Beyond the Sand Dune

by Asen Djinah

  ‘Once we start working the looms, we simply will not have time to do anything else. So let us mend the clothes and carry out repairs to the tents while we still have the time,’ Salma reminded them.

  Everyone recognised that difficult days were ahead. In ordinary times, life was already hard enough, relying on the meagre diet of milk, dates and bread to survive. No one had experienced a drought in their lifetime, apart from a few of the elderly whose tales of misery, famine and death had the others trembling with fear. They kept their anticipation of drought quiet from the other tribes, to avoid causing undue panic. It took the men nearly five weeks to sell the goats and half of the camels. The remaining camels would be kept for water duty as well as for carrying goods to the warehouses. When all their tasks had been completed, the tribe set up camp south of Kuffrat on the edge of town and waited for Rafiq to deliver the promised looms.

  It took only one week for the three girls to grasp the concept and the skills of carpet weaving. During the next three weeks, under the watchful eye of the supervisor, they practiced to build up speed. As they were based in the women’s room, they were able to remove their veils with only a headscarf to cover the hair. Although weaving required some level of concentration, the girls found the repetitive task quite soothing. One day, engrossed in her task, Amel unconsciously started humming softly under her breath.

  ‘Amel, please sing louder so we can hear you,’ one of her tribemates begged her, aware of her natural talent.

  ‘Amel usually sings at festival times when the tribes get together. She has the most wonderful voice and loves to sing,’ the other girl informed the women in the room.

  Amel did not need to be asked twice and soon her singing became a daily occurrence in the women’s room, as well as beyond. Her crystal clear and melodious voice travelled through the thin walls and reached the other working areas. Every morning, the workers looked forward to hearing the young girl sing. The high notes of her romantic melodies caused a tightening of the chest and a deep yearning in everyone’s heart. It made their work lighter.

  One day a young trader, smartly dressed and wearing a trimmed beard, came to the factory on business.

  ‘I would like to speak to Rafiq the carpet maker,’ he told the supervisor.

  ‘Sayyidi Rafiq is not here usually. His sons run the factory now. I will see if they can see you,’ the supervisor replied.

  While waiting in the lobby, the young man heard Amel’s silky voice singing the yearning of a girl who was desperately in love and who could not bear to be away from her sweetheart. The tall, handsome visitor was mesmerised by the enchanting song. He could not get the tune out of his head. It was the first time he was hearing the song, but it somehow sounded familiar, as though he had heard it before. After his meeting, he suddenly had an idea.

  ‘Can you take me on a tour of the factory? I would love to see your operation,’ he asked Rafiq’s sons, hoping to catch a glimpse of the singer.

  Rafiq’s sons were more than happy to show him around, feeling particularly pleased that their meeting had resulted in a very good business deal. However, the young businessman was disappointed that he was not taken into the women’s room. Through the open doorway he had only managed to catch a glimpse of the nodding head of the singer, who wore a navy blue head scarf. In his mind he had already built up the picture of a pretty face.

  ‘Such a captivating voice can only belong to an attractive girl,’ he thought.

  So enchanted was the young man that he inexplicably did something completely out of character; he came back to the factory that same very afternoon and lingered around, waiting for the factory to close for the day. Among the workers leaving, he saw a group of three girls, one of whom was wearing a veil over a dark blue head scarf. On a whim he decided to follow them discreetly at a distance. When he saw the girls entering Rafiq’s impressive villa, the infatuated young man became perplexed.

  ‘The girl must obviously be very rich and yet she is working in a carpet factory. How odd?’ he thought to himself, his curiosity piqued.

  As he watched the young women entering the villa, he noticed a servant coming out. Walking with a limp, the man greeted the girls cheerfully as he passed them. The girls replied back in the same joyful manner and went inside giggling and laughing.

  ‘The girls definitely live here, for they are familiar with the servant,’ the young man thought as he turned around to make his way back home.

