Take Refuge in the Distance

AN EARLY MORNING, an early rain, an early guest. That’s how you could describe Tawida’s reunion with Aida after their long separation. Aida hadn’t expected ever to see Tawida again. She thought she must have been taken to some faraway place that she could never come back from. But here she was: sopping wet, exhausted, scrawny, and sick, holding a tiny white bundle of flesh wrapped in a pink towel.

It really was Tawida herself.

“Who’s this you’ve got with you?” Aida asked. “Is he yours?”

“His name is Miftah Daqiq. He rescued me, and I rescued him.”

“Here, I’ll heat some milk for you. It’ll warm you up. You’re frozen stiff!”

“Are you all okay? We need to change the rags around the baby. He’s wet himself. I’m afraid they’re going to find out I’m here.”

“Don’t worry. It’s safe here. Nobody spies on anybody. Ahbara’s work is all internal now. She spies for Lalla Uwayshina on her daughter-in-law Lalla Rugaya and her daughter Halima, and Halima uses her to do the same thing to her sister-in-law Lalla Rugaya and her mother. She’s busy with everybody against everybody. They all pay her to spy on everybody else, thinking she works just for them!”

After a pause, Aida resumed, “So, then, tell me what happened to you.”

Tawida looked away absently for a moment, as though she didn’t want to answer, or recall anything from the past: how she’d been taken to the brothel, what she’d been through there, the ugliness to which a crushed person can descend, the pleasure market, and the rules it operates under.

She wept, agitated.

“There’s no time for tears now,” Jaballah said gently. “Be strong. You’ve been through lots of hard times, but now you’re free. You’ve got a new life to take hold of, so never go back to the past. A lot of runaway slaves hide in the Slave Yards under false names so that nobody can track them down. This is your chance to choose freedom over slavery. If they catch you, you’ll go back to being a slave. If not, you’re free forever. Folks in the Slave Yards look out for each other, so no matter how bad things get, you’ll never have any reason to be afraid of the people around you. They help each other a lot more than slave families do. When you’re a slave, you have to look out for yourself, and when you’re scared, you might end up betraying some other slave or trying to get ahead at their expense. When you were here before, you weren’t safe even among your own kind. Remember what Ahbara did to you?”

Tawida listened without comment.

“As for the little one, he’ll either tie you down or give you wings. But I think you’re lucky to have him. He’ll make it easier for you to hide your identity. If, on the other hand, he poses a danger to you or if his family sends slaves out to look for him, you should get rid of him as fast as you can. But I doubt if they’d do that. I mean, who would let a bird fly away and then come looking for it again?”

Jaballah paused to collect his thoughts before continuing, “You’ll need to change your name and come up with a story you’ll tell people about yourself if they ask. And don’t you dare forget it! Repeat it over and over to yourself so you won’t mix up the details. You’ve got to get to the point where you’ve convinced yourself that this really is your story. And your name should indicate where you came from. The names of slaves that have fled from the West and South are different from the names of slaves from around here. So take advantage of the fact that you look like people who’ve come from faraway places. You can be a support to them, and they can do the same for you. I’ve got a trusted friend in the Slave Yards who can build you a shack there.

I’ll introduce you to him as a newcomer from Fezzan or Tripoli. He’s got a good heart, and he’ll be happy to help you. But you’ve got to find work that won’t take you into the city or put you in contact with people there. You need to stay in the Yards—beyond the wall.”

Jaballah looked down pensively before adding, “You could do people’s laundry, for example. Or bring water from the wells in Zurayri‘iya. Or cook broad beans and chickpeas for the street vendors. Or wash floor mats, or sift sand. There are lots of things you could do there. But there are two jobs you should steer clear of: being a singer and dancer, and working for the prostitutes. In the end it’s up to you, of course.

“Nobody but the baby’s mother will come looking for him. If she remembers your face and your name, and if she goes to that mosque and verifies that nobody found a baby on its doorstep that day, she’ll find you in the end. Then, if she’s got a good heart, she’ll do her best to keep the secret so as not to hurt either herself or you. Otherwise she might resort to nasty measures to take him away from you.”

