Harmattan

by Weston, Gavin

  ‘Yes,’ I said, sulkily.

  She gently wrenched the pen from me and poked the back of my hand with it.

  ‘Hey.’I looked up.

  ‘You know that I don’t think this journey of yours is a good idea. But, aside from that, I really do have to meet with these officials.’

  ‘I know that, Mademoiselle.’

  ‘Toh. I have to admit that I don’t much care for that Moussa fellow – and I don’t like the idea of him being responsible for you. I haven’t seen much evidence of responsibility from him while he’s been staying with your father, either. All he ever seems to do is smoke and play dominoes – that’s when he’s not quaffing beer and hanging around with those whores! Why can’t he help your father to fix his fences or something while he’s here?’

  ‘He’s not so bad,’ I said, surprising even myself.

  Sushie raised her eyebrows.

  ‘It’s the only way my father will permit me to travel to Niamey, Mademoiselle,’ I said. ‘Moussa is my father’s cousin. He will look after me.’

  ‘Hmm.’ She seemed unconvinced.

  ‘I have to see Mother,’ I said, fixing her eye. ‘How else can I do so? If you were to travel to the capital, Mademoiselle Sushie…’

  ‘I have no business there at the minute, Haoua.’

  ‘ Toh.’ I stared at the tabletop again.

  Sushie stood up and placed her chair beside mine. ‘Hey,’ she said.

  I looked up and she took my face in her hands.

  Her strange, pale blue eyes peered deep into mine. ‘Please don’t make this trip, Little One. I know you are worried about your mother. We all are. But going to Niamey will only distress you both.’

  ‘But she is going to be okay…’

  ‘No, Haoua.’

  ‘Yes!’ I shouted. ‘My mother is going to be fine! They told us in school about drugs that can be administered.’

  ‘There are no drugs to cure your mother, Haoua. They will make her as comfortable as possible in the hospital, but she is very weak and her immune system is not working… and drugs cost a great deal of money…’

  ‘Abdel will help,’ I said.

  ‘He can’t.’

  ‘What do you mean? Of course he can. He has a good job. He will pay for the medicine. I know my brother, Mademoiselle.’

  She shook her head and wiped my tears away with her thumbs. ‘I talked to him in Niamey. There’s been a lot of trouble, you know? He hasn’t been paid for months, Haoua.

  And, like I said, the medicine cannot cure her anyway. Besides, your mother told me that any money your brother had sent was gone.’

  ‘Gone where?’ I said.

  ‘You would need to ask your father about that.’

  ‘But if we had the money my mother would live?’

  ‘She might live a little longer.’

  ‘Inshallah. God will provide,’ I said. ‘God is great!’ but my words sounded hollow somehow.

  Sushie let go of my face and shrugged.

  ‘My shoes!’ I said. ‘We can use the money from the sale of my shoes.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be enough. Besides, do you really think that fellow would sell your shoes and then hand over the money for medication for your mother? I’ve heard about him and his ways, believe me. The walls have ears in Wadata. That’s not going to happen, Haoua.’

  I dried my eyes with the end of my pagne and looked into her eyes again.

  ‘Can’t you help us, Mademoiselle?’ I said very quietly.

  She held her palms out towards me and I knew that she was hurting too. ‘Stay here, Little One,’ she said. ‘Fatima needs you, Adamou needs you and – God knows –

  your father needs you too!’

  ‘I have to go,’ I said, standing up. ‘Wouldn’t you do the same if it was your mother?’

  Sushie nodded, sadly. ‘I’m sorry I can’t help you. How will you get to the camion post then?’

  ‘We will walk, I suppose.’

  ‘It’s a long way. You will need to leave very early. Can’t you ask Moussa to wait until the following day? I could give you a ride to the camion then perhaps.’

  ‘He says that he is leaving tomorrow.’

  Sushie stood up and, smiling, kneaded the back of my neck. ‘Well… take care, Little One. Be safe. Watch that snake, Moussa. And don’t go anywhere alone in Niamey. That place is crawling with crooks and pimps.’

  ‘Toh.’

  ‘And say hello to your handsome brother for me.’

  I grinned and nodded.