  A few days later, as he was free in the evening with not much to do, he once again went to the factory and waited for the girls to leave. When they eventually came out, he followed them once again to the villa, humming under his breath. The melody of the song had stuck in his head and although he did not know the words, he had caught himself humming it a number of times over the last few days. He was desperate to catch a glimpse of the girl’s face, although he knew very well that it could not possibly lead to anything.

  ‘Even if I see her face and know where she lives, I won’t be able to do anything about it,’ he thought in despair.

  Addressing a veiled girl in the street – without the permission of her parents or chaperone – was considered disrespectful. Also, it would be completely inappropriate to knock on the villa’s door and ask to see the girl, since it would bring shame on her and her family. But despite not having seen her face, Hayder felt an inexplicable attraction to the tall, slender figure under the plain dark blue abaya and the graceful way she carried herself. He had caught himself wondering whether she was married or engaged, but concluded wishfully that she must be single.

  ‘No married woman would dare to sing in their place of work the way she does,’ he convinced himself.

  The following week, late in the afternoon, the young trader went back for the third time and waited while sipping a cup of tea at the stall opposite the factory. However, this time he did not see the singing girl among the workers leaving the site. He left feeling disappointed and strangely sad.

  ‘Well, it was not meant to be. Even if I had seen her face, it would not be appropriate to approach and talk to her,’ he consoled himself.

  So the young man went back to his normal routine, attending to his wholesale business. The loneliness that he had felt ever since he moved into town deepened.

  A few weeks later, the young man was on one of his regular visits to the souk to meet a client. Whilst talking to the man, his eyes casually wandered over his client’s shoulder and he noticed a man limping away.

  ‘There is something oddly familiar about that man,’ he thought although he could not quite place him.

  Seconds later, it suddenly dawned on him where he had seen the man before. He ended his conversation abruptly and ran in the direction the man had gone. He caught up with him easily and approached the limping servant.

  ‘Salam Alaikum, brother,’ he said, ‘May I have a word with you?’

  ‘Alaikum Salam, how can I help, Sayyidi?’ the man replied.

  The servant looked at the smart young man, feeling intimidated. He wondered what such a well-to-do man could possibly want with him. The young man did not want to tell the servant his real intentions, nor did he want to lie either, so he kept his request neutral.

  ‘I have a message to pass on to the three girls who were working at the factory, but I found out that they are not there anymore. Could you kindly let me know where I can find them?’ he asked, pretending he did not know that the girls lived at the villa.

  ‘They are nomad girls. They were here as Master Rafiq’s guests for a few weeks and now they have gone back to their camp at the edge of town, in the south. They should still be there for their tribe has set up camp permanently in this town. You can visit them there to deliver your message,’ the servant explained.

  ‘God Almighty is the best of planners’ the quote from the Holy Scripture came to the young man’s mind.

  ‘It is my fate to meet this girl and God has put this servant on my path,’ he thought with renewed hope.

 
That same afternoon, after completing his business dealings, the young man made his way eagerly to the south of the town. He easily located the camp, tucked away in a secluded spot, not too far from the busy waterhole. He watched as a line of camels slowly made its way from the camp to the well. He approached the well to fill his gourd and engage in conversation with the water boys from the camp.

  ‘Salam Alaikum, what is the latest news?’ the young man asked the typical question casually, his tribal knowledge coming in handy.

  The boys told him what they had heard about the weather, about who had passed away and about the stories they had heard at the other wells. They deliberately avoided any mention of the forthcoming drought they were expecting. But in any case, the young man was barely listening. He was only interested in finding out about the girl.

  ‘Where are you from?’ he finally inquired when there was a break in the conversation.

  ‘We are from the Qufreid tribe. We have set up camp recently and plan to stay here for the near future,’ one of the boys proudly said.

  The young man’s heart sank.

