The Untamed Storms~ On hold~

Chapter six- Umma's duplicates

Auntie Naazi's husband, Alhaji Tukur Usman ran a small business through the 1970's. He used to buy raw materials like limestone, from ashaka, a small village in Gombe state, and transport them to the southern part of the country where he would sell them at a profitable price. He was a young teenager when he started to export goods from Nigeria to the neighboring countries like Senegal, and Republic of Benin. His business flourished and he is now, indeed, one of the richest exporters in the country.

The curtains were lifted and Luba came in, holding a rabbit. She smiled at me before settling down on the bed beside me.

"Halima jan, it's been long, how's school going on" she asked with her learnt Farsi accent.

We spoke for a while before I mustered courage to ask. "Where's Ya Faqir?"

Fakir Ahmed, an intelligent young man that lives with his widowed mother and siblings across the street in a big mansion. A man with dreams and aspirations. Fakir's family, and the Tukur's have been neighbors for years and, they are now like family.

I could remember the first time we met, a year ago, When I came to spend my Eid with the Tukur's. The very first day we met, he had clearly expressed his wish to marry me. A week later, I had accepted his proposal.

Fakir insisted that he wouldn't send his parents to my place for the formal introduction until he is well settled. I think his excuse is overrated. Maybe, just maybe, he doesn't want to marry me.

For the past two months, I haven't heard from him. His letters stopped abruptly. I just hope he is fine, even though I'm a bit angry at him.

"Ya Fakir has travelled, didn't he tell you?"She spoke petting the back of her white rabbit.

"Since when?" I asked surprised.

"Umm...last two months" she said before placing her rabbit on the carpet. "I have something to show you" she squealed jumping a bit before opening a small wooden suitcase and pulling out a small box.

She emptied the contents of the box on the bed. There were so many letters, written in expensive colored paper, and smelled of roses.

"Seems like you have another admirer" I said with a teasing tone.

********

Later at night, I sat cross legged on a carpet, with khala Naazi and Luba. We drank tea from expensive ceramic Chinese teacups. I sipped the tea slowly, holding the cup between my two hand, carefully not to drop it. It sure cost a fortune.

One old habit of Auntie Naazi, is she never misses a cup of green tea every night, even in the hot harmattan weather in Borno. Maybe because she grew up in the cold hills of Herat, and she is still accustomed to her childhood habits.

She started telling us stories of her childhood

"Back then, every Eid, Nana would invite the women of our neighborhood to celebrate. The women would share the work amongst themselves, some would grill lamb outside the house, some would knead doughs of flatbread and bake it by the tandoor. I and Fariba jan, we would sneak into the kitchen and steal berries and Nana would keep scolding us" she stared into the wall as if reliving the moment

"When we were kids, Nana always used to scold me, she said I was the troublesome one, and every time I would sit outside in the cold under a thick neem tree and sulk. Fariba jan, she would feed me my favorite soup. Carrot soup"

"And when we moved here to Nigeria, six months later Abbu jan died of asthma. Fariba was here for Nana and I. And the a year later, Nana died too. It was a hard year for us, but Fariba stood by me, she made me a strong person just as she was. She used to say, Life has trials and storms, taming the storms shows how strong you are"

"When she died..." she paused and wiped her face with a piece of fabric. "When she died, I couldn't sleep for more than twelve days, and when finally I caught sleep, I dreamt of her in a beautiful garden with beautiful things, and she was saying one thing"

"She was saying, Life is like an ocean, bitter and salty, with turbulent storms, untamed storms. But taming that storm, is all about living"

I retired to bed an hour later, after she taught me numbering in Farsi.

And when I closed my eyes and sleep begun to crept, I saw her in that beautiful garden, with white roses on her hair

I knew from that moment on, that my mother was alive, in me.

*******
Glossary:
Jan- dear
Sofrah- table cloth spread on the floor to eat
Qurma- meat dish
Mastawa- Famous dish of Irani cuisine
Farsi- Western Iranian language

*****

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