  ‘Give my regards to your mother too, please,’ she added, stroking my face.

  Weeks later, when I thought about this conversation again, I realised that she had probably doubted that her greeting would ever reach my mother’s ears.

  29

  I considered Mademoiselle Sushie to be a true friend; not just of mine, but also of my whole family. Nevertheless, I could not deny the fact that I was a little angry with her.

  I understood her concern for my well-being, but considered her pleas for me not to visit my mother in hospital irritating and pointless. I knew that her VCI business with the elders and the minister and his officials was extremely important – not just for our village, but for other neighbouring villages, such as Injala and Boreemah, whose inhabitants would soon be able to draw clean water closer to their homes too – but nothing seemed more important to me than my poor mother. I would have continued to walk to the river for the rest of my life if it could have helped her in any way.

  As I walked down the hill from Sushie’s compound, I was met by a stream of excited children, their school day over. It was only the worry of my mother’s illness which had prevented me from missing my friends, my teacher and my school work more – this and the fact that I was kept so very busy. But seeing this sea of happy faces now made my heart heavy. Some girls from my class greeted me; one of them, Aisha Gooti, paused to tell me that Miriam was not far behind. A group of boys ran past, shoving each other and sucking their teeth at me, but I put my head down and ignored them, only looking up again when I heard someone call my name. For a moment I thought it was Miriam, but my gaze was met not by the warm smile of my best friend but by the twisted scowls of Souley and her cronies coming from the opposite direction.

  ‘Hey, Boureima girl!’ Souley shouted, running up the hill towards me, closely followed by her gang. She stopped in front of me, her face looming down, close to my own. ‘Look, everyone,’ she sneered. ‘It’s little Haoua Boureima, who’s been kicked out of school!’

  ‘I haven’t been kicked out of school!’ I snapped. ‘Get out of my way, Souley!’

  I made to pass her, but she grabbed hold of my pagne and spun me back around to face her. ‘Stand still, boro dungurio, you silly little bitch. I want you to tell us all about your possessed mother.’

  I was furious. ‘You’re the bitch,’ I said. ‘My mother is not possessed!’

  Souley sucked her teeth while her cronies giggled mercilessly. ‘Uhuh. I heard that she has an evil spirit inside her and that not even the anasara could exorcise it. So the elders sent her off into the desert to wander alone – like a filthy leper!’

  ‘That’s not true! Let go of me!’ I struggled to free myself but two of the other girls grabbed my arms and held me fast.

  Souley was really enjoying herself now. ‘Really?’ she said. ‘So, what is the truth, Boureima girl? Could it be that she has AIDS?’ As she said the word she pushed my chest and the other girls released me and took a few steps away from me.

  I felt like a hunted animal, surrounded, trapped by vicious, snarling, hungry beasts. ‘Let me go,’ I said.

  ‘Where will you go?’ Souley persisted, her face close to mine again. ‘What will you do, little Haoua? Your whole family will have it, you know. You should go. All of you. You should get out of Wadata right now. My father says that your sort have brought a curse to our village.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Yes. Everybody knows what your father is like, Haoua. He to
o is cursed!’

  ‘The only cure is to fuck a young virgin!’ one of the other girls shouted.

  ‘…Instead of those wizened old whores!’ Souley added.

  They all laughed.

  My head was reeling. ‘If you were smart enough to go to school you’d know that Monsieur Boubacar has taught us the truth about AIDS!’ I said. ‘And you’ve heard it from Mademoiselle Sushie too!’

  ‘The anasaras don’t know!’ Souley snapped. ‘And neither do their slaves.

  They only say these things because they fear our spirits!’

  At last I managed to push through the huddle, just as Miriam and Oduntan came running up the hill towards us.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ Oduntan demanded, squaring up to Souley.

  ‘What are you going to do about it, idiot?’ Souley spat, and then turned her back on us, her cronies giggling and shoving each other as they left us standing on the slope. ‘Maybe Adamou Boureima will talk to you about this!’ Miriam shouted after them. ‘I’d like to see that worm try!’ Souley called back. More laughter.

  Miriam hooked her arm into mine as we watched them go. ‘What a little witch that Souley is!’ she said. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m okay,’ I said, despite the fact that I was shaking. I turned to Oduntan.

