Tale In The Red Sand

Chapter Four

Hibaaq idled in front of her closet mirror, scratching at her head as she deliberated on why she agreed. Sure, he was her father's acquaintance, and she should make him feel at home as much as possible, but within the premises of their house?  The world outside the seclusion of her home was dire to Hibaaq, and she rarely ventured out unless she had a class to attend. Leaving her house with a man in tow, a white man at that caused her head to lower in mortification. She was sure the towns men and women would have a field day the moment they step into the vicinity of it.

"It's fine." She assured herself, ridding her mind of any perturbation, and opened the wooden doors of her closet. In there, among many other dresses, hung a simple black day dress and a hijab of the same colour. Hibaaq eyed the flattering piece approvingly, a piece her father had gifted her from one of his many trips.

She completed the outfit with a pair of chunky beige loafers and left her bedroom with an unusual pep to her step despite the hesitation that went through her mind just a few moments prior. She guessed she was quite excited for Ercole to witness the splendour of Mogadishu and all it had to offer, after all, it was his very first time.

Sooner her feet carried her down the curving staircase, a frail shout of her name caused Hibaaq to make a quick deter to her grandmother's impermissible courters. She never allowed not herself or her father inside unless she called for them. Hibaaq stood at the threshold of her bedroom, watching her grandmother pick and twirl at a long train of yarn that stopped on a little bundle on her lap. When her grandmother held it up to adjust it, she realised it was a little sweater. A size a newborn infant could wear.

"Bring Hiba to me." She said.

Hiba was the impromptu princess of the palace. Ayeeyo Warsam's unreachable affections developed deeply every time the bronze cat would strut up to her in her favourite spot in the garden, under the swaying coconut trees and nestle a little home between her feet until it was time to go inside. Born a stray cat and made royalty, her grandmother quickly tucked the feline under her wing and treated her as if she truly were a child.

Ayeeyo Warsam was a remote woman who never displayed any warmth, and had no interest to, though the few times Hibaaq saw even a tiny glimpse of sympathy and fondness, it was towards her beloved Hiba.

The uncanny irony was that Ayeeyo Warsam unusually abridged Hibaaq to the Arabic way, Hiba. Out of all the names on earth, she could've given the cat. In another world, perhaps Hibaaq would receive the same affections from her grandmother, though more and more unlikely it seemed as the years went by. In spite of her mother being of low birth, Hibaaq couldn't understand why her grandmother disliked her so much.

It gave her no right to be unwanted.

Ayeeyo Warsam averted her eyes up from the intricate knitting her fingers worked at and carefully scrutinised Hibaaq from above the bridge of her circular spectacles.

"Where are you going?" She questioned authoritatively, setting the bulky knitting picks down as she narrowed her beady eyes further.

Hibaaq swallowed, assuring herself once again there was nothing to be apprehensive about. She was only going into town.

"To town." Hibaaq answered, her slightly trembling hands clasped by her front to allow her some steadiness in the moment. The gaze her grandmother gave her was nothing but formidable, and while Hibaaq liked to think the total adherence she had for her was out of respect, in utter truth, she was afraid of the old woman

She proved one too many times that she wasn't as frail as she looked to be, both in words and with the hands that she used to strike her with.

"Hm, buy timir if that's so." She dismissed, and Hibaaq simultaneously let out a relieved sigh.