The Women of Jacob’s Mountain Boxed Set

by Hining, Deborah;

  “Sally Beth, I need you in here. Alethia, did you just find her?”

  “Yes. Her sister brought her in an oxcart. They’ve been traveling for four days from over near Natron. I asked her why she didn’t go to the hospital there, and she said somebody had told her I was the one to care for these children. She’s Somali, but this looks like the worst hatchet job I have ever seen. They’ve used acacia thorns.” She blinked her eyes hard a few times, battling the tears that leaked from the corners before she squared her shoulders and turned her attention back to the little girl. The child was nearly gray, chalky looking, and although she was unconscious, she moaned constantly.

  “All right. Let’s get her clothes off her. Sally Beth, I’m sorry you have to see this, but it may not be the last one you have to see, so you might as well get used to it. Alethia, you just hold her and talk to her. Sally Beth, help me take her clothes off.” Gently, Dr. Sams began to tug at her traditional Somali dress. When he had stripped her, he gingerly pulled her legs apart.

  Nothing could have prepared Sally Beth for the horror of the wounds between the child’s legs. What she saw looked nothing like the genitals of a little girl, but like a swollen, misshapen plum, pierced with inch-long Acacia thorns. Sally Beth gasped, trying hard to choke back the bile rising in her throat, and she had to grab hold of the gurney to keep from collapsing. She blinked, not believing her eyes. The child was almost completely sewn up with thorns.

  Dr. Sams gasped. “Oh my ever-living God. This is awful; I’ve never seen a circumcision this bad. They’re usually good with preventing infections, but this looks like they didn’t even try.”

  Though Sally Beth could feel as well as hear the pain and horror in his voice, she could not comprehend what she was seeing, the meaning of what had happened to this child. Her brain fought against the image, disorienting her and causing the room to tilt and the light to swarm. A slow dawning came to her: this was no accident. Someone had inflicted an incomprehensible cruelty to an innocent little girl on purpose. But why? Such brutality didn’t make sense, did not correspond to her conviction that children should always be protected and sheltered, to be innocent of pain. An amorphous darkness crept across her vision in denial to the sight before her. She simply did not want to see this.

  Sally Beth, you are here for a purpose. Do you not know that I suffered more than this?

  The darkness fled and the light stilled. She took a breath, standing straighter, and the details of the room clicked into sharp relief.

  “Did the sister say anything?” Dr. Sams looked at Alethia while Sally Beth forced herself to listen to his voice. He glanced at her. “You okay?” Sally Beth nodded and took another breath, trying to think about what needed to be done. She could think of nothing, for she was fighting an overwhelming need to cradle the child in her arms.

  Alethia shook her head, averting her eyes from the grotesque scene. “She looked sick and poor, and she was very frightened, not only for her sister, but she was afraid someone would be coming after her. I think she may have tried to stop the cutting, or she may not be circumcised and she’s an outcast. But whoever she is, she hasn’t been well cared for, whereas this child seems fairly healthy other than this.”

  “I’m starting an IV,” he said, reaching for an IV packet and some tubing. “Get me some penicillin, and an irrigation syringe,” he barked. Sally Beth jumped to find the supplies.

  “How old is she?” he asked.

  “Five,” answered Althea.

  “That would have been my guess. Sally Beth, find Janie and see if she has finished sewing that boy up. If she has, you trade places with her and watch him. Let me know if he tries to go to sleep on you,” he added as he turned to find a vein in the tiny arm.

  Sally Beth left the room to find the nurse, then, her head still swimming with the image of the suffering child, she sat down to cuddle the boy with the head lacerations. Holding his hand, she focused on his face, smiling as she told him about the antics of her funny little Kit and Caboodle. From a distance, she could hear her own laughter ringing out clear and unforced while the heart within her screamed into subterraneous darkness, Lord God Almighty! Why? Why?

  Later that afternoon, Sally Beth waited until the lines disappeared and Dr. Sams sat down at her desk for tea. She was still reeling from the horror of the morning.

  “I know, Sally Beth,” he said before she could ask. “You’ve never seen anything like that child this morning, have you?”

  “No, I haven’t. Nothing near as awful as that. What happened to her?”

