Baby Khaki's Wings

by Anar Ali

  “Oh, toto!” Aisha ran after the baby, arms high above her. “Come back, toto. Come back!”

  The baby was partly outside the window when Aisha reached out, caught an ankle and pulled, but a gust of wind spun around the baby like a silkworm and sucked her out even farther. Aisha held on, determined to pull the baby back inside—but the current was so strong that it lifted Aisha off the floor, so that together the ayah and the baby formed a straight line up—like balloons tied to the house to mark a celebration. For a moment, Aisha felt so light that she wanted to be completely lifted up and away, but as she continued to rise, panic filled her and she was reminded of the task at hand. She quickly curled her feet under the inside ledge of the window and tethered herself to the house. Eventually the wind let up, releasing both of them. They tumbled and collapsed onto the bedroom floor, Baby Khaki on top of Aisha.

  When Aisha regained her composure and stood to straighten herself out, she realized how foolish she had been: This devil-child is toying with me, trying to win the affections of my heart! No, she wouldn’t have it anymore. She wasn’t that gullible. Aisha was more determined than ever to stop the baby from flying. This was too risky! She had to cut the baby’s wings off maramoja.

  Aisha laid the baby on the cot, lifted one wing off the baby’s back, and carefully placed the tip of the scissors at the apex of the wings. Her hands trembled—this was no easy task, amputating a baby’s wings. But she had to do it. She made the first tear. A watery substance oozed from the wound, trickled down the baby’s back, and then dripped onto the cot. Aisha looked away. Please, God, save me. What am I doing? What has become of me that I can harm an innocent child? Aisha shook these thoughts out of her head and continued. More water gushed out as the scissors made their way down the first wing. No! Hapana! She threw the scissors on the floor. No! She wouldn’t do this. She couldn’t do it. She wasn’t a monster. Aisha licked her finger and applied it to the torn wing, then leaned down and kissed the wound. She would have to find another solution, one that was not as barbaric.

  —

  A FEW DAYS LATER Aisha heard rumours that a Zanzibari witch doctor had recently moved to Arusha, and she decided to investigate. She discovered that the witch doctor, Mamma Zulekha, lived on Old Moshi Road, just a few streets over. Maybe, just maybe, Aisha prayed, this waganga would help her. Aisha made arrangements to take the baby to Mamma Zulekha while the Khakis were at the mukhi’s house for their weekly game of karata.

  Mamma Zulekha was an old, old woman with a small wrinkled face, bloodshot eyes, and a shaven head. She wore a long white robe that was speckled with red dots. She welcomed Aisha and motioned for her to follow her to the shamba in the back and sit near a small fire. Aisha undressed the baby and placed her on Mamma Zulekha’s lap.

  Mamma Zulekha rubbed her head. “Yes, yes, I have heard of this phenomenon before. She is like big insect, hanh?” She laughed as she picked at Baby Khaki’s wings. “But, weh, it is too unusual for such a little baby to have learned the craft fatafut, oh-so-quickly—especially when she is landlocked. In Zanzibar or Pemba, I understand—the island winds can help the child on its first flight, carry it for miles upon miles until a messenger of Shatan claims it. But in this case, I don’t understand.” Mamma Zulekha paused. “Oh-yo, this can only mean that the baby has extra-special powers! I am certain of it—we must act very quickly. This uganga has been cast by a very strong djinn.”

  Aisha folded her arms, cupping her elbows in her palms. “Why, Mamma Zulekha, why must I endure so much suffering while others enjoy such worry-free lives? I have done nothing to deserve such a fate. Nothing at all. I am a God-fearing woman. I have had a difficult life, Mamma, but I have never complained. I have never asked for too much and yet this is what is served to me!”

  Mamma Zulekha nodded. “Yes, my child, we all are deserving of a good life, but you must have done something to generate so much ill will. Make no mistake, life is not so random.”

  Aisha hung her head.

  Mamma Zulekha reached across the fire and stroked her face. “Perhaps it is a simple matter, child. It could be that somebody is jealous of your beauty and has ordered this curse.”

