Is Someone Watching?
When they reached the camp, Anwar left behind a torch for the strange couple and returned to town. Neither Zalika nor Jamaani needed the torch. They could see quite well in starlight, but it was a nice gesture, and they thanked Anwar for his hospitality.
When they could no longer see Anwar and his remaining torch, Jamaani extinguished the torch left behind. “I never realized how bad those things smell. It will be morning before I can smell anything else.”
“Quit you’re griping, it will be useful inside the hut, which we will want to finish before it decides to rain,” said Zalika, entering the partly built hut. Jamaani followed but had trouble sleeping. Something was not quite right. He just could not put his finger on it.
Zalika woke in the pre-dawn light to the sound of Jamaani moving carefully and thoroughly around their camp. “What are you doing?” She thought about adding ‘you crazy cat,’ but Jamaani’s intensity worried her.
“Someone was in the camp while we were gone,” answered Jamaani.
Zalika quickly looked over their meager collection of belongings and found that nothing was missing. In her search, she found a set of footprints leading out of their camp and away from town. “There is a trail here leading away from town.”
I found that earlier this morning, but I do not think it is a good thing to follow alone, and I did not think you could track a scent,” replied Jamaani.
“I can’t, but I can see footprints.”
“I forget how much better your vision is than mine. Either way, I think we should finish the hut today, if we can. I have already eaten. Do you want me to catch you something?” Jamaani knew that Zalika rarely ate breakfast, and when she did, it was usually grass or grain, but the cat in him kept offering to catch something for her, despite her reactions when he left “gifts” for her to find when she woke up, so she could have an early breakfast.
Working through the morning, they finished the hut except for the roof and a door. After a light lunch, they walked the short distance to the creek, where Zalika waded into the water, selecting reeds suitable for the roof. She was careful not to clear any area completely because these reeds would also be needed for the baskets they would make.
Jamaani remained on the bank and collected what Zalika handed him. The reeds reminded Jamaani about the offer from last night. “Abduljama asked if we could help him and his mother make baskets. They have more orders than they can fill and need the help.”
“Of course, we will help. We need a trade and income. I don't want to wear a basket when this robe wears out. Wema mentioned it to me in the mosque,” replied Zalika from the middle of the creek.
While Zalika tried to decide if she had seen some movement upstream, she missed Jamaani sniffing the reeds she handed him. He also sniffed the ground and plants around him as far up and down the shore as he could without looking obvious about it. Ultimately, she decided she was probably paranoid. Who would need to hide? We are easy to see in town.
In just over an hour, they had gathered all the reads the two of them could carry. Three more trips like this and they would have enough to thatch the roof. Doing what they could with each load, they hoped to finish with one more load today, and two tomorrow.
On the way out of their camp for the second load of the day, Zalika thought she saw movement near the water again, but couldn’t be sure. For the rest of the day, she watched and listened, but couldn’t see or hear anything out of place.
The next day, they finished thatching the hut in time for lunch. Jamaani caught a fish and a small animal in the reeds. The fish surprised him as much as it did Zalika. He had been swiping at fish for as long as she had known him, but this was the first one he caught. They would have it for dinner. The other thing he ate by himself. Zalika wanted no part of raw, whatever that thing was. She just wanted to chew on something while she remembered how her mother taught her to weave patterns into a basket by using different reeds.
After lunch, they carried a load of reeds to Abduljama and Wema. When they set themselves to the weaving at hand, Zalika’s pattern was different from Wema’s, but that would add variety to the product. “I always liked that pattern, but could never do it well. I keep falling back into the pattern my mother taught me. Pull each reed just the same as the others… Yes, like that.”
Zalika sighed and stopped working on the basket she had started, not because she was discouraged, but because she could not talk and weave at the same time. A skill Wema seemed to have mastered. “Your baskets are so smooth and consistent. How do you do that and inspect my work at the same time?”
“That, along with speed, will come with practice. Now hush and practice, or we shall all starve.”
Jamaani was learning from Abduljama how to prepare the reeds for the women. His claws proved to be well-suited for stripping the reeds to a consistent shape. “Tomorrow morning, you and I will deliver the baskets already spoken for. We can take the rest to market. I don’t think anyone will try to steal from us with you around. Those claws of yours will help remind people of their basic honesty.”
