Chapter Two
Our house was built in the 1800 by one shykh uthymeen, that's what Umar Ahmed told me when we walked together to school. He's taller with a longer neck and speaks Arabic like a French man's son. He told me many stories. He showed me where the Fezzan party started and one day we walked past a street laced with more people than usual, he said the Fezzan leaders dined in that building pointing to a bungalow with dead flowers around it. I don't know their names. Mariam could have done better. She loves plants and mostly reads about them. She and Ummi grew herbs and made scented oils and incense sticks which they sell to our neighbours. Umar told me his father was part of the party and they hosted the first campaign against Gaddafi. I loved walking with Umar, he always had something to say about everything. I'm not like that. Though his family is from Ghana, they've travelled a lot.
"My dad was silently part of the Fezzan. Forgotten how he got it. I'll ask him again later."
"insha'Allah," I said, hoping to know as much as he did and sometimes hoping his father was my father.
One day I was asked to stop seeing Umar. I don't know why but I thought my father should stop being overprotective. I felt his paranoia is draining life out of me.
"Billahi, Muhammad, I told you to be careful. People here aren't to be trusted."
He threw a book at me, Ummu shouted from the kitchen holding Faiz to her chest.
"Please, stop this, Hamza. Please."
He looked towards her direction, his eyes reddened.
"You dare call my name? Eh. Billahi, you should be careful. He is going about playing with people we barely know. Have you seen the boy he walks with? Eh."
"Sorry, I'll talk to him and insha'Allah he'll change."
"Better. He'd better listen. Allah, this boy pisses me off."
I stayed awake that night, things going through my mind. Things I don't understand. Things I can't talk about. Things my parents won't take seriously. I also know Abi cries. I saw him once at night on the balcony looking into the sky, crying. His words weren't audible but I could say I heard the last one before he noticed I was there.
"When will I leave this miserable world, Ya Rab."
I heard him and that confirmed what Ummi told me.
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The Migration (A Boy Story)
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