb,” she said, with a chuckle. “What is that you’ve found?”
I grasped it more tightly and took a step back. “Nothing. A pretty chunk of . . . metal.” I felt sweat prickle in my armpits. To lie to an elder is a sin.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not going to take it from you.”
“I . . . I never said that,” I said.
“I know your grandmother, Binti.”
I nearly dropped the edan when I looked at her with surprise . . . and understanding. My father’s mother was a desert woman and he never spoke of her. Himba men did not wear otjize, but sometimes they used it to palm roll or flatten their hair. My father used it to flatten his coarse bushy hair, to mask it. And like me, he was the shade of brown like the Desert People and he’d never liked this fact. My mother was a medium brown, like most Himba, and I knew for a fact that he was proud that all their other children were too . . . and that the one who got the desert complexion and hair made up for it by being a master harmonizer.
I’d once asked my father about the Desert People when I was about five years old and he’d snapped at me to never speak of it again. As I looked at this tall woman now, I wanted to go home. I needed to go home. My father would kill me for speaking to this woman. I wasn’t supposed to be out here in the first place, so meeting her was entirely my fault.
“Do you know what that is you’ve found?”
I shook my head.
“It’s a piece of time from before our time. An ancient work of art and use. It’s old, but old doesn’t always mean less advanced.”
&nb
sp; I opened my hand and looked at it. It rested in my palm, comfortable there, but so strange.
“Want to know how to use it?”
I shook my head. “I have to get home,” I said. “My father has work for me to finish later today.”
“Yes, your gifted father who is so proud of himself.” She paused looking me over and then said, “The thing you have, the Himba will call it an edan, but we call it a god stone. You’re blessed it’s found you.” She did a few hand motions and laughed. “When you are ready to know how to really use it, find us.”
“Okay,” I said, smiling the most false smile I had ever smiled. My legs were shaking so vigorously that I felt I would fall to my knees.
“Safe journey home,” she said. Then she knelt, touched the sand, and said, “Praise the Seven.”
I stood there for a moment surprised, thinking, Desert People believed in the presence of the Seven too? I wondered what my mother would say to this fact, since she thought Desert People were so uncivilized. Not that I’d ever tell her about meeting this woman.
I swiped otjize from my face and did the same. Then I turned and ran off. I didn’t look back until I was about to crest the first sand dune. She still stood there, beside the gray stones where I’d found the edan. I wondered what she’d make of the plant growing there.
* * *
Early crabs were sneaky and quick, so my parents weren’t surprised when I returned empty-handed. I was no longer that angry with my parents, so when I took the edan to my father two days later, I didn’t have to stifle my emotions. I didn’t tell him about the plant growing on it or where I found it. It’s the only time I’d lied to my father. I told him I’d bought the thing at the market from a junk seller.
“Who was selling it? Which junk man?” my father anxiously asked. “I need to talk to him! Look at this thing it’s—”
“I don’t know, Papa,” I quickly said. “I wasn’t really paying attention. I was so focused on it.”
“I’ll go to the market tomorrow,” my father said, pulling at his scruffy beard. “Maybe someone will have another.” He took it from me, his eyes wide. “Beautiful work.”
“I think it does something that—”
“The metal,” he whispered, staring at the object. He looked at me, smiled and apologetically patted my head. “Sorry, Binti. You were saying?”
“It’s okay. What about the metal?”
My father brought it to his teeth and bit the tip of one of the points. Then he touched it with the tip of his tongue and brought it so close to his left eye that he nearly touched his eyeball. He held it to his nose and sniffed. “I don’t know this type of metal,” he said. He smacked his lips. “It leaves a taste on the tongue, like when you taste the salts that gather on the Undying Trees during dry season.”
The Undying Trees grew all over Osemba. They had thick rubbery wide leaves and trunks spiked with hard thorns that had lived longer than any generation could recall. Their ancient roots were so strong and they snaked so deeply beneath Osemba that the town’s waterworks were not only built around them, they were built along them. The Undying Trees led the founders of Osemba to the only drinkable source of water for a hundred miles.
Nevertheless, the trees were strange. They vibrated so fast during thunderstorms that they made a howling sound, which permeated the city. During dry season, they produced salt on their leaves, which was used by healers to cure and treat all sorts of ailments. Life salt, it was called. The device I’d found tasted like life salt.
“It’s an edan,” my father said and I’d nodded like I’d never heard the word before. He explained to me that “edan” was a general name for devices too old for anyone to know their functions, so old that they were now more art than anything else. That’s what my father wanted it for, as a piece of art to brag about to his friends. But I insisted on keeping it for myself and because he loved me, he let me.
Now here I was walking into the desert with the Desert People. How different my life would have been if my parents had just let me dance.
Lies
By sunup, I knew the Desert People had lied.
“Can you reach your Meduse?” my grandmother asked me. We’d walked through the remainder of the night and morning. Now, it was approaching midday and we stopped until night. We stood in the shade of one of the camels, some of the others bringing out dried dates and switching on noisy capture stations to collect water. I was nearly asleep on my feet, barely able to keep my eyes open. My grandmother’s question woke me right up.
