Chapter One: Disco Dancing
The beat of the music was like a hammer to her brain, pounding and pounding until her nerves felt like ash. She wanted to get out of this place but Amina was still busy flirting with the dude in the pretentious green fedora and yep - Shadya peeked downward - he had white shoes. I mean…everyone knew that any guy worth their salt never wore white shoes. Amina was giggling at what ever the guy was saying. Shadya caught sight of his friend sidling toward her out of the corner of her eye.
Nope. She was not going to play this game. She wasn’t the spare, or the co-pilot, flight attendant; whatever people called the friend one went with when they were going to hit on people. She was here strictly to make sure Amina behaved herself. It was the only way to make sure they weren’t both married off to the nearest willing chump forthwith. Shadya had every intention of completing her degree before she agreed to be anyone’s wife. And sure her father was willing to entertain her fancies for now; but if he ever caught wind of any misbehaviour, both of their lives were over.
She hadn’t even wanted to come to this club. Amina had just really been wailing to her about how it was her friend’s birthday and they never got to go anywhere and yada yada yada. Until Shadya’s choices had narrowed down to strangling her right there and then; or give in to her begging and pleading. Shadya had really had to think about her options before she concluded that she really couldn’t kill Amina at this time. She hadn’t violated any sharia laws after all…not yet. Nothing requiring murder at least. Her mother might frown on her committing fratricide for any reason less than that.
The guy’s friend was sitting right next to her now. Shadya studiously ignored him.
“Hi”, the guy said. Shadya stared into the middle distance, willing the music to explode her head right now.
“I like your hijab. Very stylish”, the guy said leaning in to talk directly into her ear. Shadya turned her eyes only to give him a glare. Clearly non-verbal communication was not his strong suit. What did he even want?
“Leave me be”, she growled tossing her head the other way as she picked up her soda and sipped determinedly as she watched the dancers on the dance floor.
“Do you want to dance?” the guy persisted. Shadya contemplated pouring her drink over his head. Amina was throwing glances her way that Shadya knew were reproachful. Her sister was always throwing herself at men; and she fully expected Shadya to do the same when they were together. It drove her mad. She didn’t deign to answer the guy.
“Look, Shadya”, the guy said making her stiffen and turn toward him. How had he known her name? “I don’t want us to start off on the wrong foot but I have to say that you’re being really rude right now”. Shadya could only stare at him in shock.
“Nobody asked you to talk to me”, she said in her surprise.
The guy frowned and glanced back at Amina, “Your sister asked me to”, he said, looking sincerely puzzled that Shadya wasn’t up to date with the news. Shadya laughed out loud.
“Well you can just go tell Amina thanks but no thanks”, She told him. He stuck his hand out.
“My name is Gregory Kariuki, ahsalaam aleikum”, he said.
Shadya looked at his hand like it possibly might be a hunk of bacon accidentally put on her plate.
“Excuse me?” she said.
Gregory or whatever his name was shrugged, “I’m just introducing myself”, he explained like she wasn’t a college student on the way to earning a first class degree in computer science.
“I got that yeah”, she replied, “Why are you doing that when I just told you to leave? Are you deaf?”
Gregory smiled at her, “Not deaf. Just stubborn as all get out”, he said.
“Well you’ll find that stubborn doesn’t work on me”, she declared.
Gregory’s smile became a veritable smirk, “You’re speaking to me aren’t you?” he asked triumphantly.
Shadya opened her mouth to protest but then found that there was nothing she could say; he was actually correct. She was speaking to him.
“Huh”, was all she could get out.
“Come on Shadya, let’s get out of here, your sister is otherwise occupied with my cousin and you don’t look like you like this music much.”
Shadya stared at him, wondering at the chutzpah of this dude. Did he really think she was just going to stand up and walk out of here with some total stranger who could totally murder her in the street? Possibly in some back alley and then rape her dead body and her parents’ last memory of her would be the sullied remains of their still unmarried daughter.
“Do I look like I misplaced my mind somewhere or is that a joke?” she asked him, wide honey brown eyes studying him in disbelief.
Greg laughed, “I do love the way you talk Shadya. Come on, let’s go. Please?”
“No”, Shadya ground out, “Now leave me the hell alone before I start screaming.”
Greg inclined his head, “Fine…but just remember…I asked”, he said.
∞
Someone was shaking her shoulder and Shadya tried her best to shake them off.
“Wake up Shadya”, someone shouted in her ear and she sat up startled. Her sister laughed as she danced out the door. Shadya sent murder vibes her way while slowly and painfully getting out of bed. They’d gotten back pretty late from the club what with Amina’s popularity and Shadya’s efforts to make her behave. She couldn’t understand how her sister remained unaffected by late nights. There was only three years between them but sometimes it felt like twenty. She pulled on tights and a caftan and went in search of breakfast. It was Sunday which meant she wasn’t hurrying to be out the door early enough to beat rush hour traffic. Her sister was talking in low tones into her phone as Shadya passed her in the corridor. She spared her one quick glance which Shadya returned with venom before the smell of hot mahamris propelled her to the dining hall.
“Good morning”, she said to her dad. He was sitting at the end of the table, reading a paper. His wispy white hair fell over his liver spotted face as he concentrated intently on the news. He was actually her step father. He used to be an NGO worker in the camps at Dadaab when Shadya’s mother and her two daughters had stumbled in, exhausted and near starvation one day almost ten years before; looking for shelter. Escaping the war in Somalia. Vincent Paul had been there to meet them, he gave them water to drink and somewhere to rest. Every day, he came to check on them, his heart melting with pity for the too small girls with the too big eyes. There were so many people and he couldn’t save them all; but he could save these three. And did.
