Silence Is My Mother Tongue

by Sulaiman Addonia

  My name is Saba, she said.

  Saba, Eyob said, I need someone to do chores – washing clothes, ironing. Can you do this?

  Chirping reached Saba’s ears. The birds sang loud, as if to make up for the lack of cockerels crowing. Nature has ways of rebalancing, of compensating for the absence of things.

  She rose from her sleep and was soon dressed and on her way through the square to the east of the camp, on her way to start her first day as a domestic servant. She had after all inherited her mother’s profession. She wanted to turn back inside the hut, wake her mother up and tell her the news that would perhaps mend some of what had broken between them.

  In the early-morning light, other girls appeared. Some were going to the forest to fetch firewood. Others to the river to get water. And some to the aid centre to queue. Girls owned the square at this time of the day before dawn. Saba heard their giggles, their laughter, their greetings, the see-you-laters, the be-carefuls-of: the snakes in the forest, the strong current at the river that had claimed the lives of a few girls, and the men at the open toilet.

  The sun dissolved the darkness. It was hot already.

  When she arrived Tedros was standing next to a heap of dirty laundry by the wall of the main hut where the family of two slept. The second hut had been turned into a kitchen. A third made into storage for their boxes, stuffed with goods.

  Tedros was wearing a T-shirt in the colours of the People’s Liberation Front flag. The yellow Marxist star rested on his chest. His heart must beat to justice and equality, Saba thought, recalling Zahra’s revolutionary slogans. She was about to collect the bundle of clothes and head to the river when Tedros stopped her. We have everything you need here, he said.

  Saba followed Tedros with her eyes to the kitchen, from where he brought out a large yellow washing bucket, two metal pails, a small open furnace, charcoal, a metal pot, soap tablets, a stool, and a stiff impression pressed against his shorts.

  You can use the water from the barrel, he said. But you must refill it after you finish.

  He smelt of chocolate and powdered milk. He sat in front of her on his father’s armchair as Saba set to work. She placed the water with a soap tablet to heat on the furnace, and separated the dirty laundry between whites and colours. After, she poured the hot soapy water into the bucket, and started with the white clothes. Steam rose from the bucket.

  Saba heard snoring. She looked up at Tedros’s long, thin face. His head slumped to the side. Saba was tempted to splash water on his face when she noticed a wet spot at the front of his shorts. That, she thought, I will have to wash later.

  Tedros woke up when a group of parents arrived with crying babies.

  Please, sir.

  Please give us what you can.

  Our children are hungry.

  Heal a mother’s heart.

  Tedros stormed inside the hut and slammed the door behind him. Saba wondered about his own mother, and why she wasn’t here.

  When Eyob emerged from his hut, he greeted Saba as he lowered himself into his armchair. Heat released fragrance from his neck. He opened a notebook, holding it open, but he didn’t write a word. The blank pages flapped in the breeze. The nothingness of the camp has found its way to his lap already, Saba thought.

  When Saba finished with her job, Tedros sauntered out of the hut holding cash. She couldn’t recognize the currency. This is not birr, she said.

  Birr! Tedros laughed and for the first time, Saba saw the gap between his front teeth. His face became rounder. And more appealing, she thought.

  If you lived in the city you would know that the note in your hand is a pound note. We are in a different country.

  He shook his head.

  Saba looked at the creased note again. This is perfect, she thought. It was what she needed to save for her education in the city once refugees could leave the camp. Permission to travel, promised by the aid workers, couldn’t come soon enough.

  So you managed to find a job in a camp, said the Khwaja as he welcomed Saba. You are planning your departure already.

  Who told you? Saba asked. One can’t even keep thoughts and dreams secret in this place.

  The Khwaja laughed. Here, let’s go inside and study, he said.

  Besides his yellow blanket, multi-coloured chair and jute sacks, he also had two books of poetry that he had promised to lend Saba once she could read English. His eyes bulged out when he put on his reading glasses. He jabbed his finger at the inequality article again. How can they have all this wealth and yet be so poorly versed in human matters?

