Eseere: The Language of Wind

Uprising

The House of Ahmed Ku’sai, Igwani Village, Ward 3 of the United Republic of Provinces

Tribal Reservation of Urnah, Nasai, White Moon 3303 –September

 Layla sat upon the porch of the home that she now shared with Yaqub and his family as a cold rain pattered against the thatched roof above her.  She enjoyed the solitude and welcomed the cool breeze that ruffled the short curls of her hair.  It was Saturday so everyone had gone to the temple to worship except for her; she had slept in and was supposed to have followed but had not yet left the cool dampness of the porch.  She had awakened, bathed, and dressed in the traditional Urnahi abaya and khimar, but once she’d reached the porch and witnessed the quiet stillness of the usually bustling village, she’d decided to sit for a moment.  That had been over an hour ago and everyone would be returning soon.  She sat and sipped her tea, relishing every minute of solitude in anticipation of the noise and reprimand that would be coming.

Yaqub’s father Ahmed was strict when it came to following religious tradition and although Yaqub was lenient with her since Saturdays were the only days that she had to herself, he would never disrespect his father or the rules of his father’s house.  Layla often wondered why Yaqub had not yet set out on his own by now especially since he would be 38 winters in a few weeks’ time.  She had come to the conclusion that he must have some reason for staying, but she would not dare to ask what that was.  Yaqub had been much like a father to her and Pua these past three years and very kind but he was not much of a talker.  It was no wonder that he and Anti Lu had not yet married: she was not the same since they had recovered her from the burial grounds that night when Yaqub had come for them and she hardly talked either.

The day patrollers had beaten Anti Lu brutally and she had been very near death when Yaqub had found her, swollen, bleeding and with a broken leg after having been dumped beneath a rotted huta bush.  Yaqub had insisted that Layla stay in the transport but she hadn’t – she had had to try and help to find her Anti.  Pua had thankfully remained asleep the entire time and Anti Lu had not said so much as a word as Yaqub had removed his cloak and had carefully wrapped it around her to cover her nakedness.  The officers were long gone by then and had left her for dead.  Yaqub had been furious but had secreted them out of the Republic that very night and had brought them to the MFDT Headquarters here on Ward 3 where they had been ever since. 

                The MFDT - Militia for the Defense of Tribes - was considered radical among the Wards and had been organizing with the laborer cities within Republican walls secretly for decades.  Time had taught the Urnahi on the res to be prepared to defend themselves against off-worlders who were willing to expend clansmen’s lives for the sake of their own gain and the MFDT mission was to protect their tribe from further exploitation, including the exiles, no matter the cost. The Governor of the Wards and his supporters challenged the authority of the MFDT and had been trying to have it dismantled but if the militia had never been formed, Anti Lu may have died that night, and Layla shuddered at the thought of what might have become of her and Pua.

The sound of approaching footsteps jolted her from her thoughts and she looked up to see Uncle Ahmed approaching.  Ahmed Ku’sai was Commander of the MFDT and a hard man, but just.  He had survived the attacks of ’89 but with a deeply rooted distrust for the off-worlders.  Uncle Ahmed had welcomed her family into his house and had insisted that she and Pua call him uncle; he could very easily have passed for their grandfather in age but there was not a single wrinkle in his smooth brown skin. 

Layla watched him climb up the small porch; he was dressed in his buff-colored doe-skin tunic suit with the traditional braided belt woven in his clan colors of red, black and orange around his waist.  Wiry and muscular despite his age, Layla had reached him in height last summer, much to his delight, and he was proud of her success at Wi’shaw Temple, but she could tell from the set of his mouth at the moment that he was not pleased with her for having missed the day’s prayer services.  He was at least alone for the moment with Anti Lu, his sisters and the children most likely still at the Temple greeting everyone after services.