  He spoke slowly, with great sadness. “It is a practice among the people here—in all of Africa—to circumcise their boys, as we do in America. Of course, we do it when they are babies, and they are anesthetized. Here, it’s considered an important rite of passage, done in a coming-of-age ritual at around puberty. It’s very painful, but people regard the ability to withstand pain an important part of being an adult. Unfortunately, it also sometimes leaves them scarred for life, with a lot of problems.

  “In some families—some tribes—many, actually, girls are not exempt from circumcision. Some do it at puberty as a symbol of entering adulthood, and some do it early, for a different purpose. I’ve seen it done as early as three, or as late as fifteen or sixteen. They will cut off part or all of a girl’s clitoris, and sometimes the inner labia.”

  Sally Beth gasped, “Why?”

  “It’s considered an important step for girls, tradition, a matter of family honor, an entry into womanhood—various reasons—and it’s important for some because it ensures chastity. A woman is less likely to be promiscuous if she doesn’t enjoy sex.” His eyes clouded and he gazed out the window for a long moment before he heaved a great sigh and looked more directly at her. “And then, sometimes, for good measure they infibulate—they sew the outer labia together so that it scars over and seals up. Traditionally, they used Acacia thorns, although not many do now.”

  Sally Beth stared at him, horrified, as he continued, “As you can imagine, it can cause all sorts of problems. Once the danger of infection is over, you still have to deal with damaged urethras, and although they leave small openings for urine and menstrual blood to pass through, it can be inadequate and urine backs up into the vagina as well as the urethra. Then there’s terrifyingly painful sex once the girl is married.”

  “But why? Why do they do it? And to little girls like Mara?”

  He shrugged slightly, his head down. “It’s their way.”

  “Why don’t you do something to stop it? Aren’t you supposed to be educating people so that they are healthier?” She had never felt such anger. “You have to make them understand how bad it is!”

  Looking pained, he brought his hand up sharply to stop her. “I know how you feel. It’s more complicated than that, and to tell you the truth, Sally Beth, I can’t talk about it right now. I’m just too… tired.” He rose, slowly, as if a great weight pressed against him. “We can speak about it again another time, but please, for now, try not to think about it.” He walked out the door. She watched him go, her mouth open with rage and horror.

  October 5, 1978

  Francine was back on duty and the lines had dwindled to nothing. No one sat in the waiting room. It was a cool afternoon, but to Sally Beth it seemed the air inside the clinic lacked oxygen. She looked up to see Falla watching her, eyes eloquent with sympathy, although she said nothing.

  “Falla, I think I need to leave early today. Could you handle things the rest of the afternoon?”

  “Of course, Sally Beth.” Falla’s voice was as soft as the warm spot behind Caboodle’s ear.

  She jumped up, leaving her desk just as it sat, without straightening it up or putting anything away. She could not stand to be in the room another minute. Walking past the shower building to where the bicycles were parked, she took one from the rack and made her way along the Ugandan Road for a short way before she turned east onto a lesser road. She had never been out into the community alone bef
ore, but she was not afraid, despite the fact that Pastor Umbatu and Dr. Sams had warned her to be wary. Many of the people she passed along the way recognized her, smiled, and waved. Only once did she see someone scowl and look in the other direction.

  She had traveled perhaps two miles when she came upon another fork in the road, where she turned south onto a very rutted, grassy dirt road. She hoped she was following the instructions Janie had given her. The grasslands had given way to bush and forest. The huts she passed looked more dilapidated. Monkeys swung over her head, and she found herself startling at the forest sounds: loud, invisible things crying into the stillness of the day.

  By the time she arrived at the white clapboard house with the big front porch beside the grassy meadow, she was covered in red dust. Her pale pink dress had taken on an orange hue, and she was sure her face was reddened by it as well. She brushed herself off before mounting the steps and knocking at the door.

  Alethia Bagatui opened the door. Sally Beth smiled, holding out the bolt of fabric she had brought with her, a geometric matrix in bold blues on a white background. At least it had started out as a white background. She wished she had wrapped it up against the red dust. Not knowing what to say, she spent a moment brushing it off before she handed it to Alethia.