  Aisha pushed Mamma Zulekha’s hand away. “Or it could be the mother’s fault! She is the one who has not taken all the normal precautions of preventing such deformities. I watch her. She is very careless—clipping her nails after sundown, taking evening baths, walking under trees even when she has her monthlies. It is her stupidity that has invited Shatan’s congregation into their house. She is asking for trouble! Yet I will be the one who ends up paying for her actions!” Aisha pounded her fists on her thighs. “Please, Mamma Zulekha, I beg you. Please help me. You are the only one who knows about my troubles. I am new in this town and cannot afford for anyone, not anyone, to know my secret. I am willing to do whatever it takes to stop this baby from flying.”

  Mamma Zulekha hesitated. “Yes, anything is possible, child.” She rubbed her hands vigorously over the fire and placed her palms on her eyelids. She then shrouded herself and the baby with a white sheet. At first, Mamma Zulekha rocked back and forth, but soon she began shaking and speaking in an incomprehensible language. Aisha instinctively stood up, ready to run. But suddenly Mamma Zulekha sprang up and the sheet slipped off her. Sweat covered her brow and dripped down her face. Mamma Zulekha held Baby Khaki in outstretched hands. “Yes, yes, I have a solution. I must see this baby daily for forty days in order to rid her of her ailment. This is the only way. The remedy will not work otherwise.”

  “Forty days, Mamma? Dear God, how will I do that? I cannot get away from the bwana’s house for forty days.” Aisha wrung the fabric of her dress around her finger. “Can I not administer the remedy myself?”

  Mamma Zulekha let out a belly laugh and shook her head.

  Aisha slumped down to the ground. “I don’t know what else to do, Mamma. My life depends on this.”

  Mamma Zulekha touched Aisha’s head. “You can apply the medicine, but your touch may well take forty years. My mother was a witch doctor, and her mother before that. Training is possible, but it can take years upon years. Such an intricate craft cannot just be learned overnight.”

  Aisha burst into tears. “I have no family, no husband. Where will I go when they throw me out on the street?”

  “Calm down, child, calm down. Let me think for one moment.” Mamma Zulekha reached for a cup, and after taking a long slurp, she closed her eyes. A few minutes later, she opened them. “Okay, okay. This is what you will do. I will brew an extra-strong remedy for the child. There will be some risk—but it has to be strong-kama-strong to offset the weakness in your touch. It is not the prescribed remedy, but it seems there is no other way.”

  Aisha stood up and rushed to Mamma Zulekha. “We have a solution!”

  “But I warn you,” Mamma Zulekha wagged her finger, “the welfare of the child will be in your hands entirely.”

  “Yes, yes, Mamma, that is fine.”

  Mamma Zulekha nodded and walked to the lone baobab tree. The tree had hundreds of nails hammered into its trunk and even more shreds of cloth hanging from its branches. She asked Aisha to hold the baby against the trunk, and then Mamma Zulekha pricked the baby under her arms and collected drops of blood on a silver tray. Strangely, the baby did not cry.

  “The remedy will take some days to produce. I will come and apply the first round. You will see what I do and then follow this plan daily for forty days, at the prescribed hour—one hour before sundown.”

  “Yes! Yes! It will work, I know it.” Aisha clapped her hands.

  “Don’t remain so confident,” Mamma Zulekha warned. “You will tempt Shatan to counter your strength.”

  “You are so wise. Of course. I will contain myself.” Aisha hugged Mamma Zulekha.

  Aisha paid Mamma Zulekha the pre-negotiated sum of money and they arranged a time for their next visit.

  That evening, Aisha slipped a thin sisal cord around Baby Khaki’s ankle and tied it to her w
rist. She would use this temporary solution until Mamma Zulekha’s concoction started to work.

  —

  MAMMA ZULEKHA ARRIVED as planned on the following Friday when the Khakis were at jamatkhana for their evening prayers. She carried a large bowl and several small sacks.

  “Come, Mamma, this way. We have to hurry, I don’t want the neighbours to see.” Aisha waved Mamma Zulekha through the garden gate. They rushed upstairs to the baby’s room.

  Aisha took Baby Khaki out of her hammock and placed her on the floor. The baby cooed. Aisha reached down and slipped the sisal cord off the baby’s ankle but kept it dangling from her wrist like a frayed umbilical cord.

  Mamma Zulekha turned the child to face east. “Watch and listen carefully, my child.”

