Swahili and Somali legends come to life in this tale of secrets, betrayal and a household pet or two with a desire for human flesh.
In the Malifedha family, the secrets that don't break them make their bond stronger; which is just as well because th...
'Baba,' said Akiba, 'is she your illegitimate child?'
Baba choked so hard he doubled over and his fez hat tumbled off his head. 'No,' he spluttered, 'she's your cousin, Waridi. You remember Waridi, sio?'
'Ohhh,' said Akiba, 'si she was the one studying to be a scientist?'
*
'Faraja,' Baba yelled, as Shangazi Faraja stormed towards the kitchen. 'Faraja, she's your daughter, for God's sake. Talk to her.'
'Seventeen years,' Shangazi Faraja whispered, 'seventeen years, and she thinks she can just come back here as if she didn't leave me to deal with her father's death alone.'
*
Akiba went to Shangazi Faraja's door once more. Her foot brushed against a folded paper.
She bent down to pick it. Laazizi Mama, it said, in scratchy writing. I know I've hurt you terribly, and I promise, I will spend my whole life trying to make it right...
*
Next to her, Waridi fumbled with her chiming kijioo, the small mirror falling at Akiba's feet. Akiba picked it up and handed it back to her, pretending she didn't see the letter within.
Dear Waridi Hamisi
Further to the publication of your scholastic work, we are pleased to inform you that Abdirahman Kulow is interested in taking you as a paid apprentice...
Man, Baba hadn't been joking about Waridi's brains. Abdirahman Kulow himself? But Waridi's eyes didn't linger on the kijioo. They flicked to Shangazi Faraja, then flicked back down. Her mouth tightened, and in a moment where anyone else would be jumping for joy, she put off her kijioo and pushed it away, clenching her fist.
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Istahil had every intention of confessing.
She'd planned it all out. First, she went to buy camel meat from the market, ignoring the whispers of its residents. She would spend the whole night cutting it up and drying it before cooking it into nyiri nyiri which she would give to Hoyo with canjeera in the morning.
Then, she'd let it all out.
But life had other ideas. When she came home, she found Hoyo, a newspaper in hand, and Raiya putting in the settings on the automatic mortar and pestle to grind maize. The entire place had steeped itself in silence, broken by a claw grounding the long pestle into a large mortar. A little way from the gate, weaver birds feasted on bits of rice Hoyo had thrown for them.
Oh, this was bad. Maybe other houses spent their evenings in quiet rest, but at times like this, Hoyo would be inside preparing dinner, and Raiya would be ignoring her chores to practise. Her heart free-falling, Istahil approached the fence of sticks surrounding the woven domes of their three aqals. The sentient sand crunched beneath her sandals. Her brain started having an argument with the other part of her brain about whether to run. But before she could reach a verdict, Hoyo looked up, the sun glancing on the beauty mark under her narrowed eye. Both parts of Istahil's brain shut up.
