“It is the shaman of our tribe “Haroun whispered in the ear of Cristian; as it was customary he translated the sayings and the facts of the meeting to the newcomer. The shaman returned to his post in the round but not sat. In a wide gesture pointed to Cristian.
“Also I wish to say that we were not wrong when a short while ago we decided to incorporate to our clan a young foreigner whom we did not know. Today we have reasons to celebrate having done so.”
A murmur of approval reflected the consensus of the attendees. Cristian blushed as it was usual in him while a smiling Haroun placed a hand on his shoulder.
Important decisions were made at the plenary. A delegation would go to N'Djamena to talk with a French military acquaintance and explain new developments and urge him to send weapons and troops, although there were not too many expectations on the latest. All those sick, children young or older who had relatives in villages South of Chad would be evacuated towards them in an organized way, since in a possible sudden and forced exodus they would delay the rest exposing them for increased risks. On the perimeter of the village would be built barricades of way to hinder or delay the entry of hostile troops on horseback or in trucks, and finally, ambushes would be organized in certain canyons and gorges leading to the North. Nobody knew if this could save the village but certainly it would cost heavy casualties to potential offenders and give time to evacuate.
A week passed without notable alternatives; a morning Haroun came to pick up Cristian with two horses, sure indication of a short cruise. He made no comments until they were underway.
“We will act as a welcome Committee.” He said.
“In what sense?” Asked Cristian somewhat frightened by the ambushes that had been prepared.
“Don't worry.” replied Haroun laughing. “We are truly to receive friends.”
They remained on high land that allowed a broad vision, particularly towards the North. After three hours they could see dust columns on the misleading horizon.
“Are they real, or it is a mirage?” Asked the young man.
“No, these are real. I guess they are those who we expect. Just in case you prepare your rifle.”
When the stains in the desert approached they distinctly saw two large trucks preceded and followed by two jeeps. They had no flags or badges that would tell who they were. However, Haroun said.
“It´s they all right. Let´s go greet them.”
When the two riders approached the gunner who handled a heavy machine gun in the jeep heading the convoy pointed at them, but a white officer who was traveling in the front passenger seat made a gesture.
“Bienvenue, capitaine Romand. “ Greeted Haroun from a distance.
“Haroun, mon ami “replied the officer.
The two riders dismounted and waited for the vehicles to approach. Captain Romand jumped out of the jeep and hugged Haroun. The warrior introduced Cristian, who however remained at a distance, while the two friends were talking. Then all resumed their march towards the village.
“But are they actually French?” Asked Cristian “Most of them are black skinned.”
“They are légionnaires.”
“Of the Foreign Legion?” Romantic and heroic legends invaded Cristian mind.
“Yes, but do not come from Fort Zinderneuf (1).” Replied jokingly Haroun, realizing the fantasies that passed through the head of his partner. “They are bringing us automatic weapons, ammunition and communications equipment. All former Soviet equipment, to dispel accusations.”
“Do the famous AK-47?”
“That´s right.”
“You can´t complain.”
“We don't know what those who attack us will bring us but will not waiting our welcome.”
(1) refers to the Foreign Legion Fort where takes place the novel Beau Geste, of P.C.Wren
That night Zoubaida was waiting for her husband in the way that he knew very well. Both had been without physical contact since Cristian returned from the trading excursion with Ousmar, due to the rear shock created by the dramatic events that occurred. Both had since accumulated an unusual dose of unmet sexual needs in their relationship that had to be updated immediately. The woman threw him from a nudge on a large sofa and sat on his knees with legs listed to one side. She stroked his face and head as it was her custom, and kissed him in the mouth. He slipped a hand between the folds of the dress that she wore and long stroked the knees, and finally the thighs. He stopped on the inner side of these, what was the usual detonator of their excitation. She lifted the dress up exposing her exquisitely shaped legs; He leaned and kissed the fleshy thighs up to the crotch. She began to moan. He licked the top of the thighs, while she kissed his nape and neck. The excitement had reached the point that required immediate relief. Cristian rose to his wife in his arms and led her to the bed, while she was opening her shirt. Even before he finished removing his pants and underwear he penetrated her warm and humid inside. Both lovers joined in a frenetic rhythm dotted with groans of Zoubaida, until both reached a violent and painful climax. Cristian lay on his wife until they managed to restore normal breathing.
“Never leave me for so long.” She whispered.
“Not if I can help it, I promise you.”
They fell asleep hugged. Cristian awoke first, and was on the bed still streaky with his wife.
A thought assailed from time to time and although he wanted to remove it from his mind he failed to do so. He felt fully realized in his relationship with Zoubaida. He loved her and could not imagine his life without her. The woman covered all the emotional, intellectual, moral and sexual aspirations a demanding man could have and now were additionally joined by their son. He was fully happy in his marriage, and yet... and yet... was Charfadine.