  “Alethia? Do you remember me? I’m Sally Beth, from the mission clinic.”

  “Of course, Sally Beth. Please come in. I never got a chance to thank you for your help the other day.”

  She stepped inside. The house seemed to be laid out like an American house, with a living room/dining room combination. The area was filled with a haphazard assortment of Western toys, books, backpacks, and lined school papers. A crib sat in a corner, and bright clothing lay all over. A vase of lilies sat on the table. Sally Beth could see a messy kitchen off to the left. Four little girls peeked around the corner of the doorway.

  “It’s okay, girls, come on out. Come meet my friend from America. She helped me the other day when I took Mara to the clinic.”

  The girls poked their heads around the doorframe, and then one by one, they shyly eased themselves into the main room. Alethia moved about, picking things off the couch and chairs. “Excuse our mess, Sally Beth. We’ve been very busy lately and haven’t had much time for keeping the house up. These are my children, at least four of them. Priscilla, Juliette, Becky, and Lizzy. The others are upstairs doing their homework. Mara and her sister are napping right now. Did you come to see her? To see how she is doing?”

  “Yes,” replied Sally Beth, grateful that Alethia seemed relaxed and friendly. She glanced at the children. The oldest looked about thirteen or fourteen, the youngest was missing three of her front teeth.

  “I…” She faltered, and bit her lip. The image of thorns pinned into Mara’s flesh haunted her. “I brought you some material to make the girls some clothes. There are sewing machines at the mission, and I will help you with them. I thought maybe we could teach them to sew, if they want to.”

  “Sit down, please,” said Alethia, picking up little dresses off the sagging couch and piling them onto a table. “Thank you. We have a sewing machine here, and if you would like to help us make up some things, you are more than welcome.” She turned to the children. “Girls, please go make Miss Sally Beth some tea. Do you care for regular tea or herbal? We have orange and chamomile.” She sat quietly, her hands folded in her lap, offering Sally Beth tea in the most civilized, quiet Southern accent, as if she were not aware that a child that had been hacked and butchered in the most brutal way was sleeping in the same house.

  “I… uh, orange, please. It’s my favorite. I make it at home. I put orange zest in mine…” She stopped. She wanted to cry.

  The girls disappeared into the kitchen, and within seconds, had begun a happy chatter in a language Sally Beth did not recognize. She smiled timidly at Alethia.

  Alethia smiled back. “You are wondering about my story? Mara’s story?”

  Sally Beth relaxed. Alethia was just a Southern girl, just like herself, and open. She felt her preconceived barriers dissolve.

  “Yes. They told me about you at the mission, and I have to say, I admire you very much. Taking in children as you do, taking care of them all alone.”

  Alethia shook her head. “No, don’t admire me. Just look at this house. I love these girls, but I am not much of a mother. It’s all I can do just to get them bathed and fed and get their homework done. With Mara being added to the mix, and her sister, too, I’ve been falling apart. Things haven’t been getting done.”

  Sally Beth laughed. “If I were taking care of six little girls—eight counting Mara and her sister—I wouldn’t get anything else done, either! Here, let me help you straighten things up. Have you got supper going? I can help.” She stooped to pick toys up off the floor.

  Alethia did not hesitate. She laughed, jumping up. “Sally Beth, I have prayed for a friend to come and help me. I think the Lord has sent you, and I am not too proud to pretend I don’t need your help. Would you mind helping the girls clean up the kitchen so we can start supper? I have to give Mara her antibiotics now, and I left two girls working on their math, and they really need my help. I’ll be right back.”

  She returned a few minutes later while Sally Beth was in the kitchen breading okra and slicing onions. “Stay for supper,” said Alethia. I’ll radio the mission and tell them I’ll bring you home later so they don’t worry about you.”

  Supper with Alethia and the eight young girls was lively and fun. The girls chattered in English, squirming in their seats while trying to be on their best behavior for Sally Beth’s sake. Priscilla, the eldest, kept nudging the younger ones, reminding them to eat with their forks, not their fingers. She looked like a prim mother fussing over her little ones. Mara was very quiet, and she still looked ill, but she smiled shyly at Sally Beth. Her sister also was quiet and sickly looking. Neither joined in the general conversation, but talked to each other in subdued tones. She did not understand any of their words. The two went directly upstairs when they had finished eating.

