Love in a time of cancer..

[Liqaye]

Bismillahi rahmani rahim.

 

Xalimos room is the size of a large closet.

I tell you this because I don’t live in it, and due to threat enviable trait of human nature, to get used to and finally to not be able to live with out the usual, Xalimos has grown to think her room large spacious and refined.

No pictures of genuine or usher adorn her walls, they are plastered with cheap still lives and pictures of her families home in Somalia. Also cheap.

She is woken up b her mother tumbling and muttering towards the toilet for fajr prayers, in her old age she has taken up praying, more out of boredom than anything else.

Although it is hard to understand, she has realized that by praying she has something to wake up for and do five times a day, Xalimo is amused by her mother, she is old and having taken to prayer late, talks to GOD as if he owes her a firm and direct response to questions she deems of utmost importance.

Xalimo does not pray, at least not regularly, not in the morning or during lunch hour {bad for the digestion}.

Her jeans are draped over her chair and she checks her e-mail, the room illumined by a screen that reflects the world off her reading glasses.

She slips into her T-shirt, on it there is a picture of an egg with a caption asking it to beaten and puree machine asking to be whipped.

The shirt has given her the reputation of having a sense of humor, although to tell you the truth it was the cheapest in the store.

She slips on her running shoes {sensible, reliable, not branded} and pauses at the door to watch her mother gradually get engrossed in a tennis match between two Slovakians, and listens to her mother mutter about the length of the men’s shorts {hyper criticality apparently is a virtue in those newly introduced to the Somali brand of Islam}, her mother says her farewells and for the umpteenth time wishes her daughter would get married.

That’s an argument neither wins and so early early morning walk to the bus stop continue with a prayer of safety and love.

It had to occur sometime and I am not less Somali than you, with the mention of marriage a description of Xalimo is called for if not a, must.

5,4 [WHICH IS SHORT FOR THOSE THAT DO NOT KNOW], black skin, and a shy smile that shows milk white teeth, she is not beautiful, rather cute in a gone by 30 kind of way, well that is to quote Aswad, who said this loud enough she could hear.

She draws her shawl closer to her body as she walks down a cement path.

Fifteen lights to the bus stop, the last is blown out, Xalimo cannot decide, what is worse, the blown out light or that she noticed and it bothers her that her routine has been broken.

The bus stop luminescent and gray at the same moment is by passed as she runs to the bus that has been waiting for her.

As the doors slam shut, a cigarette is lit, and a scent comes out of the bushes like an animal stirred from slumber, it moves out and walks to the light looks up at it and the stone that blew the light out.

It smiles, takes a drag of the cigarette and moves on scuffing its feet against the wall and smiling as it passes by a person it recognized.

Xalimo smiles at the bus driver, if he had known her for longer than he does, he would have know that it was the smile of neutrality, one a woman learns to flash quickly in her life and one the men still don’t seem to understand.

Reilly waits for xalimo everyday at the bus stop for her just to see her smile.

Xalimo can’t decide what she thinks about riley, she remembers how he argued with her not believing she was African, and the monkey faces he drew on the windshield to denote how other African women look like.

Once he good naturedly guessed she was 27 not a bad considering he only thought her older by five years.

Looking at the back of his head and watching him scratch his fine white hair into place.

She still can’t decide.

Neither can I.

She is walking out of the tutor’s room and pulls a funny face at Aswad, who was sleeping through out the tutorial, the sweet smell of pot hanging around him like an invisible straitjacket he smiles back, and points over to a group of people who are clustered around someone.

Xalimo walks over to the commotion and smiles when she recognizes who is railing against Sharon and all he has done to the world.

Faiza smiles back and presses her hand against her lips, the women noticing the shine of her bangle the men the lips the hand has touched.

People sing about having jewelry that costs more than a house, Faiza’s costs about the same as a medium sized retirement village.

Xalimo and Faiza giggle at the assignments and how they wont ever hand it in, Xalimo is joking, but Faiza is in earnest, she is betrothed to a man who pops different color pills to keep him self from seeing afrits and other assorted genii wink at him, he is the owner of the aforementioned ring so please ignore the pills part, every one else does.

Aswad is a Somali boy, name of Farah, but Aswad means black in Arabic and during his political phase he acquired it, the political phase has since passed slipping from his shoulders like a loud t-shirt, but the name has stuck like a tick.

He stands at the record store, removing the filter from his bonds, waiting for Xalimo to arrive.

He is fascinated by Xalimo, for she is the only woman apart form close relatives that he has never been able to think about sexually.

She comes in and walks over to get the till keys, he waits for her to come close and offers her a cigarette; she smiles declines grabs the keys and walks to the till.

He breathes her in, looks at her tongue flicker out of her mouth, revels in it and asks himself why he she never looks back when they exchange keys.

He is good looking.

But every fat person thinks so.

Wearing his sweater, Aswad steps out of the shop.

Ismail wakes up and kisses his mother on the cheek, walks down a block crosses a road, and enters the mall.

He checks his change and watches Xalimo serve a client, he pulls his cap down to his ears and takes any old C.D from the rack.

Says his affirmations, and remembers what his mother told him, and for the twelfth time stands infront of her, is served is looked at and walks out of the shop not having asked xalimo her name or her phone number.

 

A week later:

 

At xalimos house her mother is shocked to see a handsome woman with tears in her eyes sitting on the couch, xalimo is up stairs and her mother sits down and listens to the ladies story.

“Ismail told me he loved your daughter”

“He never was the most popular or the, most outgoing but he used to write poems, in Somali for her”

“Every week he used to work up the courage to talk to your daughter, and used to come back with a C.D “

“I laughed with him, and used to be happy that he had something other than the chemotherapy to think about”

“He passed away two days ago”

 

Xalimos mother is distressed for the lady, who obviously is not used to crying, and gets up to touch her elbow.

 

“Last night I was cleaning out his closet and got to open C.D’S he had not even listened to, in every one there is a note from your daughter”

“Asking him his name”

“Telling him that she really liked him”

“And that she would be up for a date”

 

He wrote her poetry in broken Somali, she wrote him notes in broken Somali.

 

Upstairs xalimo is on her bed.

She cannot begin to cry.

Yet like an ant caught on a tire that is beggining to move.

She knows she must.

 

A.S.S

[NGONGE]

Absolute classic. I love your work, man. Keep it up.

 

 

Xalimo and Faiza giggle at the assignments and how they wont ever hand it in, Xalimo is joking, but Faiza is in earnest, she is betrothed to a man who pops different color pills to keep him self from seeing afrits and other assorted genii wink at him, he is the owner of the aforementioned ring so please ignore the pills part, every one else does.

Any more lines like this one and I think I’ll end up getting the sack from laughing too much.

[SomeAlien]

wow. absolutely beautiful. props to you.

[Warrior of Light]

Good peice,Mashallah thank you