  ‘Thank you. God bless you.’

  I walked back to the Kantao’s compound with Miriam, explaining my plan to her with a combination of excitement and dread.

  ‘I think Mademoiselle Sushie is right to be concerned about your father’s cousin,’ she said. ‘I don’t think he is a very good person.’

  ‘What choice do I have, Miriam?’ I said, imploring her to encourage me in my decision.

  Madame Kantao was concerned also. She was pounding millet when we entered the compound, baby Narcisse tied to her back, rocked to sleep by the rhythm of her mother’s movements, but she put down her pestle to welcome us.

  ‘How’s your poor mother, dear?’ she said, a great warm smile on her broad face. Miriam spoke before I had a chance to answer. ‘Haoua’s going to visit Madame Boureima in Niamey!’ she said, throwing down her schoolbag.

  Madame Kantao looked surprised. ‘Come inside and tell me all about it,’ she said. ‘You can both have some of the delicious guavas that Mahamadou Alpha brought me today.’

  As chance would have it, Mahamadou Alpha, the brother of Miriam’s Uncle Memet and brother-in-law of her Aunt Ramatou, had made plans to leave our village early the following day to meet up with the camel train. Miriam had often told me how Memet had given up the nomadic way of life to settle in Wadata with Ramatou, Madame Kantao’s sister, but his brother Mahamadou had continued to work the salt caravans across the great Ténéré Desert, as their family had done for generations. I had met Miriam’s relations many times before and liked her family immensely, so when it was suggested that Mahamadou might agree to transport cousin Moussa and me to the camion post, my heart soared. At last, I would be on my way to see my mother. It was agreed that, for a small sum, Monsieur Mahamadou would offer us the services of his camels, provided we were at the Kantao compound at first light.

  As I walked to the entrance of the compound, Madame Kantao pressed a little brown paper package into my hand. ‘Take this, Little One,’ she whispered. ‘But do not let my husband know that I have given it to you! It will bring you luck and keep you safe during your journey.’ She glanced quickly over her shoulder and then indicated that I should open the package. It was a cockerel’s foot, threaded with fine cords and brightly coloured buttons. I thanked Madame Kantao for her kindness and, with the gift of a ripe guava each for my brother, sister, father and his cousin tied in a little bundle, I raced home to tell my family the good news.

  30

  Despite Moussa’s apparent determination to leave Wadata before dawn the following morning, he was still sleeping when I was ready to leave. I squatted in the shadows next to his bed, clutching my bundle and listening to the sounds of my family snoring peacefully in the next room. All of our farewells had been said the previous evening and there was nothing keeping me from setting off on my journey now but cousin Moussa’s slumber.

  The cockerels were beginning to crow and, my frustration getting the better of me, I leaned across and shook Moussa’s shoulder vigorously.

  He sat up suddenly and snapped at me. ‘What do you want, child?’

  ‘Monsieur,’ I said, ‘it is time for us to go. Monsieur Mahamadou will be leaving the Kantao compound very soon. I do not think that he will wait for us.’

  He grunted, slammed himself back down onto his bedding and pulled his blanket over his head.

  ‘Monsieur!’ I protested.

  Just then my father entered the room, carrying a lighted oil lamp. He looked at me without speaking, then poked at Moussa’s legs with his bare foot. ‘Come on, cousin,’ he said. ‘Get up now.’

  Moussa grunted again. ‘The girl can go on without me,’ he mumbled angrily through the blanket. ‘Mahamadou will have to take water for the journey.’ He showed his face now before continuing, ‘She can tell him to stop at the village on his way back from the river.’

  I was about to protest further, but my father put his hand up and shook his head gently, his face a combination of amusement and sleepy agitation. ‘That won’t do, Moussa. Mahamadou will head east after taking water.’

  We waited outside while Moussa dressed and gathered his belongings together.

  ‘You have the shoes?’ my father said.

  ‘Yes, Father.’

  ‘And you will give your mother my regards?’

  ‘I will, Father.’

  Moussa appeared at the doorway, looking grey and weary. He yawned, cleared his throat loudly and then spat into the previous evening’s ashes. ‘You have the shoes?’ he said to me.