“Reach?” I asked. My eyes met Mwinyi’s, who sat a few yards away crunching on what looked like dried leaves.
“Yes, speak to it,” my grandmother said.
“I don’t know,” I muttered, looking out into the desert. “Maybe? Do I really—”
“Tell it that we will bring you back when we bring you back,” my grandmother said. “Our village is three days’ walk away.”
“What? Why didn’t you tell them this before? Why didn’t you tell me?” I’d wondered why we were still walking when they’d promised to have me back by nightfall. It had been easier to stay in denial. I groaned. I’d gone from one extreme to another, days confined on a ship, then not even twenty-four hours later, days walking through open desert.
“Sometimes it’s best to tell people only what they need to hear,” my grandmother said.
“Can’t someone go back and tell them? I don’t know if I can tell Okwu anything detailed,” I breathed, my heart starting to beat the talking drum. “What if I can’t do—”
“It’s up to you, Binti,” she said, dismissively. She spoke over her shoulder as she walked to two women who’d just set out a large bowl of dried dates. “You do it or you don’t.”
My grandmother wasn’t offering me any real choice. If I didn’t come home tonight, my family would fly into panic. Again. For the second time, they would be forced to deal with my disappearance and the fact that they couldn’t do a thing about it. My mother would get terribly quiet and stop laughing, my father would work too hard in his shop, my siblings would feel an ache akin to one caused by the death of a loved one. Family. I had to reach Okwu.
However, I still didn’t know much about my okuoko. I didn’t understand how they affected me. How they connected me to the Meduse, especially Okwu. Why I could feel sensation through them. Why they writhed when I was furious. What I knew was that I could sense Okwu when I was on Math City and he was in Weapons City, which were hundreds of miles away and that I had once had a very weak but definite sense that the Meduse Chief who was planets away was checking up on me.
I could wiggle my okuoko on purpose, but I couldn’t explain to anyone how I did it. It was like moving my nostrils, I just could. In this way, while petting the shaggy fur of the camel beside me, I reached out to Okwu. I thought about it, willed it. Seconds passed. Nothing. I sighed and glanced at my grandmother, who was watching me. I looked up into the blue sky and spotted a ship from afar that was leaving the atmosphere. A mere speck. The launch port was maybe a hundred miles away. I wondered if it was Third Fish. No, I thought. Third Fish is giving birth soon.
I shook my head. Focus, I thought. Okwu. I imagined the tent my father had set up outside the Root. How it was full of the gas the Meduse breathed. Okwu was the first of its kind on Earth since the Khoush-Meduse Wars. Okwu doing whatever Okwu did in its tent when it avoided interaction with any of my family or other curious Himba. And I softly slipped my mind into a set of equations that reminded me of space and movement across small lengths of it.
Now I reached out again, my hand flat on the camel’s rump, slowly moving up and down with its steady breathing. I strained to reach Okwu and it realized this and reached for me. I felt it grasp and suddenly I felt Okwu’s mind. Sweat poured down my face and I felt all things around me tint Okwu’s light blue.
Binti, I felt Okwu say through one of my okuoko. I
t vibrated against my left ear. Where are you? You are far.
In the hinterland, I responded. I won’t be back tonight.
Do I need to come get you?
No.
Are you well?
Yes. The village is just far. Days away.
Okay. I will wait here.
Then just like that, Okwu let go and was gone. I came back to myself and my eyes focused on the desert before me.
“Done?” my grandmother asked. She stood behind me and I turned to her.
“Yes. It knows.”
She nodded. “Well done,” she said, holding her hands up and moving them around. She walked away.
* * *
They pitched their elaborate goatskin tents facing the desert to give everyone the semblance of privacy. Two men built a fire in the center of the tents and some of the women began to use it to cook. The soft whoosh of capture stations from behind two of the tents and their cool breath further cooled the entire camp. Soon, the large empty jug one of the camels had been carrying was rolled to the center of the tents and filled with water.
“You’ll stay with me,” my grandmother said, pointing to the tent two men had just set up for her. She handed me a cup. “Drink heavily, your body needs hydration.” Inside, the tent was spacious and there were two bedrolls on opposite sides. For “dinner” there was flat bread with honey, a delicious strong-smelling hearty soup with dried fish, more dates, and mint tea. As the sun rose, everyone quickly disappeared into his or her tents to sleep.
I was pleasantly full and tired, but too restless to sleep just yet. So I sat on my mat, staring out at the desert, my grandmother snoring across from me. Since we’d walked into the desert, the flashbacks and day terrors I was used to having had disappeared. I inhaled the dry baking air and smiled. The healing properties of the desert had always been good for me. My eye fell on Mwinyi, who’d been watering the camels and now sat out on a sand dune facing the desert. His hands were working before him. I got up and walked over to him.
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