Getting up in preparation to go, Jaballah said, “I’ll leave you two now. I’ve got to get the cart ready to take the master to market. Don’t worry, Tawida. You’re safe here. Just try to keep the baby from crying so people won’t hear him. We’ll talk more after I get back, and we’ll find a solution for everything . . . Aida, milk the white goat for the little one. Its milk is good. And Tawida, we’re thankful to have you back with us safe and sound.”

Suddenly Tawida turned to her friend and, nudging her playfully, said, “So why have you still not gotten pregnant by this brave guy?”

“God hasn’t opened the way yet. We’ve been thinking about making an agreement with our master that when he passes away, we and our children will be free. We’d have to come up with some money to pay him, though. Jaballah’s been waiting for a chance to talk to the master and convince him. It looks like a long shot, but it’s worth a try. Whenever I bring it up with him he says, ‘Be patient for a little while longer. I’m waiting for the right time.’ I don’t want us to have children as long as we’re still slaves. They’ll just inherit our slavery, and that’s the last thing we’d want for them. We’ll see what God has in store for us.”

“And Master Muhammad—how is he?”

The question came unexpectedly. Aida looked into her friend’s troubled eyes. Then she looked down, not knowing what to say.

“Can you tell me how he is?”

Squeezing Tawida’s hand, Aida said, “It’s better for you to forget him. No white man around here would defend his love for a black woman no matter how attached he is to her. We just exist for their pleasure. If one of us leaves, there’ll be others to replace her. Look around you. Have you ever seen an example of the opposite? From the poor man in the street, to the merchant, to the Sufi sheikh—they all take black women as concubines. Nobody gives a damn about a slave’s heart and soul. Nobody.”

Shifting in her seat, Aida went on, “Don’t make yourself miserable on his account. He’s just like any other man who’s under his family’s thumb and doesn’t have the guts to stand up to them. When you first disappeared, he moved out to your shack. He ate and drank there. He slept there. He cried all the time. But after around a month of that, his family managed to bring him back into the fold. In his heart of hearts, he may really be in love with you. But he’d never sacrifice his wife—who’s also his cousin, and the mother of his daughters—for the sake of a servant woman. He’s no exception to the rule, Tawida. Traditions around here are set in stone. So, unless she’s got some position in the family network, a woman will just be replaced by the one who comes after her as if nothing had happened—especially if she’s a slave! I think they’ve convinced him that what attracted him to you wasn’t really love, but the effects of some magic spell you’d cast on him . . .”

“What!!” Tawida burst out. “I swear to God I never did a thing to him and you know it! I just loved him, that’s all!”

“I know, I know,” Aida assured her. “But that’s the way people are, Tawida. They outdo Satan himself when it comes to evil plots and machinations. In this rotten world, it’s a rare person who’s really good deep down. People like Muhammad’s family don’t believe that things happen because of the terrible things they do. If anything bad happens, they chalk it up to some kind of magic. Any development that’s not to their liking, they assume it was caused by sorcery, and they’ll do or say anything to reinforce this way of understanding it. The person they want to blame is turned into a wicked sorcerer that should be fought against. They complicate life like crazy, but trying to change the way they think is even more complicated. They accuse every black person of practicing magic, which makes us seem like weird, incomprehensible creatures. They make a tangled maze for us, and then they trap us in it. So instead of being able to demand our legitimate rights, we’re always busy fighting off accusations.

“Don’t forget that Muhammad isn’t the first man who’s fallen in love with a black woman. They’ve tried to convince him that what he’s experiencing isn’t love, but the result of a magic spell that will wear off over time with the right cure. He may have believed them, or at least have given the idea a chance. His sister Halima came all the way from Derna with specially treated water, incense, and all sorts of other anti-sorcery concoctions. Oh my God, is that woman ever nasty, and she packs a lot of clout too! She’s got all sorts of tricks up her sleeve, and she’s got venom running through her veins in place of blood. She even brought a sheikh with her from Derna. One night he came to the house and beat a bendir. Then he brought a bunch of enchanted knots and animal bones out of your shack. He said these were the things that had made Muhammad fall in love with you, and that you’d cast a spell on him to make him your slave!