  The British graduate was on Saba’s mind when she arrived at work the next morning. Saba greeted the businessman and headed to the kitchen hut to collect the laundry. It was locked. She tiptoed past Eyob to where Tedros was sleeping to get the keys. Good morning, Saba said, as Tedros stepped out.

  What’s good about life in this place? he asked.

  He guffawed. A whiff of alcohol escaped his mouth.

  With the keys in hand, Saba turned when she noticed Hagos walking towards them, balancing two jerrycans filled with water on a stick over his shoulders. He tripped over a stone and splashed water on Eyob.

  Tedros rushed to his father’s side. Papa, are you all right?

  Eyob sat still, eyes fixed on Hagos. He said nothing.

  Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, Tedros dried the water on his father’s shirt. I am sorry, Saba said. I am so sorry.

  Why doesn’t he speak for himself? Tedros jumped to his feet, standing in front of Hagos.

  Hagos didn’t move. Some water still ran from the sides of the jerrycans suspended on the stick over his shoulders. The evening before, Saba had shared with her brother her plans for the future. Saba hoped Eyob would not get rid of her. Not now.

  I am sorry, Sir Eyob, Saba said again. My brother didn’t mean it.

  But in her mind, she wasn’t so sure. She wondered if her brother had deliberately set himself to get her fired and thwart the dream she had started to work towards, to leave this place.

  Back in their hut, Saba lay in her blanket, wondering if she had lost her job. Usually, after she finished, Eyob would confirm another shift for the week ahead. This time, though, he said nothing. He just stared at Hagos again. And as his eyes settled on her brother, Saba noticed how the veins on Eyob’s neck throbbed.

  Lying on her blanket, Saba thought about Eyob and what it was about Hagos that had made the businessman’s heart almost pulse out of his neck. Hagos stretched beside her and put his arm around her. Saba turned to face him. Hagos, did you do that on purpose? she asked.

  Hagos looked away.

  Did you want me to get fired?

  Silence.

  I mean, why else would you just come there without telling me?

  Silence.

  But how could you have told me?

  Hagos tried to jerk away, but Saba held him back. I am sorry, she said.

  In the evening, Saba, her hair washed and wrapped in a towel by Hagos, was sitting outside with her mother when the businessman came to their hut. Saba helped her mother to her feet. Welcome, Mr Eyob, the mother said. Your presence brightens our home.

  You and everyone in your household is the source of this glow, he said.

  May God bless you, the mother said.

  Saba, I am not upset by what happened earlier today, Eyob said. In fact, it would be my pleasure if you want Hagos to help you at work.

  Saba called on Hagos to come out. He squeezed himself between his sister and his mother. When his hand shook against her, Saba held it and caressed it with her thumb. Eyob greeted Hagos, then raised his head towards the sky, and as he looked back at Hagos again, Saba saw the glint in the businessman’s eyes.

  Silence.

  Their mother coughed.

  Ah, well, that’s all. Actually, I am going for a walk. Hagos, the businessman said, I could do with some company. Would you like to join me?

  I am sorry, Mr Eyob, the mother said. But my son would be no good
. He doesn’t talk.

  Silence can make company even more interesting, Eyob smiled.

  And as Hagos and Eyob entered the bustling square, where people asserted their existence with endless conversations, Saba felt as though Hagos was finally stepping outside his silent world.

  Hagos was no longer invisible, she thought. People could see him now that he walked beside the businessman.

  Hagos and the businessman walked daily. The businessman would come to pick up his new friend every evening. And the two would find their way to the outskirts of the camp. It is peaceful, Eyob told Saba and her mother one evening, as he waited for Hagos. He pointed to the wild hibiscus-filled hills bathing in the sunset. It suits us both.

  But what suited them up in the hills? Saba wanted to ask. Was it the silence, the rugged landscape, the fresh air, the wild hibiscus or being away from people? Saba longed to hear Hagos’s thoughts and feelings now that he had found a friend other than her.

  Soapy water streamed from under the door.

  Saba, tell your brother to hurry up, said the mother. How long does it take him to finish his bath?

