First he put a large, brightly ornamented, blue wooden box down on the table and then three little green boxes. Pursing her lips, Madam Lilla kept her head high. She made a gesture with her chin that was similar to the one the old man had made. But nothing happened. We stood there. Lightly she turned to us, her lips so tightly locked they had almost disappeared and she raised an eyebrow, nothing more. I got the message and I opened the box directly in front of her. Inside was a large silver necklace. Madam Lilla looked down at it with indifference. Her head still bowed her eyes swivelled to the man and a smile played on the corner of her mouth. Then with another subtle gesture she asked us to open the other boxes. Amira opened them to find three smaller silver necklaces with the same sign. Madam Lilla only shut her eyes in approval. Then the old man walked over to us, as if walking to his past. That’s when I realized what was strange about him: his face was blue. Bluish. From a certain angle it was like looking at blue pines. He came and stood over us with no intention of sitting down. Madam Lilla didn’t offer him a seat. Leaning his head back, his bluish face shimmered in the sunlight.
“Tin,” was all he said and then again.
“Tin… Tin…. Tin Abutut!”
Madam Lilla only ever so gently and imperceptibly nodded. Silence again. The man narrowed his eyes as if he had spotted something in the distance. Madam Lilla brought her hand to her ear. I hadn’t ever noticed before, none of us had noticed – she wore silver earrings that bore the same sign as the necklace. She touched an earring then folded her hands on her lap. The man bowed his head and, I think, he was smiling as he looked down at his cane. Then he brought his trembling hand to his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a white handkerchief that was stained blue. He wiped his eyes and put the handkerchief back in his pocket. This time Madam Lilla lowered her head. I don’t think she smiled, she only seemed to have accepted something.
“They are waiting for you,” said the man, and that was all. He turned and left but then stopped and slowly turned around to face us.
“Do they know how to ride camels?”
Madam Lilla lowered her chin once and kept silent. The old man raised his hand and waved as he left. Piece by piece, he climbed back into the jeep.
“Yes,” said Maryam, “unfortunately we have already learned how to ride camels!”
*
“Yallah! Yallah! Yallah!”
“What do you mean yallah!? What do you mean yallah? Wait a minute! I screamed, looking more and more miserable as my camel suddenly reared up on its hind legs. “Allah, Allah, Allah,” I kept repeating until the fear that I might really frighten the beast overcame my desire to cry out.
Sitting on top of a camel is like being up in a skyscraper that can breathe and think; only add to the experience all the bones and layers of skin you feel crackling and rippling underneath you. It’s the kind of shock that makes you think – if you are up there on a camel – ‘this is the end for me’, and if you are just watching you might think, ‘how nice if we could just watch this all the time’. Sounding like a father chucking his boy into the sea to sink or swim, Madam Lilla cries out, “You can do so much more than you think! You must learn to overcome your fears. The boundaries…”
I was about to unleash a curse that would travel all the way to Timbuktu. But the crazy camel (of course the camel was perfectly sane, quite mild-mannered even) – ponderously turned round to look me with that gloomy glare, which said something like, “but why all the ruckus, my dear friend? Does such behaviour befit you? Befit either of us for that matter?” I felt ashamed. And in a remarkably short period of time my camel friend and I became quite the team. Better said he treated me with maturity and I came to my senses. In that moment I understood why women gave those quick short breaths when they went into labour. They huffed and puffed like that so that the gusts of air they had swallowed in fear wouldn’t burst their lungs. Now I was breathing exactly the same way: in quick, rapid puffs. And it seemed the camel was cursing under his breath; now he was suspiciously silent.
Maryam and Amira had been discussing the Arab Spring from the moment they had opened their eyes that morning. While I was on the top of my camel struggling for dear life, they were still talking.
Maryam: “I don’t know how all this sits with Saida… Taking guns from the English then calling it a people’s revolution.”
Amira: “But it’s different for the Amazigh, they’ve been seeking official recognition for years. For them it’s a bona fide uprising.”
Maryam: “But you know Libyans…” (laughing sarcastically) “I mean…”
Amira: (laughing) “Yani…”
Perched on top of my camel I couldn’t help but catch the racist undertones in the discussion. As they ripped into the Libyans, Maryam and Amira were getting on like a house on fire.
Below me Madam Lilla was still talking.
“You already know how to do it. It’s just that you’ve forgotten. Think about it that way. Now remember, just let your body go and move with the camel.”
Providing there was a return route from Timbuktu! A two-way street! I said under my breath. Coming out of me were those quick, rapid puffs! That’s how we started our aerial dance. With every step the camel took a wave went up my spine and I was suddenly breakdancing, my head shaking like I was making buttermilk. In no time this stupid grin somehow took shape on my face, and Madam Lilla kept bellowing from below, “Don’t let yourself go so much, you’ll feel drunk.”
Maryam and Amira were still at it.