The infatuation he felt by the young woman was a feeling that was previously unknown to him, despite the fact that in his life before Zoubaida he had many female relationships. He knew Charfadine would be an open wound that would never close. He unfairly complained of fate which exposed him to these cross feelings. What had happened to that foolish boy who was born as a leave in the wind by insubstantial relationships with women that after a while got tired of maintaining him and disappeared from his life just as fast as they had come? Love had come to his life with a dose of pain.
Cristian rose with caution not to wake his wife. He had an appointment with Haroun, who had anticipated him he had some news after their meeting with the légionnaires.
“For the moment and for domestic political reasons France not can deal with us, at least they cannot send troops. The French economic situation does not improve, and voters do not accept expenses abroad, whatever the cause and much less wars that can cause casualties.”
“What then?”
“Then we will have to protect ourselves. The problem is that the Muslims receive support in men and weapons from Al Qaeda and financial resources from the Gulf States.”
“Do the French bring at least promised weapons?
“Yes, but they are skimping them; less than promised in quantity and quality. We have now enough automatic weapons, but they brought us a few missiles.”
“Although I have a quarter of French blood, I never trusted them.” Said Cristian.
“However, in the past they saved us from extermination several times. We would not be here without them. They are our guarantor of last resort. Right now they are tangled in our neighboring Central African Republic, where Christians and Muslims are massacring each other.”
“Christians?”
“Yes, they are a majority in the country; most of them are animists converted by missionaries. The French are mediating between fractions and can't get away as demand their politicians.”
Both men did a few moments of silence.
“The purpose of our meeting today is to show you the use of the AK-47. Your life and that of your family may depend on it.”
Zoubaida was awakened by the cries of Hubert. She changed clothes and breastfed him, after which the ba
by fell asleep. Then the woman got a shower because she felt perspired by the sexual exercises the night before. Then she lunched lightly and sat on the sofa in the room.
The thoughts came to mind in droves, and she could not help introspection. Memory receded to his life before meeting Cristian, and when evoking it, she found it empty and devoid of any purpose. In reality, the dedication to the cause of the exiled Chadian was practically everything she had; no personal projects. Several experiences with men had been frustrating and ephemeral. She recalled when she saw Cristian for the first time. The night before she had made a similar self-analysis. A sudden impulse came then from inside that drove her to make the man hers and she had proceeded accordingly in the hotel full of sarcastic passengers. From there the relationship had deepened rapidly in a way that exceeded her best expectations. Cristian and the advent of his son had transformed her life completely and had filled it with sense. There was a loose end of which she had increasingly become aware and which was still puzzling her and looked threatening... but she would face it in due time. It was surely not Zoubaida who would lose what she had obtained.
Zoubaida stood up, she knew that this rare episodes of introspection always preludes important turns in her life and that she had to prepare herself to make difficult decisions. These decisions were apt to involve hard choices and trade-offs, and to affect other people´s lives. This was her burden.
CHAPTER 10
Ousmar had just opened a small health post at the southern end of the village. It would be attended by a Nigerian doctor who would come twice a week to the village, a standing Chadian paramedic and two Cameroonian nuns. The French had brought some medical equipment and drugs along with weapons, and promised to add more instruments in the future.
“My father has a modernizing mentality.” Zoubaida told her husband. “And he listens to my advice on social matters. His current priorities, along with defense of course, are health and education. If there is more stability in the area we could be of interest to Medicins sans Frontiers. In fact our ethnic group was the first of Chad prohibiting genital mutilation of girls.”
“You must change the agenda and incorporate issues that are considered important in the world, and replace the primitive beliefs based on wiles and witchcraft.” Said impulsively Cristian.
She analyzed her husband´s reflection, grimaced and responded with mock anger.
“You should have a little more respect for the primitive beliefs of my people, which I share in part. They have allowed us to survive centuries in which no young Argentine know-it-all wiseacre cared about us, even in times when there were not even Argentineans.
Cristian regretted his pedantic statement, and sought to compensate it. He took her by the waist and she hugged her neck; When the man placed a hand on the buttocks she exhaled a howl.
“Yes, I am already aware of your primitive side, and am grateful that neither Paris nor New York removed it from you.
At that time came a maid with Hubert in her arms, announcing that it was necessary to change his diapers, task which Zoubaida usually performed personally.
Cristian approached the hut located far away from the center of the village that had been transformed into arsenal and powder keg. Two armed guards were guarding it. They recognized him and let him in. Haroun was inside.
“Some news!” exclaimed jokingly Cristian. “Armed village guards.”
“Nothing will be as it was.” Said Haroun in somber tone. “At least for a long time.”
“Do you remember we said that we would do shooting practice with the AK-47?”
“I have inverted the order a bit. Today I prefer that we learn together the use of the communication equipment the French have brought us. I assign them almost more importance than to weapons.”
They had been invited to a party at the house of Ousmar Djalali, organized under some pretext but really had the purpose of giving a welcome to Captain Romand who was a strategic ally of the tribe. Zoubaida was as usual the host along with her father for her excellent French, while Souady took care of the other guests, thirty members of the top strata of the village and some officers of the Foreign Legion.