  I am not in a hurry, said the businessman.

  A group of men and women crept up nearer. Their murmurs grew. Saba looked away from them. Hagos emerged in white T-shirt and shorts, smelling as if he’d bathed in Indian coconut oil.

  The crowd parted. Eyob and Hagos set off to the outskirts of the camp where the sunset had settled into the curves of the hills adorned with wild flowers.

  MEN ARE EASY TO READ

  One evening, soon after Hagos and the businessman had set off for their walk, Saba took out a bucket to wash herself. Her mother was out having coffee with Samhiya’s mother. Saba sat inside the bucket and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Peace in this place was only present in her imagination, so Saba imagined she was in a river, floating naked past trees, wilderness, villages, animals, life. She felt the rain on her body.

  Peace, Saba mumbled, pressing her weight into the bucket, into a moment alone so blissful. The wind caressed back. It was making love to her, or so she felt as it blew through cracks in the door and walls and gaps in the thatched roof, stroking her wet skin from all directions, kissing her ears, the bone at her nape, the curves of her breasts. Saba wanted to possess. So she arched her back, revealing more of herself to the wind, directing this mysterious lover to where she liked to be touched and how.

  With the elements at her behest, suddenly the door opened, her mother storming in past her, pulling her scarf over her face.

  Saba dried her body and stood by the pole, as water dripped from her hair. She wrapped her arms around herself. A tremor of unsatisfied desire went through her. It took her a while before she managed to contain the fire under her wet skin. Instead of walking up to her mother, Saba sat on her blanket and asked her mother, in a low voice, what had happened.

  Her mother didn’t respond. Saba let out a long breath as if relieved by her mother’s silence. But a familiar guilt resurfaced quickly when the mother hunched herself into a ball, making herself small. Seeing her mother in this position stirred Saba’s soul, yet she couldn’t move, she couldn’t rush to her mother’s side. She was sure that in the past she had known how to react to her mother’s sadness.

  Her head throbbed. She stood up, and was about to leave the hut, when the midwife arrived with Samhiya’s mother. Saba lay back on the blanket and faced the wall, but she could still hear their conversation.

  You should know by now, said Samhiya’s mother. People talk. You have dodged bullets, you will survive sharp tongues. Come back, our coffee will get cold.

  How can I sit there and listen to the things they are saying about my son? said the mother. You know what that man asked me, ah, why a wealthy educated businessman from the city is interested in a villager who is mute and cannot read or write?

  Stop whimpering. At least they are not talking about her, for once, said the midwife, bringing a smile to Saba. And don’t let crying be your first response. Can you not see it is good news?

  What’s good about people belittling my son?

  Saba smiled when her mother talked back at the midwife, an elation that didn’t last when the midwife said: Think for yourself and try to understand why Eyob is doing it. I expected you to realize this, but let me explain.

  You don’t need to explain, said the mother. That man told me my son is … I can’t even say it.

  God forgive us, said the midwife. Don’t even say it. We don’t have these things in our culture. Eyob is a man of God. He was married and he has a son. How can he do that if he goes with boys, ah? But people in this camp are jealous of your son and you.

  The midwife laughed. Listen to this carefully. Men, my dear, are easy to read. The businessman is in love with Saba and he is waiting for her to become a woman.

  That makes sense, Saba heard Samhiya’s mother say. In our country, men used to buy jewellery to make a girl love them. But we are in a camp, and all we have left is each other to use to get what we want.

  Saba lifted the scarf off her face and glared at the wall. The women talked about her as if she wasn’t in the hut. As if she couldn’t hear. Yet, she was the centre of their attention. And for that they had to make her invisible in their eyes.

  Saba turned her attention back to the women. The midwife’s words seemed to placate Saba’s mother. But then her tone sounded heavy, as if all sorrows passed through her throat at the same time as her words when she lamented that her daughter would marry before her older brother.

  Hagos was in Saba’s mind later that evening as she watched her brother return from his evening stroll with the businessman. Eyob stood on the other side of the square, close to the aid centre. Hagos stopped and turned to look back at the businessman. He waved and continued on his way home, towards Saba.

