True Ease in Writing comes from Art, not Chance, As those move easiest who have learned to dance. - Alexander Pope

Aisha

Apr 28, 2011

A Mystery

Posted by amrangaye | Tags: Live From the Gambia, Fiction, Family Relation, Person Communication, Person Relation, Aisha, Arab people, Islam, Islam and women, Jama, Journal of the American Medical Association, maid, Muhammad, Muslim history, Tijan, War | 0 Comments

 

These are the facts of the case. Tijan was not a very popular man, it was true. His weekly column in the papers was a searing look into the behavior of the powers that be, and people did not love him for it. No one was safe from the wandering wrath of his pen - from the highest civil servant to the lowliest cleaning lady. At home he ruled with an iron fist - prone to bouts of temper and both verbal and physical abuse of his wife and children. If the maid made the smallest of noises during his afternoon siesta - his office was near his house - he would wake up screaming at the poor girl until all the neighbors could hear him, calling her a good-for-nothing and a disgrace while she listened, scowling, too afraid to turn her back on him.
 
His wife, Jama, was a tall slender woman, her body all angles and sharp corners. She was so tall she stooped when she walked.

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Oct 04, 2010

A Card Game (or "Aisha Khan & the Jinneh Who Devoured Women")

Posted by amrangaye | Tags: Live From the Gambia, Fiction, Aisha, Aisha Khan, Arab people, CDATA, Islam, Islam and women, LAN, Muhammad, Muslim history | 0 Comments

Playal

Sa turn la

Change tu

Lan?

Hol bu hong-ha

Her heart exploding, a splash of red. Ice, all about her, slippery, yet somehow warm as fire. Say the word, Momodou Kabaa, and I am yours. Has she not said this a thousand times, in her actions alone? Yet Momodou Kabaa says nothing, continues to play these games, refuses to acknowledge his feelings. Is he really that slow?

Ice strong?

Very strong?

Still strong?

…

Didn't think so. And take two for cheating.

He picks up the four cards sheepishly, looking at her from under his eyelids. What shall I do with you, Aisha Khan? I wish only to save you, yet you still insist on hurling yourself straight at me, and at the death which awaits you in my hands. You do not know me, Aisha Khan. And he sighs.

Jump. Jump.

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