Amina Page 12

  She rubbed her eyes with her knuckles and waited.

  Aabbe. Roble. Where are you? Please come home. We need you.

  ‘Amina!’ Ayeeyo stood at the foot of the stairs. Her voice was strained and, though she was doing her best to sound calm, Amina could hear a note of panic.

  She ran down the stairs. ‘How is Hooyo?’

  ‘The flow of blood has stopped for now but I think we must take her to hospital.’

  Amina’s heart sank but she wasn’t surprised. ‘The baby’s coming?’

  ‘We could deliver the baby, but the amount of blood … and the pain she’s having… ’ Ayeeyo shook her head. ‘She needs to see a doctor.’

  They went into the bedroom.

  Hooyo was slumped on the mat, head tilted sideways, chin resting on her chest. Her hand was placed on her belly. She jerked up at their approach and, when she saw Amina, she grabbed her hand.

  ‘Daughter,’ she said.

  That simple word melted the knot of anxiety Amina usually felt around her mother. She squeezed Hooyo’s hand. ‘I’m here, Hooyo. Is the baby coming too early?’

  ‘It’s early but not too early,’ Hooyo said. ‘I have so much scarring from my circumcision … it makes giving birth difficult.’ She took deep breaths in between each word. ‘I need to see a doctor. But I can’t go to the hospital, it’s a terrible place – so many patients and not enough nurses or doctors. I’m as likely to die as I am to get help. I can’t give birth there. I want you to go to my friend Rahmo’s house and bring her here to help.’

  ‘Rahmo?’ Amina asked.

  ‘You met her a couple of times,’ Hooyo said. ‘We worked together at the hospital. You visited her house with me once. Do you remember? You liked her cats.’

  Amina remembered the visit but only vaguely.

  ‘She doesn’t live too far,’ Hooyo said. ‘But we haven’t visited for a while. The situation with al-Shabaab …’ Her voice trailed off.

  ‘Why don’t we call her?’ Amina asked.

  ‘She doesn’t have a phone.’ Hooyo shifted, grimacing. ‘She retired a few years ago so she is probably at home. If she’s not, return quickly. It’s going to be a long night and I need you here.’

  ‘But—’ Amina’s objection was cut off by Hooyo’s sudden cry.

  Hooyo slid down on the mat and closed her eyes. She put her index finger in her mouth and bit down hard, as though it helped with the pain.

  Ayeeyo saw the doubt in Amina’s eyes and pushed her in the direction of the front door. ‘Go. Quickly now.’

  Amina grabbed the mobile phone that they used for emergencies, tied a scarf around her head, and took some of the money from the pouch before handing it to Ayeeyo. Her body felt like it was jumping out of her skin.

  Ayeeyo followed her out into the yard and to the gate. ‘Be careful,’ she said. ‘Here. Take this.’ She handed Amina a small knife, the one she used to peel and pare potatoes. ‘Keep it hidden but in your hand, like this.’ She demonstrated, her fist closed around the handle, her sleeve hiding the blade.

  Amina took the knife and hid it. It didn’t make her feel safe. After all, if somebody had a gun, she would be outmatched.

  ‘Keep to the shadows and hide,’ Ayeeyo continued.

  Amina nodded quickly. She wanted to leave. The conversation was only making her even more nervous about the journey.

  Amina ran the length of the street before she heard somebody calling her name. She jumped, whirling around and gripping the knife beneath her sleeve.

  It was Keinan.

  His eyes revealed equal measures of gladness to see her and worry about something. ‘I was coming to find you,’ he said. ‘My father found out who you are, what you do.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He knows you’re the person doing all the graffiti work in the neighbourhood.’

  ‘How did he find out? Did you tell him?’

  ‘No.’ Keinan sounded defensive. ‘I wouldn’t do that. He’s been watching your family for years, ever since he started selling your aabbe’s paintings.’

  What should I do? Amina wondered. The important thing right now was Hooyo. She had to get help, no matter what. ‘I can’t think about this tonight,’ Amina said.

  ‘You need to hide,’ Keinan urged. ‘Those men who arrested your father are on their way here, and they intend to arrest you too.’

  Fear crawled snake-like down Amina’s spine. ‘I’m leaving now,’ she said.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Where are you going? Is it somewhere you can stay? You shouldn’t come back, not for a while.’