Cristian had greeted the military in its rudimentary French, as well as practically every one of the guests who approached him briefly. Then he sat down to observe the party. He looked to his wife, who showed her splendid and slender silhouette in a beautiful dress that was completely unknown to him. Her natural grace and smoothness of movements produced an irrepressible sense of pride in the man. After a while spent in solitude he saw Souady coming in his direction. He rose when she approached and then they sat down together to talk. The lady told him all kinds of details about the life and circumstances of each one of the participants, who she fully knew. Cristian was looking to Romand by comments made by her mother-in-law and noticed that the French glanced an internal door with a gesture of admiration. Following the direction of the eyes of the military Cristian saw that Charfadine had appeared wrapped in a blue dress, no doubt her favorite color, girded at the waist so that it hinted her figure. The image was so shocking that the young man kept his gaze for several seconds while Souady was still talking to him. Making an effort he turned his eyes to his mother-in-law and answered some triviality to what she was saying.
Souady changed the axis of your conversation and also looked at her youngest daughter.
“Is she not beautiful?”
Taken by surprise, the young man slightly blushed and nodded affirmatively.
“When Charfadine was born, Zoubaida was fifteen years old. My husband and I had already lost the hope of having more children. I must thank Ousmar that he did not take more wives then. The birth of Charfadine was a gift from the gods.” Her eyes shone as she recalled her youth. “Just as we had done with Zoubaida after completing the elementary school in N'Djamena, we send Charfadine to France for his secondary studies in an élite school so she has received a wonderful education that everybody immediately notices. Then she agreed to return here, with her family and people but I think that this is not the environment in which she can flourish at her best.”She stopped. “Oh! Here comes Ousmar.” Souady then stood up and turned towards her husband leaving Cristian pensive and a bit perplexed. On the one hand he thanked the information on Charfadine and in general about his political family that Souady had given him, since Zoubaida had never made many references to her family past. On the other hand he wondered what was the reason for which his mother-in-law, with whom he had not had many talks before, had ostensibly sought an opportunity to approach him at the party and make these so intimate confidences. Given the conflictive relationship status in which he was Cristian, the talk wasn't indifferent for him. He wondered if it was simply a casual conversation or if on the contrary it had an implicit message for him, and in that case, which was that message.
Since Zoubaida was still occupied in her protocol activities, Cristian went out to the porch and walked a few steps trying to clarify his ideas. As he turned around he saw Charfadine leaving the house and follow in his footsteps in a distracted way. The girl smiled him, and he gave free rein to his feelings.
“Hello Charfadine. You look beautiful today.”
The smile of the woman turned flirtatious.
“Only today? Could it be the outfit?”
“No." Cristian coughed and added whispering. “You're a beautiful woman. Few times I've seen...” a lump in the throat prevented him to follow. He looked her perfect countenance, her huge black eyes, straight nose and the lips painted blue. He exhaled a sigh.
“My father would like that you joined the men in a meeting with le Capitaine Romand.” Replied Charfadine obviously flattered. “The meeting will take place in the tent you already know.”
So she was only carrying a message from her father! Although it solved a situation which could become complicated the outcome turned out disappointing for Cristian.
When he arrived the meeting had already begun. He sat as it was his custom beside Haroun.
Romand was talking.
“... as I already explained to some of you, France cannot send an additional contingent to Chad. We already have a few thousand men who are moving all the time in this huge country. In the Central African Republic the situation is desperate, the antibalaka and the Muslim rebels are gutting each other in the streets and our troops are actively engaged to separate the contenders. In my country the economic situation is deteriorating, the President has lost popular support and is weak and there is no way to justify higher costs overseas.”
He paused to take a breath and let his words to take effect. He went on.
“This does not mean however that we are going to leave you to your fate. We have brought a good quantity of modern weapons like the ones your eventual aggressors may have or better, since all come from ancient arsenals of the former Soviet Union. We will reinforce the medical team, and our communication equipments are most advanced. We will maintain permanent contact by radio with you from N'Djamena and informed our superiors in Paris on a regular basis. A new butchery like in Darfur will not be allowed. The world will not accept it! Finally, and although you do not need political advice I can still give you our opinion. It is appropriate that his clan reinforce its links with the rest of the ethnic Sara, since you all are of the same blood and have the same enemies.”
This last sentence caused a rumor among the attendees, in general of disapproval. Ousmar anticipated to any adverse demonstration speaking.
“As usual we thank to our friend le Capitaine Romand for the valuable material support and advice France is giving us. We value the perspective of keeping in touch with our French allies, especially if the situation deteriorates further.”
The French then stood up and expressed.
“This ethnic group is a model in all Chad and the whole Central Africa for your concern for people, your progressive mindset, and the involvement of its members. We will not let this light go off!”
Sahara Page 8
