Harmattan by Gavin Weston Read Free Book Online Page B

table at which he had been seated. Seconds later, the machete ripped through the creature’s innards and hacked into the timber surface. Silently then, Monsieur Kantao scooped up the front portion of the fish and handed it, dripping, to me.
    I took the bloody mess and ran the rest of the way home, where my mother was waiting, anxiously.
    ‘You’d better get straight to bed, Haoua,’ she whispered, as I wiped fish guts from my hands. ‘Your father is in a foul mood. He and Abdel have quarrelled!’

4
    Fatima and Adamou were already sound asleep when I rolled out my grass mattress and flopped down in the little room that our whole family shared. It was too cool during the night to sleep outside now. My belly ached with hunger and, despite the fact that I had made some attempt to wash, the pungent stench of fish still wafted from my body.
    I lay awake for what seemed like a long time, thinking over the events of the day and worrying that I had caused more trouble than the trip had been worth. At least, I thought, tomorrow is not a school day. After my chores, I would go to Miriam’s house, apologise to her parents and make up with my friend.
    With that thought in my mind, I drifted off, but was woken some time later by the sound of voices. Through the darkness, I could just make out the sleeping form of my mother, on my parents’ raised bed. I sat up and strained to listen, quickly realising that Abdelkrim and my father were outside. Both were attempting to subdue their voices, but the tone was hostile.
    ‘…It makes one forgetful of Allah and prayer, Abdel!’ I heard my father hiss.
    ‘ O ye who believe! Approach not prayers with a mind befogged , the Holy Koran tells us!’ ‘Your ways are no longer my ways, Father,’ Abdelkrim replied, his voice cold, like a stranger’s.
    ‘I forbid you to bring that vile potion to my house! It is an abomination of Satan’s handiwork! The Devil wants to cast hatred and enmity amongst us by means of strong drink! See how he turns us against each other?’
    ‘Doesn’t the Koran mention games of chance also, Father? Have you forgotten that? Shall I set aside my alcohol and you your gambling with your cronies?’
    ‘You will respect me and my house!’
    ‘Like you respect my mother?’ Abdelkrim slurred.
    There was a scuffle and the sound of clay water pots breaking. I sat up, fearful, panic-stricken. Just then I felt something touch my shoulder, and I looked up to see the silhouetted form of my mother looming over me in the darkness.
    ‘Lie down,’ she said, stepping over my stirring siblings and leaving the room.
    ‘Everything will be fine.’ The sound of quarrelling intensified as she opened the door of the house.
    ‘Enough!’ I heard her say, firmly. ‘There will be no more of this tonight!’

5
    I knew that there would be a lot of catching up to do the next day. I had woken even before the Adhan – the Muadhdin’s first call of the faithful to our tiny mud-brick mosque: Al ahu Akbar, Al ahu Akbar, Allah is the Greatest. As-Salatu khairun min an- naum, As-Salatu khairun min an-naum, Prayer is better than sleep. Having sensed an uneasy atmosphere while the others dressed for prayers in the gloomy morning light, I asked God to forgive me as I feigned the sleep of one still exhausted, pretending not to notice the competing clamour of cockerels and cattle outside. When I was sure that my father and brothers had left to tend our crops and graze our livestock, I faced the direction of the Kaaba and prayed quietly, then I rolled my bed up and went outside. My thoughts were still clouded by fragments of dreams and the morning sunlight hurt my eyes. My mother and Fatima were busy pounding millet, the musical rhythm of their work familiar and comforting.
    My mother looked up as I approached, then, all at once, she doubled over and launched into a hacking cough. ‘Here,’ she spluttered, handing me her pestle. ‘You finish this. I will get you some food.’ She shot me