  ‘But Hooyo—’

  ‘They’re not coming for your mother.’ He glanced behind him, as though expecting to see them. ‘She’ll be fine. They’ll leave her alone.’

  ‘I’m going right now to get a nurse for Hooyo,’ she said. ‘It’s bad. The baby—’

  ‘I’ll go with you,’ he interrupted. ‘And I’ll bring the nurse back.’

  ‘No!’ she said. And then she startled, as though she had heard a gun firing.

  A trio of men were running towards them, shouting, ‘Amina? Is that you?’

  ‘Go, get out of here!’ Keinan said.

  Amina didn’t stop to think. She held the jalbaab above her ankles so she wouldn’t trip and ran into the darkness of the alley, hoping nobody would be waiting for her there. The moon lit a path down the centre of the alley. It was deserted.

  She crouched in the darkness, half-hidden behind a crumbling wall, and waited until the men ran past, down the alley and towards the main street. Then she crept slowly back towards the street she had just come from, back against the wall, keeping out of the moonlight.

  She edged around the corner. Far down the street, a woman was walking with her husband, holding a baby. In the other direction, she saw two boys juggling a soccer ball between them.

  She started running towards the boys, as fast as she could go, keeping close to the wall, where it was darker. The boys stopped what they were doing and stared at her. One of them shouted, ‘Where are you going?’ but she didn’t stop. Somebody was running after her. Feet pounded against the dirt road, out of sync with her own footsteps, and gaining on her.

  She stopped, spinning around, brandishing the knife.

  ‘Hey, it’s only me!’ Keinan shouted, skidding to a stop and holding up his hands.

  Amina glared at him. ‘How do I know I can trust you?’ Her voice shook.

  He closed his eyes, the skylights shuttered, blocking out the sun. ‘Because it’s me,’ he said, wounded, like she’d actually stabbed him with the knife.

  ‘I have to go,’ she said. She hid her knife and walked briskly away.

  ‘I’m coming too.’ He jogged after her.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Leave me alone.’

  ‘I want to help.’

  She ignored him but he stuck closely beside her as she ran down the street and turned right onto a cross street. Though she was still risking being found alone with Keinan, who wasn’t her brother or even her cousin, she knew she was safer with him on the dangerous streets of Mogadishu at night. And yet she couldn’t shake the sense of betrayal. She knew it was wrong to blame the son for the sins of the father – but blood ties were strong. If he had to choose, wouldn’t Keinan always side with his family? Would he really choose to sacrifice his clan, his family, to save her? She couldn’t believe it, not for a second. She would keep him close now, but if she had a chance to escape from him, she would.

  ‘Wait,’ Keinan hissed.

  ‘What?’ Amina stopped, abruptly.

  ‘It’s my father,’ he whispered, gesturing to indicate his father walking down the street, a few houses away.

  They stepped between a tree and a wall and waited. Amina held her breath. She’d never noticed how loud her breathing was until she needed to keep perfectly quiet.

  A plastic cup rattled down the street, blown by a sudden wind.

  She blinked. The moonlight seemed suddenly harsh, too bright. She
let her breath out sharply. Her shadow – deformed and unrecognisable, but still her shadow – was leaking out onto the street, visible to anybody walking by.

  What if Abdullahi Hassan had seen it? She pulled further behind the tree and held her breath again.

  She glanced at the boy by her side.What if he shouted to his father and revealed she was there? What if—

  Her mobile phone rang, a single, shrill note. Amina fumbled to pull it out, then pushed at the buttons desperately, her fingers clumsy, useless. Keinan grabbed the phone from her and silenced it.

  ‘It’s okay.’ Keinan handed the phone back. ‘He’s too far away to hear it.’

  They waited until Keinan’s father was out of sight. Then they sneaked quietly in the other direction, turned a corner, and started to run. Amina peeked at the phone. Ayeeyo had called, probably to find out what was taking her so long. She would return the call when they reached Rahmo’s house safely and she knew help was on its way.

  ‘Do you know where you’re going?’ Keinan asked.

  Amina stopped and held up a hand, bent over and wheezing. She wasn’t used to running. ‘It’s just a few blocks over,’ she said. ‘It’s not far.’