  Until now, before overhearing that conversation between the women earlier, Saba had imagined other reasons for Eyob’s befriending of Hagos. She knew people liked to talk and were in need of good listeners, but it was also clear that the businessman appreciated silence. Hagos could provide Eyob with both: listen whenever he wanted to talk and be quiet whenever he preferred silence, without having to be asked.

  This advantage people had over Hagos wasn’t new. Saba remembered the times back home when she overheard her cousin telling Hagos about her love affairs. Without a voice, Hagos was a safe with keys that no one would ever find. Saba knew this very well, and felt total freedom in his presence. She’d even masturbate knowing that even if he woke up, he couldn’t tell anyone. Her desires and secrets were safe in Hagos’s chest.

  Hagos hugged Saba. She smelt Eyob’s cologne on his skin and that confirmed in her mind how close the businessman was getting to Hagos in order to get to her. Yes, she loved her brother but she never meant for that love to carry another man to her on its wave.

  Hagos took off his shirt and lay in his blanket, facing the wall. Saba sat next to him. Sweat rolled down his back. Saba steadied her hand as she wiped perspiration off his skin. She imagined some time from now when Eyob would succeed and her brother would be left behind, dying a virgin as the men at Azyeb’s bar had predicted.

  THE PROSTITUTE

  Saba collected the laundry to take to the river while Hagos cooked. This division of labour suited them both. Saba craved the outside and the silence away from the camp, while Hagos preferred home life.

  At the river, Saba sat far away from the crowd of people but when she heard whimpering she realized she wasn’t alone. A shaven-headed young girl sat nearby, arms wrapped around her ankles, chin on her knees, staring out at the water.

  Saba walked up and sat next to her. Is everything all right? she asked.

  The girl did not respond. Saba sat close, rubbing her back, and asked again what was wrong. Eventually the girl raised her head, weeping freely now. Saba hugged her close and gently coaxed the story out of her. The young girl had been beaten by her parents earlier that day when they found out she worked for a pros
titute. The midwife told my father, the girl said. But I didn’t know she was sharmota. I went to ask her for a job when I saw her unload nice furniture when she arrived in the camp.

  Saba remembered the woman who arrived from the city the same night as Eyob and Tedros.

  Nasnet is generous, full of joy and has a good heart, the girl said in a whisper, thanking Saba for talking to her.

  It was a scorching afternoon and the place was almost deserted when Saba arrived at Nasnet’s hut. She could do with some laughter, Saba decided as she knocked. The door creaked open. A woman of average height with long curly hair and a silky nightgown shuffled out.

  Yes? asked Nasnet, rubbing her face, yawning.

  You look tired, Saba said. Maybe I should leave you alone and come back later.

  Come back, why? Nasnet asked.

  I know your help left and I thought you might need a new one.

  Thank you but no. I need to sleep now. Nasnet shut the door.

  Saba knocked again. Nasnet opened, and this time hissed: Don’t you know what they are all saying about me? I am a prostitute. I am diseased.

  Do you need a helper or not?

  Nasnet stared at Saba. Did you see what happened to that poor girl? Did you see how badly she was beaten because she worked for me?

  I can start tomorrow morning, said Saba.

  Nasnet looked at Saba but said nothing.

  Can I start tomorrow? Please.

  When Saba arrived at Nasnet’s the next morning, her new employer emerged with her hair in pink rollers and a mountain of laundry in her arms. It was a busy night, Nasnet said, winking. Good business for me means good pay for you.

  I need to advertise your services then, Saba said.

  Nasnet laughed. Come, sweetheart, let’s go to my kitchen, she said, kicking the door of an adjacent hut open with her foot.

  Saba wondered how Nasnet had managed to get two huts for herself. She decided not to ask. Dropping the pile of clothes next to a bucket placed between an open furnace and a box with pots and knives, Nasnet turned and asked Saba to sit. This is a nice leather stool, she said. I’ll leave you to it now. But I’ll come and join you when I finish with my hair. We can talk then.