When Zalika began using the reads Abduljama had prepared, it was easier to keep her weaving consistent. “I need to learn to prepare the reads better. These are easier to work with than the ones I prepared.”
As the day passed, the men prepared the reeds, and the women did the weaving. By sunset, the men had prepared enough reads to keep the women busy through the next morning. Wema put down her last basket of the day, stood up, and stretched. “Help me cook that fish you brought. I am sure we can find something to go with it.”
As soon as the women entered the kitchen, Jamaani quietly spoke to Abduljama about his concerns. “I think someone is watching us, someone not of this village. I smell them everywhere I go, and it's not anyone I smell in the mosque. I don’t want to worry Zalika until I know what is going on. What do you think I should do?”
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“Who would watch you? Who would not watch you? It is probably harmless. Most of the people I know are very curious about you, but afraid to get too close. They watch and ask me. Soon they will relax and come to talk to you themselves.” Abduljama took a deep breath and got a serious look on his face. “I don’t think anyone is hunting you, but it might still be wise to talk to Anwar after the market tomorrow.”
After dinner, as Jamaani and Zalika returned to their camp, she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched. Try as she might, Zalika couldn’t see any evidence that they were. By the time they reach their camp, she is more interested in resting her sore hands than worrying about possible unseen watchers. “I do not know how Wema does it. I can run all day and night without eating or getting tired. I spend half a day weaving baskets, while she makes twice as many, leaving me sore. This might not have been such a clever idea.”
“Zalika, women have made baskets forever, and girls have complained just as long. I think it is something that comes with time.” Jamaani had his tail in one hand, trying hard to look wise.
“You are probably right, but you look like an idiot holding your tail like that. I am done for the day.” Zalika entered the hut and was soon asleep.
Jamaani dropped his tail. Before joining Zalika, he carefully examined the camp for signs, or rather, scent that someone had been there while they were gone. “Well, did you find anything, ‘you crazy cat’?”
“No, I felt certain I would, but to my relief, I find no new scent.”
Living by the creek as they did, Zalika and Jamaani pulled reeds and brought them to Abduljama’s house each day. Zalika would have been more nervous about wading in the water if it had been murky or deeper than her knees. The man on the bluff above the creek was a different matter. He was too far away to threaten her, and he made no effort to hide. When Zalika looked directly at him to get a better look with the center part of her vision, he turned and casually walked away, disappearing behind the bluff.
During the brief walk to Abduljama’s house, Zalika wanted to mention the man on the hill to Jamaani, but he looked distracted and lost in thought. She would have all day, or at least all afternoon, while Jamaani and Abduljama prepared the reeds they brought with them and delivered the spoken-for baskets. She could ask Wema about it this morning and talk to Jamaani after lunch.
As soon as Jamaani and Zalika arrived, Abduljama began gathering the finished baskets, nesting smaller baskets into larger ones. He bundled them up in nets, a double handful at a time. “We will take these first. The deliveries are all nearby. I think we can finish by lunch. We will take the rest to the market. Jamaani, you carry the money pouch. I don’t think anyone will try to take it from you. They will think you are too quick for them, but if they do try something, I will place a basket on their head to confuse them while we run to safety.” The bundles were lightweight but awkward, especially on narrow streets. Jamaani often helped guide the bundles Abduljama carried around or over obstacles.
Well before lunch, they returned with a handful of undelivered baskets. “Why did we bring more than we needed to deliver?”
“Sometimes I scratch or dent some of the baskets. So, I need to bring some extras to replace the ones I damaged. With your help, I did not damage anything today. Help me collect the rest of the baskets, and we can take them to the market.”
Arriving at the market, they saw that many vendors had already set up their stalls. The items offered in this market impressed Jamaani, and the smells delighted him with their variety and intensity. Still, for the first time since his transformation, he felt disappointed by the lack of color he could see.
Abduljama noticed Jamaani staring at a particularly bright fabric in a stall run by an old man he did not know. He had seen the old man every market day but had never heard him speak. “Why the long face?”