Maryam: “I mean Madam Lilla is right on that issue. Libya is going to pay for this collaboration when all is said and done.”
Amira: “First of all I really don’t think things here are going to work themselves out any time soon. These Libyan Arabs will never let the Amazigh get what they want, give them recognition and all that, I mean I really don’t think so. But in terms of this collaboration the Egyptians… (laughing) Yani… ”
Maryam: “What? What’s that you say, mademoiselle?”
Amira: “Oh sister, you have got to drop this Egypt-is-the mother-of-the-world posturing of yours. You also collaborated with the army, and let’s see how the people in Tahrir get their noses out of that mess.”
Maryam: “Egypt, not Tunisia.”
Amira: “Oh come off it… Just accept it, sister. We were the only ones who pulled this off.”
Maryam: “What does that have to do with anything? You can’t pull off a real revolution in such a short time. The spirit in Egypt is changing. You need time for these kinds of things.”
Amira: “What do you mean by that? That Tunisia isn’t changing? Haven’t you seen the people there? They’re starting to talk.”
Maryam: “Your grassroots organization pre-revolution was nothing next to what we had in Egypt. In Egypt we have civil society groups in poor regions. I have little hope in the opposition in Tunisia. People in Egypt will open up a space for politics once all the fuss in Tahrir is over. Tunisia isn’t like that. You only have all this online activity.”
Amira: “So only you have such a space. We don’t understand shit about what’s going on? And when you talk about grassroots organization you’re talking about the Muslim Brotherhood. In both elections and in civil group organizations they’ll destroy you. Yani!”
Maryam: “Even if no one else knows this, you know that all this nonsense in Tunisia about being ‘western’ is nothing but window dressing.”
Amira: “You got that right but when they draw up a new constitution they won’t let a single item in there that has to do with Sharia law.”
Maryam: “Sweet dreams, mademoiselle.”
Amira: “As if they would actually set up a Tahrir government in Cairo. You never know what will come out of it. Our people won’t give the revolution away to people promoting Sharia law.”
Maryam: “We’ll see about that.”
Amira: “Oh yes, we will.”
I’d had enough I suppose. I could hear Maryam and Amira speaking to each other hurrie
dly in hushed tones over the sweet, deep breathing of the camel. Now there was nothing else in the world but me and the creature. It was as if I could no longer see the old man who was leading us. When you truly let your body go everything did fall into place. For instance I could have drifted off on camelback if I just let go. Slipping into a trance, I would cross into the Sahara, the rocking motion was that sweet. Just let me go! Of course the exhilaration didn’t last long because when the camel lightly shook his head from side to side, there they were again: my quick, rapid puffs! Madam Lilla was laughing at me from below:
“Brava! Brava! Good, very good indeed. Now he will bring the camel to its knees. Lean back, not on the tips of your feet, but with your weight on your heels.”
I followed her instructions and with a shudder that seemed like an earthquake the camel-skyscraper collapsed with me trying to keep my balance on the top. And then in a flash the building was up again. This time I leaned back and finally the camel sat down on its back legs. Madam Lilla called out: “Tense up your ankles when you jump, but first slide down.”
Following her instructions, I managed to climb off. The adrenaline felt like a fresh spring rain; I was drunk on happiness. Before they had even called for her, Maryam hopped over to the camel. When she had woken up that morning she was in a right state looking as if she had stomach-ache. But clearly she was now fine as she stubbornly climbed up onto the camel. As if born in the desert her intention was to get the camel running straight away. Madam Lilla intervened. Looking at me and Amira, she said, “What’s wrong with this woman? She looked sick this morning.” To which both of us replied, “Oh no, it’s always like that, it passes pretty quickly.” Raising an eyebrow, she continued to issue Maryam commands. But Maryam was already a camel rider of forty years, joking with the man holding the reins.
Then it was Amira’s turn. She reluctantly walked over to the animal and Madam Lilla said,“It’s like dancing. You’ll do it perfectly. So hop on up and sit there like a lady.”
With the man’s help Amira sprang up onto the camel in such a way you might think she was a desert princess.
“Getting on and off are the important parts,” says Madam Lilla when Amira finished her tour. And with that we set off on a second round. Several times Madam Lilla cried out for us to lean back on our heels. She also had some fascinating things to say about camels.
“The animal you are now sitting on is a hundred times stronger than you are. But he doesn’t know that. Only you know that. So you keep that to yourself.” Then laughing, she adds, “Just like men.”
It was impossible to keep control of the camel and marvel at Madam Lilla at the same time; the first time she really exploded with laughter.
She went on. “The camel should never forget who is in control. Don’t assume that control isn’t in your hands even for a moment. Then he’ll understand. They might not understand anything else but they’ll understand this; again just like men. Ha ha ha!”
When we were all up on our camels, Madam Lilla was really having a grand old time.
“Don’t look at the camel, keep your eyes fixed ahead. Otherwise you’ll get sick to your stomach,” she calls out to Maryam.