  ‘Let’s keep going,’ he said.

  For a moment, Amina was glad for his presence. He had saved her twice now. Maybe she could trust him after all.

  They trudged down the long street, glancing left and right, eyes roving restlessly, seeking any sudden movement from the other people who were out late, travelling from one place to another. A fire was burning down one alley, a group of street kids clustered around it. They passed a woman huddling in the shelter of an abandoned house, shielding two small children with her long jalbaab and gripping the rope that tethered her to the goat bleating softly beside her.

  ‘Do you know what happened to my father?’ she asked Keinan.

  ‘Why? Do you?’ he asked, quick, licking his lips.

  ‘That’s not an answer. Tell me. Please.’

  Seeing the homeless woman with her children, Amina had had a sudden impulse to ask, a desire to know, no matter how bad the news was. But now, she wished she hadn’t.

  ‘I thought you might know because your father was behind it all,’ she said.

  ‘Oh.’ Keinan’s voice was devoid of boasting, or pride in his father. It was simply empty and tired.

  ‘Never mind.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘You have the right to know. I just don’t want to be the one to tell you.’

  She thought of Hooyo’s dull eyes over the past couple of months, the anguish that allowed her to waste away, the fact that she never mentioned Aabbe or Roble. Hooyo must have already suspected that he’d been killed.

  And now Amina did, too.

  If Keinan didn’t want to tell her, it meant the worst. Her father was gone. Forever. They had killed him. Was there anything more to say?

  Fat tears rolled down her cheeks, a salty tang on her lips and tongue. She was glad it was dark and that Keinan was keeping a careful distance. She wouldn’t betray herself with a single sniffle. She let the tears dry on her face. Her skin felt tight, like she was wearing a mask.

  They rattled the gate, Keinan shouting, ‘Hello! Hello!’ until they heard tottering footsteps coming their way.

  ‘Who is it?’ Amina recognised Rahmo’s distinctive voice.

  ‘It’s Khadija Asad’s daughter, Amina.’

  ‘Amina! What are you doing here?’ Rahmo was already fumbling at the gate and swinging it open.

  ‘We need help, eeddo.’

  Rahmo ushered them in, checking the road to see if anyone was following, then closing the gate and locking it. ‘Roble?’ she asked.

  ‘This is Keinan, a neighbour,’ Amina explained.

  If she was surprised to see Amina with a young man who was not her brother, she didn’t show it. ‘What is wrong, daughter?’ she asked.

  ‘Hooyo’s in labour,’ Amina said. ‘But it’s not going well.’

  The moonlight cast stark light on Rahmo’s face, revealing deep creases in her cheeks, smile lines around her eyes. ‘You better come inside,’ she said. ‘It will take me a minute to gather my things.’

  They sat on wooden chairs, watching as Rahmo’s mother gathered supplies from the kitchen cupboards and placed them in a large black bag. Rahmo disappeared then came back wearing different clothes. She grabbed the bag from her mother and started riffling through the contents.

  Amina dialled Ayeeyo’s number. ‘We’ll be home soon,’ she said, when Ayeeyo answered.

  Keinan followed Rahmo into the kitchen and whispered something to her, his face earnest, gesturing with his hands, as if emphasising what he was saying.

  Rahmo nodded as Keinan spoke. She shook her head once or twice, the look on her face growing increasingly concerned. She heaved the bag across her shoulder and came into the kitchen. ‘Amina, Keinan has told me that there are dangerous men looking for you,’ she said.

  Tears choked Amina’s throat. ‘Yes.’

  Rahmo’s gaze was compassionate. ‘Perhaps you had better wait here,’ she said.

  ‘No, eeddo, Hooyo needs me.’ Her voice cracked.

  ‘Your mother needs to know you are safe while she’s in labour,’ she said, gently.

  Amina nodded. ‘All right.’

  ‘Everything will work out, you’ll see,’ Keinan said.

  She couldn’t look at him. She wanted to believe he was right but it was impossible to know.

  They stepped outside the door. ‘Lock it when we’re gone, Hooyo,’ Rahmo told her mother.

  Amina waited until they had left the yard and closed and locked the gate. She looked apologetically at Rahmo’s mother. ‘I’m sorry, but I have to go. My mother – she needs me.’

