Chaste As It Was! (Short Story)

[Abtigiis]

PART THREE

 

‘Waxba maydaan arkin idinku’, Shakuur bellowed. ‘Last night, when I was coming back from the library, I saw two men and a girl walking side by side on the first street. The girl was in between and was holding the hand of one man, while she was in passionate cuddle with the other one.’ He heaved a sigh of disgust, and went on. ‘Where on earth is such a game being played? It was Hibo.’

 

And he heard. Haybe was listening to all of these. But when I finally took him to a secluded pastry, and started to give a useful counsel why it is for the good of him, I and other friends are concerned, he only spoke one sentence: ‘why don’t you leave me alone?’ Later, while in our study (and sleeping) room-we were all students- he played Hanuniye’s ‘dadbaa jira waalanoo haday wax is raba arkaan ukala wariya xumaan…Jacaylkeena ka weyn’, over and over as if the tiny National Panasonic tape that we bought collectively belongs to him alone.

 

Then it slowly crossed my mind. Why can’t I meet the young lady and make out all I need to know. I knew their home; but again, why go into all that intricacy. Is she not going to pass by the front of the cafeteria ‘leopards’ loiter for their pray, ‘I think I love my wife cafeteria’. Mostly, married men assemble there; men they call the ‘undeterred elderly’, who would not hesitate to nib the bud of any wayward virgin. Hibo was restless and wayward. She wasn’t a filly, though. Not anymore. She was in her early thirties. Yet, she still conducted herself as if she was in the eve of the days when she was in her fullness of adolescence; just coming to bloom. The impertinent fellows who roost there say Hibo passes by, at least, twice a day. If she doesn’t, then she didn’t need to. She has her man already.

 

I didn’t need to look for her for long. There she was, by the side of Xabiibi’s shop. I shook hands with her and started telling her the purpose of my meeting with her. Barely did I finish the first sentence, when she cut me short.

 

‘Are you talking about your friend Haybe? Or you are here for, let us say to try your luck?’ she said, and then let out a mock chortle. It was a rather wry humour to me.

‘Of course, I am here to talk to you about why you are not treating my friend well. You know he is ready to marry you. Why can’t you de-crowd yourself?’ I was getting disconcerted.

‘First of all, I am a woman. I talk to a thousand and marry one. Don’t you know that?’ she said derisively, and strode back and forth, with as much panache as she could muster.

‘But you are abusing that antiquated aphorism. It is practiced by you in that face, literally. How many are you talking to right now! Three hundred, five hundred, two thousand? No body knows. And to be honest with you, that is not the issue. It is not about talking to men. It is about…’ I almost said what wasn’t a secret to anyone in town; but decided against it in the nick of time.

‘What are they saying? She is a provider? I know and I don’t care. Anything else?’ had I said the talk is about how well you dress, she couldn’t have been more indifferent. And she gave vent to her indecency with a loud guffaw and wiggle of her waist.

 

I didn’t reckon that respectful one bit, but even before I went far with the probe of what she thinks about Haybe, a young boy came running from the street, and stood right beside the wall she was leaning on. ‘Hibo, Jaamac says I am not in that house tonight; come to the other one. Near the airport.’ The boy scratched his head as if he expected something, but she motioned with her hand for him to go. And then the telephone rang. Not her mobile; there were no mobile phones those days. The telephone in the shop, next door. A tall man stretched his neck out of the window, pointing a hand towards her, and gestured ‘you have a call here’. She swiveled the first finger twice, to hint ‘let him ring later’ note.

 

On a hectic evening, he finally caught her. She was dining in ‘the hungry Hippos’ restaurant with a man who was a cashier in a local remittance agent (xawaalad) – kala-rog express. We were with him, and he froze for good ten minutes. It was time to go back to our tiny room and confer on the issue.

[Jacaylbaro]

Well, i think it is not short anymore ,,

[Abtigiis]

Depends on your understanding of short stories. My teacher said It can go upto 3000 words. Blame it on him!

[Kool_Kat]

Originally posted by Abtigiis & Tolka:

KoolKat

Abaayo, waxaa waayee af-******* ma fahantidoo?? kii Muuse Suudi baan kugula hadli hadda: xaa waayeee yabaal ma fahmaayo? mihiina xaa walaxaas laga dhahaa? JB fadlan take the pain of inviting her, Sahra Daawo's "Yabaalbaa,laba...".

AfStar** maaku hadashaa? Wax aan aqaano ma'aha, wili waa ii dhimanyahay kaas, malaha qaxii kadib uu soo baxay...As for Muuse Suudi's, dadka afkooda ha uga dheelin, waxaaga falfalaad waaye...

