It was early morning when Fatima heard the desperate beating on her door. She was instantly annoyed. Harlem had changed so much from when she first got there from Sierra Leone. She jumped out of her bed and moved cautiously toward the knocking. "Who is it!?!" she asked in response to the inpatient, unwanted visitor.
"Fatima, it's me! Open the door, please!" Hannah responded. Her voice sent a fear through Fatima. Opening the door quickly, Fatima saw a frightened and impatient Hannah leaning against the door frame looking as I if she was being chased. As soon as Fatima opened the door, Hannah was inside and locking them in. Fatima moved back in uncertain fear watching Hannah's actions. Had Hannah brought the danger that plagued her family to her door?
Fatima had been Hannah's wet nurse and baby sitter when the newborn had refused her mother's milk. Fatima's own child had been the victim of a stillbirth, so the match was perfect for the two, creating a lifelong bond. She was an herbalist by trade and was the woman most came to for solutions to illness and wellness.
"What's wrong?" Fatima asked in her strong Senegalese accent. "Is someone chasing you?"
With heavy tears in the wells of her eyes, she held tight to Fatima's forearms.
"You gotta help me. Cornelius is out the country for 2 weeks. I need something to induce labor. He's gonna sell my baby. I need you to help me and take care of my baby like you looked after me."
Fatima felt a slight fear go through her. Everyone knew of the deeds of Cornelius and the thought of having his child here made her slightly fearful. She looked up at Hannah and saw the wild desperation in her eyes.
She sat Hannah down and began pulling herbs from out the cabinets. Making a cocktail of mother-wort & black cohosh, labor pains began to race through Hannah's abdomen as her labor progressed. A bit of a midwife, Fatima pulled a baby pool out of her closet and ran water into it. She instructed Hannah to squat in the full pool allowing the baby to slip out. At 8 months and 23 days, Zaire came into the world kicking and screaming. The two women had made rock solid plans in a short amount of time, dipping Hannah's pants in the blood and afterbirth to demonstrate the loss of the baby.
Hannah spend two hours holding her newborn son. She had not anticipated being strong enough to do it. That she'd be strong enough to pull it off, but here he was, lying in her arms and smiling up at her.
"Name him Fatima...something strong that his father won't be able to defeat."
Fatima smiled a knowing smile.
"His name will be Zaire."
Zaire grew strong under Fatima's watchful eye. With the money that Hannah was sending, Fatima gave young Zaire the best of both worlds. They could afford most things due to his lineage, but he didn't have to live in the fear that the life style he was born into suggested. By no means was Fatima a slow woman. She taught Zaire all about the family business as she'd witness it over the years. She also taught him the privilege of legitimacy. She pulled no punches and didn't pretty things up. He was eleven when his inquisitions began surrounding his birth.
"Mama Tima, why did my mama just leave me here? She didn't want me?"
She shook her head to rapidly.
"Your mother left you here to save you." Fatima began what became a ten hour conversation about Zaire's origins. She told him everything, from his grandfather's demise to his grandmother's passing to the births and sales of his 7 siblings. Fatima, who saw most things did not fail in seeing that a boy sat down, but an angry young man got up.
A child named Zaire was growing in SOHA (South Harlem), but the weeds of hate were growing in Zaire. The feeling of abandonment from his mother now gone, replaced with deep seeded hate for his father. Born in place of the abandonment was a deep connection to his mother and hopes and dreams of reuniting with her. In one night he went from being her son to becoming her protector.
Zaire was in 6th grade that some of the quiet rage displayed itself when a classmate made a negative comment regarding his mother. A group of children congregated outside past 3 to witness the fight as Dorian and his "crew" looked to jump Zaire.
Dorian (young fool that he was) had no idea who Zaire was. Raised by his father or not, Zaire was the son of a Titan. The blood lust was hereditary.
Dorian swung at Zaire, but missed. Bracing himself for the blow he was sure would come, the young bully was stunted by the feel of a glass bottle slapped across his cheek. Zaire went about giving Dorian his ass whipping silently as grunts of pain escaped Dorian's lips.
With the entire school standing about, Dorian didn't know what was worse, the ass kicking or the embarrassment of it.
He looked at his crew on the sidelines staring in shock & disbelief. How was this 6th grader was fucking this 9th grader up? Bleeding from the face he screamed on his crew, "get this lil' mothafuka off me!!!"
No one moved. A hush fell over the crowd as Zaire finally released his hold on Dorian. Maybe it was the adrenaline...who knows? It took someone else to point out Dorian's ear hanging with blood on his shirt...
No one could stop the Titan that was being bred. The violence was inevitable. By the time a month had elapsed 116th street (between 1st & Broadway) was a buzz with name of a young hustler named Zaire...
To Be Continued (Next Althea- Athena)
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