  Rahmo’s mother looked hesitant.

  ‘Please don’t try to keep me here,’ Amina said. ‘Please.’

  Rahmo’s mother nodded and followed Amina outside. She opened the gate. It clanged shut.

  Rahmo and Keinan were still visible, moving swiftly down the street in the direction of her house. She stepped into the shadows and followed them, running lightly, swerving around potholes and chunks of footpath, skidding on gravel, falling down and tearing a hole in her jalbaab, then getting up again and running after them, always keeping them in sight.

  She hadn’t wanted to deceive them. But even if it meant walking right into the hands of the men who sought her, she couldn’t wait here while Hooyo was in danger.

  Chapter 13

  Amina peeked through her front window into a crowded house.

  An imam, Abdullahi Hassan and a third man – a stranger to Amina – stood uncomfortably in the front room along with Keinan and Ayeeyo. Abdullahi Hassan shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Keinan stood beside Ayeeyo, glaring at his father.

  The imam pointed at the window and said something. Everybody turned to see Amina watching them. Ayeeyo closed her eyes.

  Abdullahi Hassan stalked across the room towards the door. Amina leapt back and started to run down the steps just as Abdullahi Hassan flung the door open. ‘Stop,’ he commanded.

  Amina stopped. She looked back. The man she didn’t recognise flew down the steps and grabbed her arm, dragging her back up the steps and past Abdullahi Hassan. She stumbled and almost tripped, coming to a stop in front of the imam.

  Although Hooyo’s bedroom door was closed, they could hear every noise from inside. The uneasy silence in the front room was broken only by Rahmo’s voice murmuring comforting words and Hooyo’s occasional grunt.

  ‘Amina, what are you doing here?’ Keinan asked at the same moment Ayeeyo asked the men, ‘What do you think you’re doing? Let go of my granddaughter.’

  ‘We’re taking this girl into custody,’ the imam said. He had a long beard and spoke out of the side of his mouth, his words slightly garbled.

  ‘She’s defacing public property,’ Keinan’s father said. ‘She paints graffiti on the walls of buildings all around this neighbourhood, and the messag
es she paints are inciting people to revolt against the teachings of Islam.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Ayeeyo looked confused and angry. ‘Not Amina. She’s a good girl.’

  ‘I love and respect Allah and the prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him,’ Amina said. She spoke quietly, as she knew these men would want her to do. ‘I would never do something that would incite people against Islam.’

  ‘But that is exactly what you are doing,’ the imam said. ‘Just like your father before you.’

  ‘My father was a good Muslim,’ Amina said. ‘Somebody’s been lying to you.’ She glanced at Abdullahi Hassan.

  Twisting her arm, she freed herself from the man’s grasp, then gasped as he yanked her back. She would have bruises where his fingers gripped her skin.

  ‘What proof do you have that Amina is the artist you’re looking for?’ Keinan asked.

  ‘Your father is the one who led us to her,’ the imam said.

  ‘Have you asked my father how he profits from this?’ Keinan asked.

  ‘Hush, son,’ Abdullahi Hassan said.

  Shame cracked Keinan’s voice but he continued, dogged and steady. ‘Members of al-Shabaab paid him to betray Amina’s father. Do you think he’s doing this for the good of Islam? Or is he doing it for the money? And if he’s doing it for money, then is that how you determine the truth?’

  The imam’s face took on a resolute look, mirroring Keinan’s. ‘Abdullahi Hassan prays regularly at my mosque,’ he said. ‘If he says it’s true, I believe him.’

  ‘I also pray regularly at your mosque,’ Keinan said. ‘Don’t you trust me?’

  The stranger sneered. ‘You’ve been blinded. Your association with this girl and her family has corrupted your good sense.’

  ‘Wait,’ Amina said. ‘Please, let me show you something.’

  The imam and the stranger looked doubtful.

  ‘Please,’ Amina said. ‘I want to show you some of my pieces.’

  She climbed the stairs to the second storey and brought back a cloth mosaic she had been working on and storing away from the family rooms so that she could keep it hidden. She had cut up strips of cloth into tiny pieces to create a large picture, a pattern creating a dark background with a white half-moon and the star of Islam.