  Aisha kneeled next to Mamma Zulekha. First, Mamma Zulekha performed a silent prayer, touched the baby’s head, then each hand, her stomach, and each foot. She lit some incense and waved it over the baby’s body. She tapped several herbs onto a silver tray, then reached into the top of her robe and removed a vial containing the baby’s blood. Using her fingers, she mixed the blood with the herbs, then flipped Baby Khaki onto her stomach and daubed medicine on the wings. She applied most of the remedy to the crux of the wings at the base of the baby’s neck, where the wings were fastened, and on the pouch opening, the thin slit between the baby’s shoulder blades. Mamma Zulekha recited a prayer five times and called on the demons.

  “Do not be angry with us, we will do all we can. To those who belong to the house of God, may they have mercy on you by their favour, and we ask of your pardon. Have pity on us and remove our terrible suffering. Pity her in whom you are, and forgive her with all forgiveness, because those who forgive die pious. Forgive us our sins, forgive, forgive, in the name of all true believers.” Mamma Zulekha sprinkled a bottle of rosewater all over the baby and then spread her palm across the middle of the baby’s back. “These wings shall get softer and softer and fall off after forty days, God-willing.”

  Aisha heard the front gate opening and the familiar sound of the Khakis’ white Audi. “Mamma, you must go. Hurry. They cannot find you here.”

  “Burn some incense, otherwise they will smell the remedy. And do not forget to put an offering on the roof each night. Now, go take care of the baby. I know my way out.” Mamma Zulekha cradled Aisha’s head in her hands. “Many blessings. Let us pray that the demons co-operate.”

  “Thank you! Thank you.” Aisha held Mamma Zulekha by the waist. “I am indebted to you forever.”

  Mamma Zulekha smiled. “No need to be so thankful. First, let us see if the altered remedy works—that is the important thing.” She waved goodbye and quickly shuffled out the door.

  After Aisha lit some sandalwood incense and pushed the bowl and sacks of medicine under her cot, she picked up Baby Khaki, wrapped her in a blanket, and placed her in the baby-hammock. She then sat down on a chair and hummed a nursery rhyme as she gently swung the baby. Aisha pinched the last remaining ray of light from the setting sun between her thumb and baby finger and slipped it into her mouth, let it sit there, trapped under her tongue. She laid her head back and curled her calves under the seat, letting her soft brown body ease into the chair.

  That night, Aisha dreamt she was pregnant. A nightingale pecked her plump belly, trying to crack it open. The baby wailed inside her, aching, it seemed, to get out. But just before the baby popped its head out and took its first breath, Aisha bolted up in bed. When she calmed herself down and was about to fall back to sleep, she heard what seemed like a bird flapping away through the open window.

  —

  EACH EVENING, one hour before sunset, Aisha administered the remedy exactly as prescribed. After each application, she would poke at the baby’s wings—testing them as if she were testing the flakiness of mandazi. Each night, the wings became visibly weaker, so that soon they were quite limp—as if they had been soaked in a washtub overnight. By the ninth night, when Aisha prodded the wings, she created a puncture the size of her index finger in the wings. Aisha smiled as she peeled the skin of the baby’s wing off her finger. Thank God, the prescription is working! Aisha would have to visit Mamma Zulekha soon to express her thanks. Aisha felt a surge of confidence; the end was near. She would soon be released from the terrible burden of hiding these wings. This sudden sense of freedom made Aisha laugh out loud. She had never been happier, had never felt lighter in her life. Her laughter spread like a bushfire, shooting up through her throat, filling her mouth, and finally bursting through her lips. She laughed so intensely that she eventually collapsed to the floor, rolling all over the room, intoxicated by this new feeling of freedom. When Aisha finally came to, she was completely exhausted and fell asleep immediately.

  As she slept, she dreamt that she was walking in and out of the corridors of Stone Town, but strangely, all the streets were deserted. The vendors had closed their shops and there were no schoolchildren to be seen, even though Aisha could hear the muffled voice of a child counting: moja, mbili, tatu, ready or not, here I come! She could also hear children scampering here and there, as if they were right next to her, but there was no one in sight—all of them, it seemed, were tucked away in the various gulleys and gutters of Stone Town. But Aisha could feel the children watching her. She stopped, snapped back around, hoping to catch a glimpse of one. But nothing. She was alone. She kneeled down and looked under the fish vendors’ stalls, peered into the tailor’s shop. Nothing. Where were they all? Just then, the muezzin’s voice bellowed over a loudspeaker with the call for prayers and the sky opened its belly. Water gushed out, pouring down on Zanzibar with such intensity that the island was lifted from the earth, eventually bobbing up and down in rainwater, just under the surface of the sky.