  ‘Oh no, not the Qufreid tribe! Oh God, why of all the tribes does the girl have to be from that appalling tribe? Why did You give me hope and send the servant my way when You knew very well she was from the Qufreid tribe?’ he lamented silently.

  And the young man turned around, his shoulders drooping as he headed back to town. He was utterly crestfallen; the Qufreids and the Juhayahs had a long-standing feud and had been involved in a bitter dispute for a very long time.

  Chapter 15

  Amel was sitting with Nabila in the soft, warm light at the opening of their tent, enjoying a quiet moment after her busy day. It was the golden hour before sunset, when everything took on a red glow in the diffused light, with long shadows cast onto the sand. She was feeling tired from the long hours working the weaving looms and had a slight backache. Having become proficient at carpet weaving, Amel and the other two girls had trained the rest of the tribe to operate the small vertical looms. Already the women of the tribe were working every daylight hour to weave as many carpets as possible. They were only trained in weaving the simpler, symmetrical ghiordes knots which were broader and used to express geometrical patterns that did not require fine detail. The carpets they were producing were for everyday use, not the fine and luxurious carpets which used the more complex asymmetrical knots.

  ‘Okhti, would you like me to rub your back?’ Nabila asked, seeing her sister wincing with pain.

  ‘No Nabila. It is not too bad and I should be fine later in the evening,’ Amel replied.

  As the two sisters sat quietly enjoying each other’s company and waiting for the evening prayer, Nabila saw a camel rider approaching from the direction of the water-well.

  ‘Okhti, look. We have a visitor,’ she said, quickly getting on her feet.

  ‘Quick, Nabila. Go and tell Abbi. The boys will send him to our tent as Uncle Basim is away at the warehouse,’ Amel told her sister.

  Amel quickly followed Nabila inside and both girls put on their niqab over their headscarves to cover their faces and made preparations to welcome the visitor. Abdul-Basir, who was resting, quickly sat up and adjusted his clothes, waiting for the caller to come.

  When the rider reached the camp, two boys led his camel away whilst one of them pointed him in the direction of Abdul-Basir’s tent. Standing at the entrance of the tent, the visitor reached out with his right hand and grabbed the tent pole.

  ‘Salam Alaikum, Abdul-Basir bin Abdul-Aziz of the Qufreid tribe. I am Jalal Al-Din of the Juhayah tribe. I have come to seek counsel with you,’ he announced, his hand still on the tent pole.

  Abdul-Basir, who had been getting up to welcome his visitor, froze on hearing the hated name of the Juhayah tribe. His hand immediately went to his dagger which he pulled from his waistband.

  ‘How dare our enemy come here in our midst? Are they not afraid of the Qufreids?’ he thought angrily.

  In the heat of the moment it did not occur to him that with his failing eyesight, his dagger would be of little use to him. Amel, who had been listening from the other side of the partition, swiftly rushed in and put a restraining hand on her father’s arm.

  ‘Abbi, he has touched the tent pole,’ she whispered in his ear.

  Abdul-Basir sighed as he sheathed his dagger. He felt resigned to invite the visitor inside the tent.

  ‘Alaikum Salam. Welcome to my tent, Jalal Al-Din of the Juhayah tribe and accept our hospitality. Please have a seat,’ he replied curtly.

  According to nomad tradition, if a desert traveller touched the tent pole, their hosts were obligated to welcome the guest – even if he was their bitter enemy – and offer hospitality for up to three days without any form of payment.

  The Story of Hayder

  Chapter 1

  Nuffay glanced sideways at Safwan and frowned. He had noticed that his colleague had not written a single word for the past half hour. Safwan’s face showed an intense concentration, as if he was in pain. He seemed completely unaware of his surroundings and hadn’t even heard Nuffay’s latest remark, lost in whatever was on his mind. His skinny frame was accentuated by the oversized thawb, which hung loosely on his skeletal body, his bony shoulders sticking out from under the thin white cotton. Both ulamas were sitting cross-legged, side by side on the rug in front of low writing tables, with stacks of papers beside them. Throughout the day they had been interviewing various contributors from all over town, writing down reported sayings of the Holy Prophet. As Nuffay observed him discreetly out of the corner of his eye, Safwan seemed to be rocking imperceptibly from side to side.