“My face is long compared to yours, and Zalika’s face is longer than mine,” teased Jamaani. Then, with his tail on the ground, “I remember color, but I do not see it the way I used to. I look at this fabric and I know it must be a magnificently bright saffron, but I see only pale yellow and gray. I can feel that the weaving is perfectly smooth, but I can no longer see the intricate pattern of the threads.”
The stall owner collected a silk scarf with a black and white chevron pattern. Without a word, he placed it in Jamaani’s hand and closed his fingers around it. He next pointed to his ear and nodded, then he pointed to his mouth and shook his head.
Abduljama felt like a fool for never realizing this man was mute. “Peace be upon you.” Said Abduljama as he handed the old man a mid-sized basket Zalika had made with the weave pattern of her people.
The market day went wonderfully. People wanted to see Jamaani up close, but without staring. They bought baskets to hide their curiosity. A boy, about eight, gathered the courage to touch Jamaani’s tail. As soon as he did, he turned to dart off into the crowd, only to come face to waist with Anwar, the holy man. Stammering, “It was a dare,” the boy explained while examining the ground at his feet. Jamaani pulled some of his fur out and handed it to the boy, whispering just loud enough for only those nearby to hear, “I am shedding, but this should make your story more convincing.” Abduljama translated for the boy's benefit.
“Ah, if only we knew how precious those years were when we were still children. I, for one, would never have grown up, but that is not the will of Allah. What is an old man to do?” Anwar made himself comfortable on a low wall that formed part of the boundary of the marketplace. “It would appear that your business is particularly good today. At this rate, you will soon have all the money in the town. Then what will you do?”
“I will tell the Sultan, I gave it all to you,” Abduljama said with a disarming smile.
Some of that exchange was easy enough for Jamaani to follow, but for most of it, he had to rely on Abduljama. Jamaani watched the stall and sold the remaining baskets mostly with signing, while Anwar and Abduljama talked. When the last of the baskets sold, Jamaani collected the netting they had used to carry the baskets to market with and waited for Anwar and Abduljama to finish their conversation.
He did not have long to wait before Anwar came to him and, in halting Swahili, said, “Peace be upon you.”
Jamaani took a coin from the money pouch and handed it to Anwar with “Please accept this little from me, along with my prayers.” Anwar looked to Abduljama, who nodded and said it was a blessing and donation. Anwar touched the coin to his forehead, said something Jamaani did not catch, and left.
“That will keep him fed for a while. Most of the town gives him some of what they make. It is rare for us to give him some of what we earn.” Abduljama continued as they began to walk back to his house, “Anwar does not think there is anything to worry about, but he will keep an ear to the ground for any rumors of danger. As a holy man, he hears most everything of interest in the town.”
Once the men left, Zalika and Wema settled into a rhythm of weaving baskets, fans, and whatever else Wema thought might sell. “Wema, is it common for men in this place to stare at women?”
“What do you mean?”
Zalika told Wema about the man on the bluff this morning and her suspicion that others may have been watching from hiding.
“You are an interesting sight. I would expect you to have gotten used to being watched by now, but still, for a man to walk off into the desert like that is odd. I will ask my son to talk to Anwar about this.”
From here, the conversation drifted off to trivial things until the reeds prepared by the men were used up. Wema and Zalika moved their attention to cooking, which was a great relief to Zalika as it gave her hands a rest from the constant motion that they were not yet used to.
Abduljama and Jamaani came bouncing into the home like two small boys. “Wema, Allah smiles upon us! We sold everything.”
“They just wanted to get a look at your friend, but such money spends just like any other,” said Wema as she and Zalika were bringing dinner out to the porch.
After dinner, Abduljama asked everyone to stay a moment longer. “Jamaani told me of smelling certain people that he has not yet seen, and some evidence that they may have been in his camp. I talked to Anwar about this thing, and he thinks it is simple curiosity and nothing to worry about, but that he will listen for any rumors of danger and let us know if he hears anything.”
Zalika spoke up, “I have seen a man watching us this morning. He left when I looked directly at him, and I think I have caught glimpses of others, but I cannot be sure.”
Jamaani took hold of his tail and fiddled with it for a few moments. “I see no immediate threat, and we are doing what we can. If we run from every unfamiliar smell and shadow, we will never find a home. Let’s stay here, but with our eyes and ears open.”