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Toh.’ He turned to my father and embraced him limply.

  My father slapped him on the back and then, holding his cousin by the shoulders, he looked him in the eye. ‘You’ll look out for my daughter?’

  ‘Of course, Salim.’

  ‘May God go with you. Inshallah.’ He patted my shoulder, then turned and went back into the house.

  And so it was that we missed Monsieur Mahamadou and his camels; when we arrived at Miriam’s compound there was no sign of life. It was half light now, and at first I thought the Kantaos had not yet stirred, yet the beasts were nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Don’t just stand there, girl,’ Moussa said. ‘Go and find out how long ago he left.’ ‘We ought not to disturb them,’ I said. ‘If we head for the river we may be able to catch up.’

  ‘Go on!’ Moussa insisted, nudging me forward.

  I approached the house reluctantly, wary of waking baby Narcisse and thus the entire Kantao family. But, as luck would have it before I reached the doorway, Madame Kantao emerged from the house carrying a large basin. I could tell that she was a little startled by my presence.

  ‘Oh, child! I didn’t notice you at first!’ she said.

  ‘Fofo. I am sorry to frighten you, Madame.’

  ‘But you have missed Mahamadou, Little One!’

  I leaned towards her, whispering, ‘It was cousin Moussa’s fault. I could not stir him!’ She smiled at me, warmly, her scent – as always – somehow a heady mix of cooking and love. ‘A lazy man, eh?’

  I smiled back and nodded. ‘Do you think we can catch up with Monsieur Mahamadou?’

  ‘A fit young woman like you, Haoua? Certainly I do.’ She bent down to squint at me and lowered her voice. ‘I’m not so sure about that no-good cousin of your father’s, though!’

  We stifled our giggles, then Madame Kantao hugged me tightly and wished God’s blessing on me. ‘And keep the amulet close to you,’ she added.

  ‘ Toh. Please tell Miriam I’ll see her soon.’

  ‘Of course, dear. And you give your poor mother my best wishes. Toh, kala a tonton.’

  ‘What was all that cackling about?’ Moussa demanded, as
we headed for the river. ‘Nothing,’ I said.

  ‘It didn’t sound like nothing.’

  ‘It was nothing, Monsieur, really.’ I did not like to lie, but I wanted to concentrate on catching up with Monsieur Mahamadou rather than making small talk with cousin Moussa, so I decided to put a stop to the conversation there and then.

  ‘Madame Kantao was just telling me a funny story about Miriam’s baby sister.’

  ‘So tell me the funny story.’

  ‘I’m very tired, Monsieur,’ I said, skipping ahead of him through the scuffed camel tracks on the sun softened piste.

  ‘Walayi!’ he said, under his breath.

  We did not speak again until we were approaching the river. I was scanning the bank in an effort to catch sight of Monsieur Mahamadou and his animals when I felt myself wrenched backwards and found myself face to face with an irritated looking Moussa.

  ‘Wait!’ he said, dropping his head. ‘There’s something I meant to ask you.’ He was somewhat breathless and sweating heavily.

  The sour odour of his body wafted around me and I longed to step away from him but knew that I could not. To distract myself I listened to the shrieks of monkeys squabbling in the distance.

  At last he straightened himself. A large, black fly landed on his wet brow and followed a deep furrow to his temple. ‘Why did you take the shoes?’ he said.

  I was surprised by his question. ‘Monsieur?’

  ‘Why did you take the shoes?’ he repeated, giving me a little shake. ‘I don’t like it when people touch my things!’

  ‘Monsieur, I put the shoes in my bundle because I thought it would be easier for you if I carried them.’

  ‘Uhuh?’ he said, suspicion in his voice.

  ‘I left your flashlight beside your bed… and I only lent you my little radio, and missed it so… and the shoes are mine, after all…’

  He grabbed my chin then, and angled my face up towards his; not roughly, but still it unsettled me. ‘It’s good that you are carrying them. But they are not yours, child. I’m to escort you to Niamey. The shoes are my payment. Don’t forget it.’ He drew a gritty thumb across my lower lip then gave an odd smile before releasing me. ‘You ought to have asked me for the radio too,’ he said.