White Elephants Prt 1

A dim light bulb sputtered to life in the corridor of the top floor of the rustic, two-storied, colonial house secluded on the far end of Fitina Road. The light carelessly danced its way past an open door into a fairly crammed room, eventually embracing the dusty surface of an old cabinet blocking the room’s doorway. The room’s light hastily followed suit, garishly illuminating the clean, velvet curtains draped along the room’s ugly window.

A figure, a woman’s, flounced into the room silhouetting itself against the light. It flitted across the room, before finally coming to a halt directly in front of the large curtains. Then it sat.

Anisa peered into the beautiful, gilded mirror in front of her, a thick tuft of her silky, inky hair limply wedged between her lean palms. The loose clasp had somehow missed a wisp of her hair which now dangled freely whenever she tilted her neck to get an improved look of her appearance. She remained undecided on how to wear her hair. Time was running out. Mustafa would soon come knocking at her door, signaling for them to get going. She let her hair fall down. The grasp had tousled her hair slightly, so she picked an orange hair-brush up from the dresser supporting the mirror, and carefully ran it through the lush tufts. Her whole body remained still; save for her hair-brush holding right hand which repeatedly worked through her hair, her left one occasionally stroking the softened strands as it reinforced the brush’s actions. Her feisty breasts, pressed against her cream coloured tank top, also heaved unnoticeably. She suddenly stopped and got onto her feet. She was tall.

She gazed into the mirror. Deep into her glinty eyes; into her clay coloured skin. A strong breeze all of a sudden flailed the heavy curtains. Anisa rushed to the window and reached for its open sash. Then she paused as her eyes flitted across the quiet, inviting darkness, before sliding the sash shut. With her mind suddenly made up, she collapsed into the creaky stool in front of the mirror, pulled her thick hair up into a pretty, poufy thing at the back of her head, then clasped it with a fluffy cream ribbon flower.

Mustafa’s gruff voice jostled against the house's walls.

“Isaaa! We are late!”

Anisa jumped to her feet. She wasn’t even dressed yet. Fortunately, she had already taken a shower. Otherwise Mustafa would have made her skip it.

“I'm done!” she shouted back at her increasingly edgy brother as she picked a strapless golden bustier dress from the muddled mountain of clothes that was nestled on top of her invisible bed.

After holding the dress over her body in front of the mirror, Anisa yanked off her tank top and lithely threw the dress over her head. The dress lustfully hugged her curvy frame as it slid down her body, eventually covering her womanhood. She looked stunning under the rooms passionate light. She dug her feet into a pair of golden ballet flats, snatched from a hook on the wall a white, stone-fringed wrap, and then headed for the living room.

The rooms light bulb glowed on. Dashing back into the room, Anisa twisted and turned in front of the mirror as she continuously puckered her lips, then ran back out, slapping the light switch as she flew through the door.

The walk by Anisa down the flight of stairs into the modernly furnished living room was rather unshowy. A lifeless, black abaya she had thrown on herself in the corridor veiled the exquisite dress she had slipped on a few moments before. At the center of the room, a vase of fresh lilacs stood upright on a glass coffee table which was surrounded by immaculately white leather sofas. A warm, orange flame danced enchantingly in the small fireplace tucked cleverly into the living room’s clean white walls. Interestingly, there wasn't even one picture frame hanging on the walls. Her father wasn’t that keen on revisiting the past. A big black LCD television sat quietly on a seemingly out of place antiquated cabinet. She did not remember ever seeing it on.

Whenever a major happening came about in the country, the Marufuku family always remained in the dark, and only got to learn of it much later from their friends.

Buried behind a low lying wall separating the living room from the dining area, Musa sat, silently lost in his thoughts. One could easily fail to spot him, were they not keen enough a looker. He had just finished his isha - night prayers - and now sat quietly, patiently waiting for his bedtime. His taqiyah lay down on the tiled floor next to his feet, and if one stared at him a second longer, they would notice his fingers moving slowly as they caressed the black onyx prayer beads tucked in his palm. His lips quivered

“…subhan Allah…subhan Allah…subhan Aallah…”

Mustafa emerged from the kitchen door adjoined to the low wall.

“Ready?”

“Yap,” nodded Anisa as she knelt before her father and kissed his right hand.

“Papa, Mustafa is taking me to the library,” she started, looking down at Musa’s feet. His toes were almost completely covered by the hair that descended from his shins.

“I have my exams in a month’s time, and I need to study.”