  —

  BY THE THIRTEENTH NIGHT, to Aisha’s horror, Baby Khaki’s wings started to get stronger, not softer! At first, Aisha ignored this change, chalking it up to the nuances of the prescription, but by the sixteenth night, Aisha became extremely worried and frustrated. Why wasn’t this remedy working? What had gone wrong? She was following the prescription exactly as ordered. Aisha decided that perhaps the solution was to apply more and more of the concoction on the wings. But it soon became apparent that the more she applied, the stronger the wings became, so that they became harder and harder to fold and tuck into their pouch. Once, they just popped straight out of the pouch as if they were breasts being pushed into a dress too small. Without thinking, Aisha reached for the scissors, but the baby slipped out of her arms and flew around the room creating a grand ruckus as she hit the walls and the closed windows. Aisha chased the baby back and forth across the room and finally cornered her. She pulled Baby Khaki down and then laid her on the cot, where she placed her knee firmly against the baby’s back, and reached, once again, for the scissors. Aisha was so preoccupied with the task at hand that she did not hear Mrs. Khaki walking up the stairs toward the baby’s room.

  “What are you doing?” Mrs. Khaki screamed, rushing toward her baby.

  Aisha stood up immediately. “Mamma?”

  Mrs. Khaki snatched the baby up from the cot. “Suno, husband, suno!” she yelled at the top of her lungs. “Call the doctor!” Mrs. Khaki turned to Aisha. “You devil-woman. Kumamayao!” She dispensed a solid slap across Aisha’s face. “What have you done? What have you done to my baby?” Mrs. Khaki cried and screamed, tears rushing out, ruining her makeup, as she continued to inspect her baby. “What is this?” She tentatively poked the wings. “Answer me, bhenchod! What have you done to my baby?”

  “Nothing, Mamma, nothing. The baby: she flies.”

  “What are you talking about?” Mrs. Khaki’s legs were shaking so much that she had to lay the baby back down on the cot. She then collapsed to the floor, patting the baby gently. “Husband!” she whimpered. “Please hurry up. The baby is hurt.”

  Aisha grabbed the baby from under Mrs. Khaki’s hands. She cupped the child in her hands and held her up to the ceiling. “Look, Mamma, the baby, she
flies.” Aisha released Baby Khaki upward, blowing at her like an eyelash for a wish, but the baby just fluttered her wings briefly, then tumbled down onto the cot, weakened, perhaps, from the earlier chase.

  Mrs. Khaki snatched her child from Aisha. “Have you gone mad?”

  Just then, Mr. Khaki rushed into the room and discovered his wife and daughter in this terrible state.

  “Look, look what the servant-girl has done to our child.” Mrs. Khaki displayed the baby’s back to her husband.

  Mr. Khaki erupted with shock and anger. “Pisha Mowla! What in God’s name has happened to my child?”

  “This is the work of the devil!” Mrs. Khaki was barely able to lift her arm, but she pointed to Aisha. “And she is the devil’s messenger!”

  Aisha felt limp with exhaustion—as if she had been purged of all her energy. “No, Mamma. I am a God-fearing woman. Please, spare me. I have done my best to take care of this child.”

  “You will pay for this!” Mr. Khaki told Aisha in an even but harsh tone. “You will never work anywhere in Tanzania, or for the matter, Zanzibar. Nowhere! You will wish you were dead.”

  “Please, bwana, please forgive me. I beg of you. Despite all my efforts, I was unable to ward off the spirits.”

  “So you admit it? You admit your liaison with Shatan himself?”

  Aisha felt cornered. She had nothing and nobody to fall back on, and although she knew the purity of her actions, she felt she had no choice but to repent. Aisha looked down. “Yes, sir, I admit it. Please have mercy on me!”

  Mr. Khaki felt reasonably satisfied with the confession and delighted that he would now have a greater amount of negotiating power over her. “You will have to pay for your mistakes.”