Noor(22)

CHAPTER 9


    Elders



The village’s women had woven the entire structure from palm tree raffia. A building the size of a large living room that could easily and quickly be collapsed and folded and placed on the back of a camel when the time came to move on. Wherever they stopped, it was always placed in the center of the nomad village (which was about a quarter mile in diameter) and thus the hardest place for outsiders to get to if they ever found the village.

We met the Elders there. Inside it smelled strongly of oud and where it was warm outside, it was cool inside thanks to a solar air-conditioner sitting on the far end. It was well-lit because of the openings in a circle at the top that allowed sunlight to shine in as long as the sun was out and up. Inside, five Elders waited. Three were women, two men, all were quite tall and thin, and all were old. They wore traditional white nomadic robes. They motioned for us to sit down on the raffia floor. I was very conscious of them watching my legs and I quickly sat and covered them up with my long skirt.

“No time for introductions,” one of the women said. She was clearly blind, her milky eyes unmoving. She had a motion sensor sitting on her shoulder like a green beetle. I could see two of the red dots it projected in front of her and to her right. “Dangote Nuhu Adamu,” she said in a soft voice. “Are you telling the truth? You acted in self-defense?”

“I am and I did,” he said.

“If you are lying, then you’ve pulled your family, your village into shame,” she said. “Because we are going to defend you.”

“I understand,” he said. “I’m no terrorist. Almost all my cattle were brutally killed in that village. The people there were angry because of some other boys who had done terrible things. We’re not all the same. Let’s be honest, some herdsmen have become terrorists. All of us here can name relatives or men we know who left and . . . turned. The desert keeps creeping south, the storm keeps raging. Herdsmen give up their cattle and turn. But NOT ME. I am DNA. I only want a simple quiet life, and I love you all. I would never bring shame to you. Never.”

“Who’s this girl?” one of the male elders asked, pointing a gnarled finger at me. It was always men who asked this.

“I am called AO,” I said. “I’m from—”

“What’s your real name?” he asked.

I paused, narrowing my eyes at him. What did my “real” name matter? When my parents named me, they were naming the normal child they’d hoped I’d be despite what the doctors told them. “Anwuli Okwudili,” I said.

“Eh, what does it matter?” DNA asked. “She says her name is AO, we should respect that.”

“It all matters,” the man snapped. “Look at this one’s body. These Igbo people hold nothing sacred. They’ll sell anything.”

I got to my feet. “I didn’t sell—”

“We have to go!” DNA said, also getting up. He picked up the raffia ball. “Look, Elders, AO and I survived terrible things less than forty-eight hours ago. Whatever you hear, know that we both just wanted to be allowed to be.”

“Shut up and WAIT,” the blind woman shouted. “Mahmoud, tell them!”

Possibly the youngest of the elders, Mahmoud was a tiny wrinkled man who held his gnarled walking stick on his lap as he spoke. “Where will you go now?” he asked.

“I don’t know!” DNA said. “Away from here, before there’s tribal madness!”

Mahmoud looked up at us for a long moment and then said, “Go and see Baba Sola, first.”

At the mention of the name, all the elders started nodding vigorously and whispering, “Yes, go,” “Fine idea,” “He will know.”

“You want us to go into the Red Eye?” DNA gasped. He looked at the raffia ball he carried.

“It will at least hide you,” the blind woman said.

“We aren’t trying to get rid of you,” the man with the cane said. “We’re protecting you.”

“Your sister has already left the village,” the blind woman said.

“Some are following, but not all,” Mahmoud said, looking at his mobile phone.

“You should go,” the blind woman said.

“And none of this is coincidence,” one of the other elder women added, pointing an index finger in the air. “That one with her wahala, you with yours, and then meeting just after, during these times . . . yes, definitely go see Baba Sola!”

“OKAY,” DNA said. “OKAY.”

We started to leave, but I turned back. “There are some things that truly are just inevitable,” I said.

“We understand that,” one of the women said. “We all do, and that’s why we live out here. We don’t plant seeds for government money; we don’t participate. But you have, my dear. You have. See your body? You may have had reason, but you are part of it, like it or not. Somehow he is, too, though he lived his life trying to stay out of it. We will pray for you both. But please, and we mean no insult by this, get out of our village.”

I nodded and let DNA lead me to the opening of the portable village hall. He turned back one more time, “If none of you ever hear from me again, know that it is because you’ve sent me and this woman to a mad man.”