  ‘I have finished with the last deposition. I am going to freshen up for the evening prayers,’ Nuffay repeated.

  Safwan looked up, startled from his trance and frowned at his companion.

  ‘Sorry, what did you say?’ he queried.

  ‘I am going to get ready for the evening prayers,’ Nuffay reiterated for the third time.

  A look of relief lit up Safwan’s face.

  ‘At last, I can retire and attend to my problem,’ he thought.

  For the past hour, Safwan had been going through hell. The itching in his anus had unexpectedly returned and was even worse than a few weeks ago. Having believed that he’d been cured of the worm infestation for good, he was utterly dejected to feel the familiar, infuriating sensation in his back passage once again. He tried using the power of the mind to ignore the itching, but to no avail. With his attention completely taken over by the itching, he had been unable to concentrate on his work; he had not written a single word since the itching had returned. Without drawing his colleague’s attention, Safwan casually adjusted his cross-legged posture so that the heel of his right foot rested just below his back passage. When he was certain that Nuffay had not noticed his movement, he began to rock slowly from side to side to relieve the itching. On hearing Nuffay’s remark about calling it a day, he jumped to his feet.

  ‘I will stop too. We have just enough time to freshen up and get ready for the evening prayers,’ Safwan agreed, a bit too eagerly.

  As he hurried out of the room, his clothes hanging loosely from his gaunt frame made him look like a scarecrow swaying in the wind.

  ‘I can’t believe he has left me to tidy up and put away the papers,’ Nuffay frowned at his colleague’s lack of consideration.

  Despite his rival’s odd behaviour, Nuffay felt a sense of achievement after the first day of the project. He was looking forward to the next four weeks, as the future of the empire depended upon the success of their mission.

  The previous day the two scholars had arrived in the town of Akilah, the first of the four towns assigned to them. The journey had taken only four days, but to Nuffay and Safwan it had seemed like an eternity. Being academics leading comfortable lives, both men were not used to the harshness of long journeys on camelback. By the second day their posteriors were already sore from sitting in the saddle for long hours and thei
r backs ached from the undulating gait of the camels. The two scholars were weary and tired and for once had forgotten their rivalry as the hardships of the journey temporarily brought a sense of companionship between them. The guard Nass’r, assigned to them to serve as guide and protector, did his utmost to make the journey as bearable as possible.

  ‘I will avoid the open desert and take the longer route instead, moving from town to town. This way, we won’t have to camp out in the desert in the cold and can rest overnight in a boarding house with proper cooked food,’ he had told his charges at the start of the journey.

  Still, this had not stopped the ulamas from complaining endlessly.

  ‘It is so hot.’ Safwan complained not for the first time, ‘Is there a place we can stop for some shade?’

  ‘The cushion on my saddle is too hard. You should get a proper one at the next town,’ Nuffay moaned.

  They were not used to the sand and dust and despite gargling with water they could not get rid of the dryness in their throats. Worst of all, they had to use stones to clean themselves when attending to the call of nature, rather than using water.

  ‘This water is for drinking only. I am afraid you will have to use stones or sand,’ Nass’r had said with finality when he had first caught Nuffay using their precious water.

  Both scholars felt aggrieved and sulked throughout the journey. It was a relief to Nass’r when they finally reached their destination, having reached the limit of his patience. He was looking forward to having a break for the next week, after which he would have to escort the scholars to the next town.

  Although it was the middle of summer, the climate in Akilah was less torrid than in the central or eastern regions. Being close to the west coast, the town benefitted from the cooler sea breeze. The three travellers made their way directly to the residence of the imam who was expecting the two scholars. He was responsible for all the necessary arrangements for the week.