Musa did not say a word. A grunt just about escaped from his shut mouth, momentarily interrupting his chants, before he jumped back to his subhan Allahs. Mustafa simply cast his father a furtive glance before slipping out the door.

The profoundly bearded young man held a black Mercedes’ car door open for his sister, hopped into its drivers seat, then sped off towards the dazzling lights of the distance city.

*

Mustafa sloppily pressed down the car’s brake pedal. Anisa heaved forward, almost jumping through the windshield but for her firmly clipped seatbelt. A street boy of about fifteen years of age shouted a profanity at Mustafa, flashed him his middle finger, and then slowly walked past the car to the other side of the road. Mustafa chuckled.

Traffic wasn’t as heavy as he had anticipated, so the drive into the heart of the city was rather quick. The city bled life, as droves of people ran up and down the bubbly night streets. Glitzy signboards went on and off all across the city’s buildings as numerous men and women laid down their wares by the side of the streets on display to the likely buyers marching by on the pavements. One shop in particular caught Mustafa’s eye. It had a bevy of outrageously dressed women distorting their bodies behind a huge display window. They didn’t show or say much, but they really didn’t need to. Their twisted body shapes told everything one needed to know. Mustafa slowed down the car and slid into an open parking space right by the shop.

“I'm buying a cigarette.”

“Those things will kill you Mumu,” appealed Anisa to her already walking off brother.

Mustafa turned back towards the car then lifted up his index finger to explain how long he would be away. Anisa sighed and sank into her seat. The streets around her were so happy and lively. A woman sitting on the pavement, next to a sack of boiled maize she was selling, played merrily with her small baby. She kept on tickling the child then flashed a broad smile every time the child giggled. Anisa smiled.

She needed to take off the abaya. In fact, she would do it right there in the car. Just as she was reaching for the black gown’s hemline, she spotted a dirty, old man staring at her. He was leaning against the locked doors of a pharmacy, coolly smoking the butt end of a cigarette. Their eyes locked. The man took a deep puff off what was left of the cigarette, then, after what seemed like an eternity, pensively exhaled the grey smoke. He cast Anisa a stained smile.

Anisa dropped the gown. The clatter of the car’s driver door being jerked open startled her. Mustafa flopped into the seat then adjusted his body.

“You scared me.”

“I did?”

“I need to get out of this heavy thing. Will you take me to that dance club so that I can use their washroom?”

Mustafa hunched his neck to scan the buildings along the street.

“Okay, be quick.”

Firmly, Mustafa’s hand coiled around his sister’s slender figure. He strode confidently past the clubs big doors, as the previously faint sounds from the music ringing from the club now ravaged the atmosphere around them.

Anisa had noticed something about the city. While it looked attractive from the safe confines of the car, it abruptly transformed into a dreadful place when one landed on the ground. The gaily lit streets all of a sudden gave way to dark, deserted alleys filled with passed out tramps. Over the shop’s windows, metal shutters reinforced with huge steel bars softly rattled as the cold night breeze intermittently blew against them. Not to mention, the painting on most of the shops’ walls was severely peeled, one could virtually see the metal rods embedded in the scurfy walls. The sickly smell of decayed garbage from the dark alleys intermittently enlaced the pronounced  smell of onions from the restaurant above the club. The people, who appeared happy when she was in the car, now had stern, pitiful looks plastered on them.

Anisa crumpled her abaya and tucked it into her handbag. She leveled her dress as she struggled to catch her reflection on the washroom’s smudgy mirror. Half satisfied, she made her way towards the club’s exit where Mustafa was waiting; puffing on another cigarette. As she walked past the entrance to the club’s dance floor, she decided to peek in.

A crowd of sweaty people milled around a slightly elevated platform where a man in a gaudy, orange suit sang a quickened version of Marvin Gaye’s ‘I want you’. The accompanying band seemingly struggled to keep up with the man’s erratic singing, but just when one thought they’d be left behind in the confusion, they somehow once again synchronized with the man’s irritating voice. The dancing men tugged at the women’s waists every time the lead singer elongated the I want you’s, and the women, slickly swinging their fleshy hips, readily gave themselves to the grasping men. One man cut a forlorn figure in the midst of the charged crowd. He sat right at the foot of the staircase leading up the stage, chugging on his beer.

Anisa cast a final glance around the poorly lit space before hurriedly heading for the exit. She just about bumped into Mustafa who had come searching for her.

To read part two of this story click here :-)