“Jaballah and I were the ones serving them during the session, and we’re sure it was the sheikh who planted them in your shack to convince Muhammad that they were yours. That way he could make him hate you. And I’m sure Muhammad’s sister Halima paid that phony a pretty penny to do what he did. After he was gone, Halima stayed at her family’s house for a while, claiming that she was protecting them from sorcerers’ evil tricks. Actually, though, she’s the one who’s been practicing magic on him to make him change his attitude toward his wife. It’s a way of protecting the family’s commercial interests, since their in-laws are also their business partners. When his wife’s relatives saw what bad shape she was in, they started pressuring Muhammad’s family to pay back money they owed them. Don’t forget that Halima stands to gain more than anybody else. She’s concerned not to let family relations sour because she wants Lalla Rugaya’s brother—Halima’s cousin—to propose to her oldest daughter, Afifa. Little by little she’s been winning Lalla Rugaya over to her side, so Rugaya’s started trying to convince her brother to ask for pea-brained Afifa’s hand.

“Men are really naïve in some ways. They believe all their family members’ arguments and justifications. They don’t think any of their blood relatives could hate them or wish them ill, and that only outsiders would want to hurt them. And Jaballah agrees with me about Halima. He says she’s a witch and worse, that she’s a demoness. She goes in secret to the Jarid Market and buys weird things from the herbalist and then comes back to use them in their house. He wants to warn Master Muhammad to open his eyes and see that the person who’s working magic on him and hurting him isn’t his concubine, but his own sister. Then again, how could Jaballah say a thing like that and be believed?

“Master Muhammad’s been quiet for some time now. He lives his life normally and sleeps in his own bedroom. Beyond that, I don’t know a thing. I haven’t noticed any change in his relationship with Lalla Rugaya. Maybe his sister’s magic has gotten to him. Maybe he’s worried about hurting his business relations with his in-laws. Or maybe he’s keeping his mouth shut while he makes other plans. God knows what’s going through his head.

“I do think, though, that your having this white baby with you will complicate things between you if you get back together. Given all the nasty things his family has said to him about you, it won’t be easy for him to believe that this baby isn’t yours by some white man. And things will only get worse if he starts thinking the baby is al-Figgi’s. Can you prove him wrong? I hate to say it, but I think you’re going to be faced with a choice between him and the baby someday, between your heart and your humanity.

“One thing I do know for certain is that his relatives, and especially the women, want him to forget all about you. They’re working on bringing him back into their circle and driving any strangers out of his life. If he has a son, they’re determined to make sure the child’s mother is a free woman, not a slave. So you need to start thinking about your life without taking him into account.”

“But I love him. God knows my heart!”

Heaving a sigh, Aida remarked, “Like they say, ‘Cordiality is a con.’ Love is as true as a lie. Love started ruining your life the minute it walked in the door. After all, people don’t like to have a love story grow up next to them if they’re not a party to it. So they don’t like to keep their mouths shut about it. If you want a life without a lot of hassles, you’ll have to live based on common sense and throw your heart to the street cats.”

Tawida cringed slightly.

Aida went on, “Love is considered immoral, something to be ashamed of. But not hate! When people around here openly express hatred, they don’t feel ashamed at all, whereas love relationships are treated like something everybody should wage war on, and people do everything they can to discredit them. So what can we do?

“Think logically now. We live in a country that can’t survive without racism and something to hate. So where do you think you could go and talk about love as something people can trust and approve of?

“As for the matter of the shushana at the brothel, don’t tell anybody about her. Bury that story the way you buried your baby boy, and never think about it again. Remembering it just causes you pain. You know, Tawida, a lot of slave women have gone through this sort of thing, and worse, but when they tried to talk about it nobody sympathized with them. On the contrary, their lives just got that much harder, even among their own kind. When the body’s violated, so is the soul. You don’t need any more abuse than you’ve already suffered.

“So, for your own sake, and for the sake of this baby who’s given you back your freedom and your life, put everything behind you. Bury even the old Tawida, and rise up as a new creation.”