Tears of the Desert Read Free

and her children had had a hard life. My father was wealthy and Grandma knew him to be a good man. She felt he would make a fine husband for her eldest daughter, and she had readily agreed to the match.
    My father and I lay around the fire talking long into the night. He explained to me what an extraordinary day my naming had turned out to be—quite apart from the discovery of my white eyelash. An old man on a camel had arrived at the gates of our home. Although he was a stranger he was invited in, for it was our culture to welcome visitors. But as soon as he clapped eyes on my mother and Grandma Sumah, he flew into a towering rage.
    This was Grandma Sumah’s long-estranged husband and he had ridden many days to find her. The Zaghawa are divided into three clans—the Towhir, the Coube, and the Bidayat. Grandma and Grandpa came from different clans. When Grandma had run away from him, she’d returned to the heartland of her tribe, the Coube. Grandpa lived in the distant lands of the Bidayat, and for all these years he’d been unable to trace her.
    Then he had heard of a beautiful young Coube girl in our village, Hadurah. He’d learned that she was marrying a rich and handsome man from the Towhir clan. He traced the family names and was convinced that it was his estranged wife who was involved. And so he had set out on his camel to discover if he had finally tracked down his long lost family. Upon arrival he had realized that he had, and that his eldest daughter was already married. He’d flown into a rage against my father, drawing his dagger.
    “How dare you marry my daughter!” he’d cried. “Who gave you permission to do so? Certainly not me, and I am her father!”
    Before my father could say anything, Grandma Sumah jumped to her feet and whipped out a dagger from her robes. Zaghawa women are not supposed to carry one, and everyone stared at her in openmouthed amazement. It was fifteen years since Grandma had last seen her husband, but she had no problem recognizing him.
    “Just you try coming near me!” she yelled, her face like dark thunder. “Leave me and my children be!”
    Needless to say, Grandma’s intervention didn’t help very much. And when Grandpa discovered that I existed and that the feast was all in honor of my naming, it made matters even worse. Not only had his wife left him and his eldest daughter married without his permission, but she’d already given birth to a child. Grandpa demanded that he be allowed to take me back to his village. If my father wouldn’t agree, then he would forever curse their marriage.
    In Zaghawa tradition the worst one man can do to another is to dishonor him, so my father knew that he had to handle this carefully. He called together the village elders—men of Grandpa’s age and older—and they tried to talk him down. They explained that however much everyone regretted it, what was done was done. My father and mother were married, the child was born, and it had been named that very morning.
    My father left the elders to talk and returned with a pillowcase stuffed full of money. He handed it to Grandpa, explaining that it was a down payment on the dowry that he would be paying for his daughter’s hand in marriage. Better late than never, Grandpa must have decided, for his mood suddenly brightened.
    My father slaughtered another cow, and announced that it was now a triple celebration: first, for my naming; second, for the discovery of my white eyelash; and third, for the reunification of a long-separated family. The only person who wasn’t very happy with the turn of events was Grandma. She refused to say a word to Grandpa. She just stood and stared at him, gripping her knife and testing its edge on her arm.
    Grandpa had stayed a day or two, before he had to get back to his village. He told Grandma that now he knew where she lived and that she was happy, he could go home with a clear mind. But still Grandma brandished her knife at him, and told him to be on