Free Desert Flower by Waris Dirie

father’s permission, there would be no access to his daughters. But more was at stake here than Papa protecting us from unwanted advances. Virgins are a hot commodity in the African marriage market, one of the largest unspoken reasons for the practice of female circumcision. My father could expect a high price for beautiful virgin daughters but had little hope of unloading one who had been soiled by having sex with another man. When I was a girl, however, none of these facts concerned me, because I was a child and never thought about the subjects of sex or marriage.
    That is, until I learned of my friend Shukrin’s wedding. A few days later, my father came home one evening and I heard him call out, “Hey, where’s Waris?”
    “Over here, Papa,” I yelled.
    “Come here,” he called in a soft voice. Normally he was very stern and aggressive, so I knew something was up. I assumed he wanted me to do him
     
    a favor, do something with the animals tomorrow, look for water, hunt for food, or some similar chore. So I stayed where I was, staring at my father cautiously, trying to imagine what he had planned for me. “Come, come, come, come,” he said impatiently.
    I walked a couple of steps toward him, eyeing him suspiciously, but didn’t say anything. Papa grabbed me and sat me down on his knee. “You know,” he began, ‘you been really good.” Now I knew something serious was up. “You been really good, more like a boy, more like a son to me.” I knew this was his highest praise.
    “Hmmm,” I responded, wondering why I was receiving such accolades.
    “You’ve been just like a son to me, working hard as any man, taking good care of the animals. And I just want to let you know that I’m going to miss you very much.” When he said this, I thought my father was afraid that I was going to run away like my sister Aman had. When Papa had tried to arrange her marriage, she ran away. He was afraid I was going to run away, too, and leave him and Mama with all the hard work.
    A flood of tenderness came over me, and I hugged him, feeling guilty for being so suspicious. “Oh, Papa, I’m not going anywhere!”
     
    He pulled back from me, and stared at my face. In a soft voice he said, “Yes, you are, my darling.”
    “Where am I going? I’m not going anywhere I’m not leaving you and Mommy.”
    “Yes, you are, Waris. I found you a husband.” “No, Papa, no!” I jumped up and he tried to grab me back, tried to grab my arms and hold on to me. “I don’t want to leave, I don’t want to leave home, I want to stay with you and Mama!”
    “Sh, sh, shit’s going to be fine. I found you a good husband.”
    “Who?” I said, curious now.
    “You will meet him.”
    My eyes filled with tears, even though I tried hard to be tough. I started swinging at him, and screaming, “I don’t want to get married!”
    “Okay, Waris, look…” Papa reached down and grabbed a rock, pulled his hands behind his back, and swapped the rock back and forth. Then he held his hands out in front of him, with both fists clenched, so I couldn’t see which one held the prize. “Choose the right hand or the left hand. Choose the one that holds the rock. If you guess right, you’re going to do what
     
    your days will be full of sorrow, because you’ll be banned from the family.”
    I stared at him, wondering what was going to happen if I chose the wrong hand. Was I going to die? I touched his left hand. He turned up an empty palm toward the sky. “I guess I’m not going to do what you tell me,” I murmured sadly.
    “We can do it again.”
    “No.” I shook my head slowly. “No, Papa. I’m not going to marry.”
    “He’s a good man!” my father cried. “You’ve got to trust me I know a good man when I see one. And you’re going to do what I say!”
    I stood there with my shoulders slumped, feeling sick and scared, and shook my head.
    He tossed the rock hiding in his right hand into the darkness and shouted, “Then you’ll