 

Ilaa iyo hada wax 'yabaal' ladhoho qof iisheegoyo maleh, idinkaba inaa taqaaniin ilama aha...

 

Now, let me go read these not so-short stories...Hadaanan kahelina, tii dheereed baa dhicidoonata hala'ogaado!!!

[Abtigiis]

yabaal means " hesitation and confusion". not exactly one of them, but something in between! Bad omen is more accurate, i would guess. Now, what is tii dheereed supposed to be? Qaylo?

[Miskiin-Macruuf-Aqiyaar]

Abtiga, xaa ka qaldan Afxaayoow hee? Yihooy see camalkaa, ma'aha xaa mooday, goofkeena waaye.

 

Heesta caan ah ee Xuu yiri, xee tiri wan taym [ ] ma maqlin miyaa. Waaba hees caalamiyee.

-------------

 

‘First of all, I am a woman. I talk to a thousand and marry one. Don’t you know that?’

Maxaa jiro, meesha suuq mee mooday, badeecooyinka badanyihiin. Ar intee "thousand" interview ka qaadeyso, yeenan meesha ku qadin halkeeda weynin, oo guumeys noqon. Horta nin 'guumeys' ma noqdaa asagana, oo maxaa dumarka kaligood loo dhahaa? Wax walba dumar lee waaye ku qaldan. Haddee laba isqabo dhali waayeen, iyada, not asaga, ayaa wax ka qaldanyihiin. Haddee guur la'aan ku raagto waa guumeys, asagana waa nin caadi ah. Haddee niman badan la seexato waa dhilo, asagana waa 'player.' Kan fadhi ku dirirka banaanka fadhiyo waxba kama qaldana, laakiin iyada haddee wareegto oo aroosyada iyo xafladaha ay aado isku badiso waa qeyrul masuul qoyskeeda neglect gareyso.

[Baashi]

Good read. Two thumbs up.

[Abtigiis]

PART FOUR(FINAL)

 

‘You see what we were telling you! Now, it is not you who is in charge. It is us. You have shamed us enough. We have become the objects of ridicule for everybody. Listen now.’ We all said one after another. And then issued commands to him. You will not to talk to her again, you will not pass by the route she passes, you will not utter her name, and most of all you will not talk to any of her women friends. And a lot more of don’t do’s.

 

I remember his request. ‘I fully agree’, he said, ‘but allow me to see her one more time just to take my anger off my chest. I will tell her that she is not what I thought she is, that if she thinks I am not enough for her, she has made a big mistake and that she will end up in the hand of one of these losers.’ Permission not granted. Then he begged, ‘what about if I call her and say she should never come around me, please let me say that to her’. Again, a resounding no, was the consensus from us.

 

After a silence of maybe half-an-hour, Haybe made another request, this time more cogently. ‘Hey, friends, is it not weird that I just stop a relationship and the other player doesn’t know about it? No, no, I think I must let her know that it is over’.

 

Xashi’s patience waned. ‘You man. You look you are not yet over it. Why do you insist on seeing her again? It is over. Over. We said so, and don’t expect us to acquiesce to the whims of an infatuated man.’ Haybe looked at me with beseeching eyes. ‘Why don’t you say something, Caabi?’ his voice stuttered like a radio with a dead battery. Like the proverbial Hyena that run to the side of whoever showed mercy, among the hunting men; he likes to slope towards me when he is in an unpleasant condition. But he must have known, of all days today, I wasn’t going to come to his rescue. I was up to my neck in distaste for the young lady.

 

I told him to listen to his friends and heed their advice. It was clear he was making a valiant effort to contain his disappointment with our intrusion. Gradually, Haybe walked out of the room with melancholy. We later learned he actually confronted her with the allegations, but thankfully, Hibo assured him that it was all an ugly fib. Truth be told, the first acquaintance of a celestial visitor would have been Hibo, in that town. Was it Percy Sledge, who said Loving eyes can never see? Right, he was.

 

After a week, we were invited to their wedding rite. She insisted Axmaaro friends of her, must sing for the occasion. And the unambiguous wedding melody (of the Axmaaro) flowed, to the disapproval of many of us, who saw it as uncalled for and iconoclastic.

 

O! (You) Bride, O! (You) groom

To you comes, our heartily wishes

For accomplishing the destiny

May your matrimony bloom

Like that of Abraham and Sara

Like Methuselah, May it live

For a long time, for eternity’

 

Three months later, it was time for divorce. Disregarding the blessings, they obviously lampooned Abraham and Sara. ‘What happened?’ We asked, recalling that in those early days of nuptial festivities, we were small with shame, and Haybe made sure we feel the pain of our crimes (by playing different songs that hailed the inevitability of the triumph of love over jealously and pernicious gossips) whenever we paid the newly-wed family an obligatory visit.

