Free Desert Flower by Waris Dirie Page A

have bad luck all your life!”
    “Well, I guess I’m the one who’ll have to live with it, won’t I?” He slapped me hard across the face, because no one talked back to my father. I realize now that he had to marry me off quickly, as much for this type of behavior as for any traditional reasons. I had grown into a rebel, a tomboy, sassy and fearless, and was getting a reputation as such. Papa had to find me a husband while I was still a valuable commodity, because
     
    no African man wanted to be challenged by his wife.
    The next morning I got up and took my animals out to graze as usual. While I watched them I thought about this new notion of marriage. I tried to think of a plan to persuade my father to let me remain at home, but knew in my heart this would never happen. I wondered who my new husband would be. To date, my only childish romantic inkling had been an interest in Jamah the son of my father’s friend. I had seen him many times, because our families often traveled together. Jamah was considerably older than me, and I thought him very good-looking, but he wasn’t married yet. My father loved him like a son, and thought Jamah was a good son to his own father. But probably my biggest attraction to Jamah was that he’d once had a serious crush on my sister Aman and didn’t know I was alive. I was just a little girl to him, where Aman had been a desirable woman. When I whispered that Jarnah liked her, Aman waved her hand and said, “Pshhh.” She never gave him a second look, because she’d seen enough of the nomadic life and had no desire to marry a man like our father. She always talked
     
    about going to the city and marrying a man with lots of money. And when Papa tried to marry her off to one of his fellow nomads, she ran away in search of her big city dreams. We never heard from her again.
    All that day, as I sat watching my animals, I tried to convince myself that marriage might not be so bad, and envisioned myself living with Jamah, the way my mother and father lived together. As the sun was going down, I walked back to our camp with my herd. My little sister ran to meet me and announced, “Papa has somebody with him and I think they’re waiting for you.” My sister was suspicious of this sudden interest in Waris, thinking perhaps she was being left out of some worthwhile treat. But I shuddered, knowing my father was continuing with his plan just as if I’d never objected.
    “Where are they?” My sister pointed in one direction, and I turned and headed in the other. “Waris, they’re waiting for you!” she cried.
    “Oh, shut up! Get away from me!” I put my goats in their pen and began to milk them. When I was about halfway through the job, I heard my father calling my name. “Yes, Papa. I’m coming.” I stood up with dread but knew there was no point in putting off the inevitable. A small hope
     
    flickered that maybe my father would be waiting with Jamah, and I envisioned his smooth handsome face. I walked toward them with my eyes closed. “Please let it be Jamah…” I muttered as I stumbled along. Jamah had become my salvation from this unsavory notion of leaving home to live with a strange man.
    Finally, I opened my eyes and stared into the blood-red sky; the sun melted into the horizon, and I saw two men in front of me in silhouette. My father said, “Oh, there you are. Come here, my darling. This is Mr. …. I didn’t hear another word he said. My eyes fastened onto a man sitting down, holding on to a cane. He was at least sixty years old, with a long white beard.
    “Waris!” I finally realized my father was talking to me. “Say hello to Mr. Galool.”
    “Hello,” I said, in the iciest voice I could muster. I had to be respectful, but I did not have to be enthusiastic. The old fool just sat there grinning at me, leaning on his stick with all his might, but did not reply. He probably didn’t know what to say, looking at this girl he was about to marry, who only stared