Tears of the Desert by Halima Bashir Read Free Book Online Page A

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    Everyone knew who the beer women were. The only people they could really socialize with were other beer women. Sometimes the village Imam would speak with the men who drank, warning them that they were terrible sinners. He tried arguing that both the beer and the money earned from selling it was
haram—
forbidden. But more often than not the beer women were single mothers or widows. They would argue that they had no way to survive other than by selling their beer.
    One evening I went around to Kadiga’s house to ask her out to play. I noticed a group of men sitting around laughing and drinking. They were Kadiga’s uncles and cousins. We knew that some of Kadiga’s family were drunkards, and Grandma had warned me to avoid them. The men believed that beer made you fat, healthy, and strong, and so they were not averse to slipping the odd bowl-full to their children.
    One of Kadiga’s uncles held out a bowl to me. “Come! Come! Try some,” he called. “It’s good for you. It’ll make you grow into a big strong girl.”
    Of course, I’d never had any and I was curious. After a moment’s hesitation I took the bowl. I raised it to my lips, but the sweet, fermented smell made me gag. I steeled myself, as all the men were watching me now. I took a gulp. It had a lumpy consistency and a bittersweet taste. It wasn’t very nice, but it wasn’t totally disgusting, either. I knew that I’d never get the chance to drink any at home. I’d watched people drinking, and they seemed happy—chatting and laughing together—so I thought that maybe it was a good thing.
    I drained the whole bowl. The first sensation that came over me was drowsiness. I forgot all about playing with Kadiga and made my way unsteadily home. With barely a word to anyone I went to bed and fell into a deep sleep. I awoke late the following morning feeling totally awful. I had a terrible headache, I couldn’t open my eyes, and I felt nauseous. At first my mum was worried, but once she got close enough to smell my breath she became suspicious.
    “You were at Kadiga’s house, weren’t you?” she demanded. “Did you drink any beer?”
    I felt so bad that I didn’t even have the energy to lie. I nodded. “I did. But please don’t be angry. I feel so horrible.”
    My mother’s faced clouded over. She disappeared, and a second later she was back with a big stick. Suddenly she was beating me on my legs, and crying out that how many times had I been warned that I was never, ever to drink any beer? It wasn’t the pain of the blows that shocked me, it was the very fact that my mother was beating me. I was used to that from Grandma, but not from my gentle mother.
    In an instant my hangover was forgotten, and I ran toward Grandma to escape.
    “What? What is it?” she cried, jumping to her feet. “What’s happened?”
    Before I could answer, my mother cried out that I’d been to Kadiga’s house and that I’d been drinking beer. In an instant Grandma had me caught in her iron grip.
    “What! You went there, to that drunkard house?
To drink beer?
”
    Grandma proceeded to give me my second, and much more fierce beating of the morning. So rarely did my mother hit me that just as soon as she’d raised that stick to me I knew I’d committed a big wrong. But Grandma’s beating was only to be expected. Grandma used to beat us regularly, and mostly we used to think that we were getting what we deserved.
    As with many things in our culture, the taboo on drinking was enforced much more strictly against the women than the men. I knew that my father occasionally drank sorghum beer. He had a group of friends who would call and take him away to one of the secret drinking dens. One day I overheard my mother quarrelling with him about it.
    “Why d’you go drinking with those people?” she demanded. “They’re no good. They just use you for your car and money. Shame on you—you should be thinking first of your family.”
    “But they’re my friends and I