“Good morning Shadya, how are you?” he asked with a blue eyed smile at her.
“I’m fine thank you Baba”, she said reaching for several mahamris and putting them on her plate. Vincent folded his paper and put it aside.
“What are you up to today?” he asked picking up his cup of coffee.
Shadya shrugged, “I don’t know. I thought I’d study circuit boards and then maybe go get ice cream with Ahmed later.”
Vincent smiled, “Sounds like a plan. You wouldn’t want your old man to tag along on that ice cream plot would you?” he asked hopefully. Ahmed was his only biological child with Shadya’s mother. He didn’t get treated any better than Shadya or Amina though.
Zulekha Haile Mariam Paul had succumbed to pneumonia a few years ago. She had never really recovered from her journey from Somaliland to Dadaab and it seemed to Shadya that as soon as she was assured her kids were safe, she just gave up the ghost. It could also have been that her last pregnancy was very difficult. Thankfully, Vincent had rights over her children being Zulekha’s legal husband. He gathered the traumatized girls along with his infant son and excavated them to Nairobi. He did his best to raise them on his own for a few years but when it became too much, he married his second wife, Mariam, to help him. She was from the coast, unable to have kids of her own, and quite happy to inherit an instant family. She was very traditional though, and didn’t understand the girls’ need to get degrees, go out or generally do anything not directly connected with landing a husband. Luckily Vincent put his foot down on letting the girls live as they pleased, within reason.
Mariam sauntered into the room her slippers slapping noisily against the linoleum floor of the kitchen and then becoming more muted as she stepped onto the dining room carpet. Just by that sound, Shadya could tell she was upset. She stood quickly, ready to assist, deflect or otherwise diffuse the crisis before it became something unmanageable.
“Ahmed got in a fight again”, Mariam announced to the room at large, chest heaving, “I don’t know what I’m going to do with that boy.”
“I’ll go see to him”, Shadya said quickly and left the room. Ahmed was forever fighting, forever falling off bikes or climbing walls or doing something else that wasn’t on the Mariam-approved ways to behave list. He was just eight years old. Sometimes he didn’t understand. Other times he was just being a knuckle head. It wasn’t hard to believe that he and Amina were siblings. It was Shadya who felt like she might be adopted some of the time.
“Ahmed”, she hissed into the dog kennel. That’s usually where Ahmed hid when he was in trouble. He stuck his head out like the world’s most sheepish snail and looked up at her. She held out her arms and he crawled out of the kennel and climbed up her hip even though he was much too big.
“Who were you fighting with now?” she asked.
“Otieno was calling me ‘mzungu’”, he said sulkily.
Shadya sighed. Ahmed was very light skinned and sometimes people mistook him for a purely Caucasian kid. He hated it. He wanted to belong and him being called ‘white’ made him feel like he was an outside, other, not a member of their family.
“Otieno doesn’t know shit. I bet he’s colour blind”, Shadya soothed, rubbing at his soft curly hair in a way she knew he liked, “Now come in, wash your face and say sorry to Mama Mariam okay?”
“M’kay”, Ahmed said reluctantly, letting her carry him inside and deposit him at the tap in the laundry room so he could wash off. She wandered back into the house proper, mind on her mahamris, hoping they weren’t too cold. She hated to microwave them. Her footsteps faltered as she stepped into the dining hall. There was a man sitting in the chair opposite her step dad and they were talking animatedly. Where had he come from, and why did he look familiar?
He turned around then and looked at her…and smiled. Shadya felt her knees go weak.
“Shadya. How nice to see you again”, he said.
“What are you doing here?” Shadya forgot herself enough to ask.
Gregory Kariuki just smiled. It was Mariam who answered her.
“Shadya, this young man has brought a proposal for us. He is serious about making you his bride”, she said beaming all the while.
“What?” Shadya replied, her voice was strengthless in her shock.
“He has been negotiating with your father for some time. Now he is here to make things official”, she said, holding out her hands in happy felicitation. Shadya felt like she’d left her stomach in the kitchen.
“But…school?”, she tried faintly.
“Oh I have assured your parents that I will take over all your school fees and make sure that you finish”, he told her as if that fixed everything.
Shadya turned toward Vincent, “Baba…no”, she whispered in horror. She could see in his eyes that he sympathised with her and he opened his mouth to say something but then Mariam was grabbing her hand and pulling her away.
“Excuse us”, she told the room. Shadya stumbled after her as she led her, fingers claw like on her arm, to the kitchen.
“Your father is very sick”, she hissed at Shadya without preamble as soon as the kitchen door swung closed behind them, “He doesn’t have long to live. If you don’t take this proposal we will all end up on the street. Is that what you want?”
Her face was very close to Shadya’s, her eyes wide, staring into Shadya’s with all the fear and precariousness of their position reflected there. Shadya’s mind struggled to grapple with these new facts and accept the new reality as fast as possible. She had survived war, famine, migration, hunger…what was a little arranged marriage?
“He has agreed that we shall all live with him”, Mariam continued to hiss, “He will take care of us; do you understand?”
Even if Shadya left campus now, and got a job; she probably couldn’t keep them all clothed, fed and roofed. Did she really have a choice here?
“Okay”, she said, “I understand.”