“Just like men,” laughs Amira.
Suddenly serious, Madam Lilla says, “Only if you’re stupid enough to pick the worst of the lot. If you actually get tricked into marrying.” Her words rang out in the air, creating an odd alienating effect, and she laughed to see her joke had fallen on deaf ears.
I think I was secretly in love with Madam Lilla. Her otherworldly flights aside and ignoring the whole mother goddess spiel and her playing the role of the prophetess, she really was a fun woman. It was like she never took herself quite as seriously as other people took her. And now that we were members of the inner circle, it was like we had tickets to a private show: Madam Lilla Makes Fun of Herself. Amira let out a reluctant laugh and asked, “Have you ever been married, Madam Lilla?”
She was in a great mood and seemed ready to take any question thrown at her.
“Marriage, my sweet lady, is a kind of relationship where you see the patterns of porcelain sets more than you see the face of a man. As for me, thank God, I always had more exciting things in my life than porcelain sets. Ha ha ha!
“Oh my dear Amira, no man would have you for a lifetime. No man would even marry someone like you. And the man who does … well no doubt he’d need huge amounts of self-confidence.”
Frustrated, Amira said, “And so we’re always going to be alone?”
Madam Lilla fixed Amira’s hair.
“No, sweetie, it’s just that from time to time you will be alone. For even the most boorish men will know how to defend themselves against people like you. If they know nothing else they’ll know this. I have always believed this is knowledge that comes down to them from their hunting past. And seeing as you aren’t birds of prey… Otherwise you wouldn’t be up here on the backs of camels.”
Amira pouted her lips and looked into the distance as Madam Lilla laughed. She seemed a little offended so Madam Lilla tried to bring her back into the silly game.
“My dear friend, you’ve been given something that people rarely receive: the gift of dance. When the chance for such a wondrous life awaits you why go for the porcelain set?”
Amira and Madam Lilla laughed together. “And as for you,” she said, turning to me with a finger raised.
“You, young lady, it seems to me that you’re not looking after your inner garden. I get the impression that…”
She was interrupted by a scream. The man leading the camel in front of us was shouting wildly at Maryam, and calling out to Madam Lilla, angrily kicking up dust. Letting go of the camel, he came over to us. Madam Lilla was waving her hand as if to say, ‘what’s the matter?’ as the man continued to shout at the top of his lungs. It was Libyan dialect which I couldn’t really understand.
Amira exclaimed, “Maryam has thrown herself off her camel?”
Maryam returned on foot, “Oh for Allah, why would I do such a thing. I didn’t do anything of the sort.”
Madam Lilla narrowed her eyes suspiciously: “There’s something strange about this woman,” she said. It was the third time she’d said the same thing.
*
That morning I was wandering about the house in a daze. Wondering if there were any tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, olives and things for breakfast, maybe a little white cheese, too, mundane dreams banging about in my head, when I hear Saida suddenly shouting in the living room: “Mother f…!” I peer inside the room where those three girls were watching Sex and the City the night before to see Saida standing in front of the television, watching CNN, with the same three girls.
She probably hadn’t slept in the night, overseeing the packing of all those guns, but now she looked totally refreshed. Struggling to focus on the screen I made out a map of Libya. Every now and then the heads of three middle-aged men appeared. Then a broadcaster was standing in front of a map of Libya, asking questions. Finally I grasped what was going on. This was truly worthy of some foul language. The representatives of three multinational oil companies and an English man were discussing the matter of Libyan oil. Cool and collected, they were going over what, in their minds, needed to be done… Going on about how they would manage this particular oil-rich region versus that region. A conversation with a running theme of ‘oh-we’ll-all-get-along-just-fine’ but even more astounding than that was Saida’s second volley of profanity, far fouler than the first, while the broadcaster went on in his grave tone of voice: “Now of course we do not know how many people will be able to go back to work for these petrol companies as they are actively engaged in the current civil war. We are thus confronted with a problem.”
Still wondering if sleeplessness was deceiving me, Saida let fly a real sting of a curse. Now I was sure all this was really happening. “Did you hear that? Did you hear what they are saying?” she said, turning to me. I cursed, half in Turkish, and Saida let rip a few more at the TV sc
reen.
Then she turned to the girls, “We’re making pizzas till noon. Then we meet at the school and carry on with the packing.”
They would make food packets for the front as if betrayal wasn’t galloping full speed right at them with flags flying… and that’s how they would defeat these multinational companies. They were going to make pizzas – you still couldn’t buy bread. The TV broadcasting would continue. They would continue to stack guns and sweets.
Madam Lilla appeared at the door – we had no idea she was already up and dressed. “Good morning! Today we’re going to get you up on camels. Wake up the others.”
Say what?
“You might need the skill at some stage during the journey. I thought it might be a good thing for you to know. I’ll be waiting for you outside in an hour.”
Women Who Blow on Knots Page 19