  After the dishes were done, darkness descended over the big white house, and the girls gathered closely around Sally Beth. She could tell they were longing to touch her, but they held back, too shy or too polite to reach.

  “I bet you girls have never seen blonde hair before, at least not this long and straight,” she said to them. Or maybe you haven’t ever seen skin this white? We call this fish-belly white at home.” The girls giggled. She slipped the elastic band off the end of her braid and began to unravel it. “Would you like to touch it? It feels different.”

  Jayella reached a tentative hand forward. The others looked to Alethia, who smiled and nodded, and before Sally Beth could completely shake out the braid, they all six were sitting on her lap or next to her, reaching up to stroke the pale strands.

  “Oh!” they cried. “It’s so soft. And fine. It’s beautiful.”

  Lizzy made a face. “But your skin looks sick. I can see your veins through it.” She traced a faint blue line on the inside of Sally Beth’s arm.

  “Lizzy!” admonished Alethia.

  “Oh, I know!” exclaimed Sally Beth. “It’s no fun at all to have skin like this. It bruises easily and I can’t get out in the sun without covering up or using lots of suntan lotion. It is kind of sickly. I wish I had beautiful brown skin like yours, or soft black skin like Prissy’s. I bet you don’t get sunburned easily.” She stroked her hand along Prissy’s thin forearm.

  The girls looked at her pityingly. “We still like you, Sally Beth,” said Prissy. “Your eyes are very pretty.” The others nodded. Jayella, the youngest, patted her cheek. “And white isn’t so bad, even though it looks like a fish belly.”

  Neither Alethia nor Sally Beth laughed, although both felt like it, for neither wanted to offend the other. They were both remembering the racial tensions that existed in the United States.

  “It’s a school night, girls, and it’s getting late,” said Alethia. “You need to go
have your baths. Priscilla, please go get them started. Miss Sally Beth and I want to have a chat.”

  The children were surprisingly compliant. Without any complaint, they let Priscilla herd them up the stairs while Alethia settled onto the couch, patting the place beside her, inviting Sally Beth to sit. After a moment of silence, she spoke.

  “I know it was hard on you to see Mara the other day. But it’s common practice throughout Africa, although the Somali tend to do it much earlier than most people. It’s not often they get infected. They have their own medicines that work pretty well.” She paused before adding softly, “It’s rare that they are sewn up with acacia thorns, though. That’s what they used to use, but now they tend to use regular needle and thread.” Noting the look of horror on Sally Beth’s face, she hastened to add, “They do anesthetize, or some do. And the girls bear it pretty well. To them, it’s honorable to endure it.”

  “But why?” burst out Sally Beth. “Why do they do it? Who does it? And why do the mothers let them?”

  Alethia shrugged. “It’s tradition, an important rite, and it’s considered a matter of—well—personal hygiene, sort of, and it’s considered more aesthetically pleasing—and, to tell the truth—because mothers want their daughters to keep the family honor, just like our mothers back home.” She glanced slyly at Sally Beth. “Your mama ever tell you you’d better be a virgin when you get married?”

  At Sally Beth’s dry smile, Alethia said, “It’s just that their methods are more extreme.” She touched Sally Beth’s shoulder and added gently, “It’s a different culture, Sally Beth. It’s hard for Westerners to understand.”

  Alethia took a deep breath and went on, “My grandparents were Maasai; they became followers of Christ right after they got married. My grandfather felt called to preach the gospel, so the priest who ran the mission invited them to America to get an education. After Grandfather graduated, he got a job teaching at Payne University up in Ohio, so they ended up staying in America, but they came back to Tanzania as often as they could. My mother met and married my father here—he was working at the mission she came to every summer when she was in college. Then she started working at a church in Alabama, and they got married the next time she came back. He went back with her, and I was born there. I’ve lived both here and there for most of my life—my parents came here often. Their church in Montgomery is a sister church to one near here, and we’ve been the go-between, so to speak.”