 

‘War bad baan galay’, he said, holding his head.’ I now know I wasn’t living in this town. ‘Rag aana magaaladda waligay ku arag baanu isbaranay’ these days. The bottom-line is my house became ‘Acapulco bay’ where the obscure love and lust chase of a Mexican series is played out. Sometimes, I think I am a receptionist in a massage parlour. ‘Where is Hibo?’ is the most spoken word of peoeple looking for her, like clients who wouldn't be served by elseone! To my surprise, when visitors come, and when I face her with who they are, it is always ‘either her ina-abti or waa caadi’.

 

‘Kaalay, is the United Nations your reer-abti? I asked her once.’ He asked us, not soliciting any particular answer,’ how can folks of all nations and races surround my house and she tells me they are her ina-abti?’ He made us laugh when he defined ‘caadi’, not as a word, but as anything from ‘a bearded-stranger at your doorsteps asking for your wife, to a young lady who knocks at your door after midnight and whispers things in your wife’s ears’.

 

Her version was different. ‘Wuu bacoobay, oo buufis buu qaaday’, she said. ‘I don’t know why he is behaving so strangely? Before we married, he never protested against ‘people I socialize with’. He knows I am an avid lover of social discourse and interactions’.

 

As my patience paid off and I finally walked into the smelly toilet, it passed my mind, whether Haybe will think of us, with hindsight, as an insufferable hordes, or genuine friends with a legitimate cause for concern (who were on a scared mission of saving him a damned life)’. Considering that we disapproved of his second marriage as well, which since then proved a success; it isn’t so clear, I thought. Is it? And then Haybe’s words the last time I saw him, three years ago, reverberated in my mind. ‘Chaste as your friendship was, it was rude and abysmal, as well’ he said. ‘The hurt, nonetheless, was adequately expiated by ever the healer - time’.

 

But, what intrigued me most was the pace of human mind, which in the span of seconds re-winded enormous recollections that had nothing to do with the purpose of my travel that day (I was going to Mecca for the Hajj). And, of all places, why would a toilet evoke memories that are held like dear treasures in my heart? It made no sense.

 

I asked myself, was the man right? “Are our women learning the wrong way?” I know I have some lingering misgivings about some ‘scholar’ women, but can I be so conclusive? I don’t know. Then, I heard the sound, ‘Passengers, passengers, you are reminded to please get ready to board’ and I hurried out of the toilet.

[Nephissa]

Not only Haybe prostituted his wife, he also prostituted his honor, integrity, and his core Muslim values.

 

I toyed with the idea of naming our residence [sOL] Haybes and other matters you raised in your story but I fear the TFG intelligence officials on this site... .

 

Good read, by the way! Loved it.

 

Thanks

[Abtigiis]

Thanks sis for the kind words. Please forgive Haybe; for sometimes, we are all blinded by our desires!

kuwa Jaasjuusinta ah ee meesha jooga se dabada u qabo! Haka hadhin.

[Geel_jire]

abti great read !

[Kool_Kat]

Totally loved it...What a great read it was...I just wanted to read post after post after post...Thank you Abtigiis! Waah waah waxaasaa short story lagaa dhaha ama waa laga dhaqaaqaa...

 

Don't know for some reason though, I couldn't bring myself to read past 'Still standing at the airport......' of Part Two...Insha'allah will continue the rest the next time...

[Kool_Kat]

Finally, had full five minutes (minuse a minute here and there where I had to take calls) to sit and read all the parts fully...

 

Very well written yaa Maqiiqle...Bravo!!!

 

LOOOOOOOOOOOOL@'Kaalay, is the United Nations your reer-abti?'...Too aan aqaano leeba soo xasuustay, we call her 'Ms. Amex' as in AmericanExpress...

 

Caabi and his friends were too damn involved in Haybe's life...We, we, we lagu yeh...Hade ma'inuu iyaga guursadey rabeen? Shiiiish...Friends who are that involved in other friends personal life is always scary...

 

N'way, the wait iyo meermeereysi was worth it...Good one A&T...

[Abtigiis]

Originally posted by Kool_Kat:

Finally, had full five minutes (minuse a minute here and there where I had to take calls) QUOTE]

 

To take calls ku teeno, mid baan cay ukala tirinayay bal may tiraahdo!

Anyway, thanks, ama hadaad dooni no thanks.

[Kool_Kat]

Ha u qaadan kaftankeyga inaan kuu kala tiriyo, saa aqoonba kuuma lihiyee...Ukala tiris uun baa iga dabawadaa bisinkee...Mucjiso...