<< Part 1 >>
“Assalamu Alaikum sister, Welcome. come in, come in.” Subeyda said, ushering me into her humble abode.
Her home held the absence of brightness and the nature of her house was grey and gloomy. The kitchen was dimly lit as the buzzing light flickered. The towels and hand washed clothes hung from all four corners of her home. The blazing hot sun and deep blue sky were the sole entity that glimmered her house, it gently kissed her single-glazed white painted kitchen window.
“How have you been, Amina? Long time right?” Said Subeyda, easing into the conversation as we sat down.
“Yeah.. good as can be.”
“I heard what happened I’m so-“
“Where have you been?” I instantly diverted the topic. I didn’t want to speak about my mother or my ordeal. Not now, not ever.
Thumps of footsteps trailed along from the staircase. I notice Subeyda’s eyes gaze upwards as she briefly glances into the hallway.
“Oh, Amina… this is my half- brother. Samir.”
We lock eyes again as he steps into the kitchen, brushing past my peripheral vision. I immediately look down from the subtle shyness.
My country is known as the white pearl of the Indian Ocean. His teeth were bright just like those pearls. He was a wadani (patriot) and represented his country and flag like a real man.
“Oh hi.” I said, shuffling my scarf around my shoulder and arms.
“So you really are from here.” He said with a confident smile as he folded his white vest top.
“Yeah.” I smiled warmly.
His presence was so strong and alluring… you can tell he takes up space in the room and isn’t afraid about it. He was tall with charisma that catered to even the coldest of hearts.
“Can you go to the market for me, Subeyda? We need some rice and lamb meat. Take these shillings and keep some for yourself.” He said.
“Sure thing. I’ll be back Amina.”
As Amina had left, I felt my heart beating as it rose to the tension. I took a quick peek at him, he was smiling to himself as he was cleaning the counter top.
“…Want to chat out the back?” He offered with a kind smile.
“Yeah ok…” I replied sweetly.
We sat under the green and white willow tree shading from the burning beams of sunshine. The atmosphere was almost as beautiful as him. He placed his AK on his lap whilst carefully aiming its nozzle onto the other side of him, avoiding any dangers.
“I always knew about you… you know, Amina.” He confessed.
“Subeyda always spoke about you. How she missed you… do you know why she had to leave?”
“No. I’m still trying to find that out…” I reply curiously.
“She had to leave and live with me and our father. He ordered all his kids to be under the same roof to fight a war that we didn’t create.” He said frustratingly.
“That was the first time I met her and she quickly told me about you.”
“We also lost our mother too.” He disclosed, glaring at the AK placed on his lap.
“I know it’s not easy.” I said reassuringly as I placed my hand on his toned arm.
“But they’d want us to keep fighting. We cannot let our pain take our pride. We fight to the death. That’s what our people do.” I said.
“… Today is the anniversary of my mothers death. I had to talk to you. Ever since I looked into your eyes at the checkpoint I remembered my mothers love. You have her eyes and smile. I don’t want to scare you away. I know army men might not be your thing but… come by more often?”
His gentle gesture had my heart melting like honey. He was like a small lost boy sinking into pools of sadness. I could read him like a book and his presumed facade of masculinity was slowly slipping away. Maybe he saw me as potential peace in the midst of all the mayhem and honestly I wanted to be his too.
“Yes of course. When should I come by again?”
“Tomorrow.” He insisted.
———————————————————————————
It was the morning after, he was on my mind and making a home of it in there like he sought after me in refuge. I could see it in his eyes. I understood him deeply… and I believe he also understood me.
I made my way to my first ever official job after university. I carried my cream tote-bag around my shoulder and my feet clutched onto my bright yellow sandals matching the sand beneath me. My father used his connects to hook me up as a money exchanger at a busy shop nearby my old school. As the war was intensifying and people were fleeing and were in need of exchanging their current shillings into dollars, pounds and euros.
As I arrive, I could hear the loud chitter-chatter from down the street. I could tell business was booming as soon I walked in. I laid my eyes on the copious amounts of cash stacked and spread around like it were simply mundane sheets of paper. I recognised a few other university students that were also hired under this establishment to make some profit over our long list of problems.
The room was incredibly compact, with the hot air boiling us in temperature. No air conditioner to cool us down. Desperate times called for uncomfortable and dire measures. It was a struggle of a hustle… but it presented itself as undeniably lucrative.
A young woman dressed in a lilac dress and matching headscarf stood behind the tiny slide up window where a long queue awaited her as she served.
“Next!” She shouted, as she slammed her hand onto the window pane.
“Salam. How much?” She asked the customer.
“600k shillings into dollars”
I was ordered to finish counting up the cash out in the back room, astounded by the amounts I was hearing, I quickly abided by the elder male managers rules and rushed to take a seat. I swung my brown scarf to back and placed my ice cold bottle of water on the counter and got to work.
Finally, it was almost the end of my shift. I sat and counted, dollar after dollar and pound after pound. It was a tedious task but I didn’t just see dollars signs today. Instead, it was actually tangible for me. Things were finally starting to look up… or were they?
Click here for Part 3
*Photo not mine credit to the rightful owner**