Free Harmattan by Gavin Weston Page B

Despite the fact that there was always a lot of activity, there was also a calmness and order here that I found reassuring and comforting. The Kantaos always seemed well organised, friendly, hard-working and generous. There was a kindness about these people which made visiting them a joy.
    I could not bear the thought of anything coming between myself and Miriam. We had grown up together. We talked about everything. Monsieur Kantao said that, one day, his daughter would become a doctor, and neither Miriam nor I doubted it for a moment. It was easy to see that he was equally proud of his other four children, all of whom, he said, would have an education, whether boy or girl.
    Miriam’s compound was a place of intrigue and colour too. Often the Kantaos hosted interesting visitors from all parts of the Sahel. Miriam’s Uncle Memet was a Touareg who had done business with Monsieur Kantao for many years and then given up his nomadic way of life to be with Madame Kantao’s sister, Ramatou. It seemed to me to be such a noble, selfless, fine thing to do: to give up one’s way of life for the sake of love.
    I had been standing quietly, hand in hand with my sister, in the middle of the Kantao compound for some time, wondering whether or not to approach the threshold, when Madame Kantao appeared.
    ‘ Ira ma hoi bani ,’ we greeted each other.
    ‘Madame Kantao. Mate fu?’ I said, with my head bowed. ‘It was my fault that Miriam came home so late last night. I’m sorry.’
    Her eyes rolled in her great, happy face and she nodded, then set to work on one of the goats. ‘Go on inside,’ she called to us. ‘Miriam is just finishing Narcisse’s hair.’
    Little Narcisse Kantao was considered something of a miracle baby in Wadata. She had just turned two and was plump and healthy and happy, but the Kantaos had almost lost her a year earlier. She had barely put on weight during the first year of her life but Sushie had given her special milk and medicine which Madame Kantao said had saved the child’s life.
    We girls found Narcisse adorable, amusing and, at times, infuriating. She was everyone’s favourite and always got her way, even with Monsieur Kantao. We took great delight in styling her hair in outlandish plaited and braided designs: the more elaborate we could make it, the more Narcisse liked it. If Madame Kantao plaited two elegant swirls into Miriam’s crown, Narcisse would demand three.
    Miriam was just completing her latest creation when my sister and I entered the house. She pointed at the two large horns which she had given Narcisse and gave us an immense smile. A great sense of relief washed over me when I realised that we did not even need to discuss the events of the day before. This was a new day.
    Narcisse was peering into a little scrap of tarnished mirror glass which Madame Kantao usually kept propped up on a battered set of drawers in their living area. She beamed at Fatima and me and then, twiddling her new horns proudly, she proclaimed, ‘I’m cow!’
    We all fell about laughing, so much so that Madame Kantao took a break from her work to see what all the fuss was about.
    ‘Toh,’ she said, smiling, when finally we settled down. ‘There is food to prepare, Miriam.’
    ‘Yes, Mother,’ Miriam replied, then turning to me she rolled her eyes and said, ‘We’re having smoked fish!’
    ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I think we are too. We’d better get back to help Mother before there is more trouble at home.’
    As Fatima and I bid our farewells, I realised that I was full of apprehension about the thought of facing my father again, and wished that my sister and I could somehow borrow a little of the Kantaos’ warmth; that we could wrap it carefully in palm leaves, like a baby bird fallen from its nest, and hide it in the folds of my pagne to take home with us.

10
    A strange blue mist hung over the river as I approached it. I heard no voices, and yet I knew that someone was waiting for me there. As I drew