The Migration (A Boy Story)

Part 4

Before we travelled to Niger Republic a riot took over Sabha and my sister went with it. Abi was dead then. He became more aggressive. He would snap at anything. He would cry at night and grow out things. He would lament his life and why he couldn't move us out of Libya. A day before his death he called all of us into his room. Maryam came over with his medicine, Ummi sat beside him. He grew frailer but retained his smile.

"Billahi, I'm sorry. I tried but failed. Allah knows best."

"You'll be fine. Allah will bless you." She patted his hands. I sat there looking forward to a blank boulder to fall over me or a whirlwind from the desert with severe temperature to come over and melt me.

"Muhammad, make sure you take care of everything. I don't think I have much time. And look you're a man now.." he coughed and the room became silent for a while. Maryam held a cup to his mouth, he waved it away.

"My people are warriors and rulers but look at what a prince is reduced to. Look."

The next day he died of heart failure.

Abi never spoke bad about his family even though we barely know them. Though I always felt he had hidden a lot from us. So much he doesn't want us to know about. He always praised his family even though I've grown mature enough to know life isn't always about what he told us.

"Agadez is a great place. You need to be there. Ask your mother." He always said this. He spoke of its streets, the desert land and the tranquil night skies whenever he's happy. He told Maryam and me that Agadez would have been the best city in the world if not for invasion from those he called enemies. He never told us why he used that word. He never explained anything to us. He just loves telling us to listen.

"Though your mother is from Diffa. It's a town alongside the road. Agadez is where life is. We went to school on bikes and played games in the streets."

I wish he'll ask me what goes on in my mind. I wish he'll want to talk to me about my slipping mind. About the things I see hunting me at night.

"You know, when Maryam grows into a woman she'll understand her mother's people better. They're, let's just wave that away for now. Do you know the Toucouleur people of Senegal?"

"No, Abi." Maryam said looking at her right feet that looked like that of Alisha, the Yemeni girl living close to Atiq mosque. I wondered why they looked alike though I only managed to see Alisha's when she tripped on a stone. Habibullah ran out to help her up. I was just looking at them.

"Bring me my tea pot, Muhammad and the radio. Television shows these days are full of lies. They lied to us a lot, even our teachers back then did. Wallahi, the world is full of liars.

***
That night when he finally let us go to bed, I couldn't. The sounds coming from the walls were in my head. My heart couldn't stop pumping hard like the strumming of a lyre or like the broken guitar of that sad haggard gariot we saw on the street. I can't remember the street now. I hardly do. Dad told us he's dirty because he has a dirty mind and no excuse for being the way he's. We were coming from Jummah that day. Sleep broke me. The sounds broke me and I wanted to bang my head into the walls and melt away with its grains. I wanted it to be like my brain was sucked out of me and thrown to the dogs. I wanted to escape for reasons I don't know.

I grabbed the Qur'an, the verses in Al Imran looked thinner than those of Furqan. I closed the book and sat back in bed looking at the world through a lense that veiled me from myself and my family and the world. I ran into the compound and started singing songs I heard from dervish Sufis in the book I read by Pamuk. That moment everything came back alive. My breathing, voice, my blood floundering. Everything but me.

Though our neighbours loved Abi, that night some of them shouted at me even the timid old shykh shouted at me from his window.

"Uskut ya walad. Izhab wa Nim."

I ran around singing, swinging and strumming an imaginary guitar. My grandparents and other relatives appeared. They danced with me chanting Allah's name.

"Ah Muhammad Anta tuzij Nas. Izhab wa Nim."

Minutes later I saw Abi coming with some men. I tried running but my foot failed me. I started crying. I fell to the ground and the ground received me. I wanted it to drown me. It failed me.
***

The human rights agencies weren't coming forth with any news of her. She was last seen along one of the migrant restaurants where young girls are lored into prostitution. Abi went there with policemen, the agencies tried too but nothing came of her. I was aware enough to know what was happening but couldn't get myself to reach such awareness. I know the pain, that pain of uncertainty. That pain of wanting something to be but not seeing it happening.

Allah would have taken me the first time when we're thrown out by Abi. Faiz was three years old. He said Maryam will stay with him and asked Ummi to return to Agadez where they met and married three months later.